Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Bullets
Halos
Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all...
From the moment I fell, to the moment I hit the ground, cracking my back on the ground, that this wasn’t going to be a good day.
No, I didn’t fall off a building.
I got kicked out of heaven.
I stood up, trying to straighten out my back after the agonizingly long fall. I licked the blood away from my hands, and said calmly: “Fuck... this is Earth, isn’t it?”
I took a moment to grasp the situation- Gerard Way, former suicide angel and now impaired human... has no idea what he should do next. Obviously, I was in pain- slipped disk or fractured spine, broken hands, and a seriously fucked nose. in fact, my nose was so entirely broken, that every time I talked, I sounded so Elmer Fuddish that I should’ve slapped on a hunting cap and gone looking for ‘wabbits’ right then and there.
“This sucks.” I observed. Besides not having my high school diploma, I was pretty behind in terms of knowledge on the modern world. I had died about fifteen years ago, at sixteen, by way of... well, ‘blowing my brains against the ceiling’, as some would put it. I had been sent to heaven and was dubbed a ‘suicide angel’, angels with reddened wings that were allowed, every once in a while, into the human world to save the poor souls who wanted to end their own lives.
Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job.
I sighed, and sat down on the frigid, barren pavement of the broken metropolis in which I had landed, resigned to slowly starving, or whoring myself out to earn enough money to get a gun or something.
I’m totally going to Hell.
I leaned against the brick wall behind me, and soaked in the dying winter sunlight. Dressed only in jeans and a Green Day T-shirt (the clothes I had worn the day I died), it was bitterly cold, but relieving to the sweat-drenched mess that was my spine. My eyes began drooping shut from boredom, and it took only the occasional snowflake to keep me awake. But after awhile, even that wasn’t enough.
~%#%~
Fact: Kids apparently love having snowball fights in the streets nowadays. They also have developed terrible aim.
I was first vaguely awoken by the shouting and scuffling in the streets, then jolted fully awake when one hit me in the face. It was a short, measly kid in an oversized hoodie that had thrown it, and he obviously hadn’t been aiming for me. I wiped the freezing snow from my face, royally pissed and cussing like a bitch.
“Fuckety-fucking... fuck-fuck! What the fuck was that for?!” I shouted.
“Oh God. I am so, so sorry man,” the kid apologized profusely, helping me scrape away the frozen water.
“You’d better be,” I grumbled, picking out the excess snow from my eyelashes.
“What’re you doing out here without a coat, anyways?” midget kid asked randomly. “Frank, by the way.”
He extended his petite hand in a friendly way, and I pulled myself erect with his help. I groaned when my back snapped awkwardly.
“I was being homeless, douche. Gerard.” I said politely, stretching and conveniently showing off my middle fingers to Frank- let’s just say that I wasn’t ‘angel’ material to start with. “Goddamn, you got me good.”
“Sorry, again.” Frank said, flustered. “Need a place to stay? My mum owns a B&B, and I don’t think she’ll mind a one-night freeloader.”
Maybe God wasn’t a total asshole.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I said, shrugging, more fallen snow sliding off my shoulders.
The Bed & Breakfast was housed in a quaint, A-Frame cottage- like from that book, Lord of the Rings. Several chimneys rose from its steep roof, and on the door was an old-fashioned brass knocker, which Frank raised and let it bang against the wood.
A tall, tan brunette Italian-looking woman holding a spoon opened the door and grinned at her small son.
“Hey, Frank! Who is...” she trailed off, faintly gesturing to me.
“I’m Gerard.” I said, shaking her hand. “I guess you could say I’m his friend...”
Friend. That sounded odd, rolling off my tongue so easily. I had no friends.
“Uh, listen mom. Gee kinda needs a place to crash and uh, I thought it’s be nice to help the guy out a little, y’know?”
Frank’s mom was silent, absentmindedly curling a strand of hair around her index finger and surveying me in a scary, testy way. Like that St. Peter guy at the pearly gates, but not as bad because she couldn’t throw me into another plane of existence.
“So... he’s like, a hobo, and you’re asking me if he can stay here?” she reasoned slowly, enunciating. I winced. Enunciating is bad.
“Well... yeah.” Frank slumped.
She scratches the back of her head, the spoon now lodged in her mouth. Finally, she spat out the spoon and said, “Okay!”
Frank’s eyebrows shot up. “Serious?”
“Yeah.” she said, shrugging easily. “Being homeless sucks. I wanna help. Y’know, make it suck less, yeah?”
“Great.” I said happily, walking past her. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Second floor, first one on the left!” she called after me.
I blindly stumbled out of the shower stall, blindly grappling for a towel. Apparently, B&B’s have this rule where the water has to be either fucking Arctic or near boiling... mine had opted for the latter option. I wrapped the fuzzy green towel around my waist and wiped away the stringy black hair. I looked around the plain bathroom in search of my clothes, but in their place was a pair of baggy pants and the hoodie that Frank had worn earlier, which, upon closer inspection, had a Dropkick Murphys logo stitched onto it. Nice. I pulled on the hoodie and pants and slid the pocket door open, switching the fan on as well.
I had just settled into the floral bed sheets when Frank shuffled into the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs balanced on it.
“Coffee?” he offered, holding the tray out.
“Sure.” I said happily. The mug burned my palms and taste buds, but that didn’t stop me from chugging it down like eggnog at Christmas. It tasted nice. Nice, like Frank and his tolerant mom. They were nicer than my parents. The kids at school, definitely.
I felt like this kindness couldn’t go unnoticed.
“Hey Frank?” I say, taking one last sip of my precious coffee.
“Huh?”
I feel like I should hesitate, but that is a cliché solely reserved for corny romances.
“Thanks.”
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all...
From the moment I fell, to the moment I hit the ground, cracking my back on the ground, that this wasn’t going to be a good day.
No, I didn’t fall off a building.
I got kicked out of heaven.
I stood up, trying to straighten out my back after the agonizingly long fall. I licked the blood away from my hands, and said calmly: “Fuck... this is Earth, isn’t it?”
I took a moment to grasp the situation- Gerard Way, former suicide angel and now impaired human... has no idea what he should do next. Obviously, I was in pain- slipped disk or fractured spine, broken hands, and a seriously fucked nose. in fact, my nose was so entirely broken, that every time I talked, I sounded so Elmer Fuddish that I should’ve slapped on a hunting cap and gone looking for ‘wabbits’ right then and there.
“This sucks.” I observed. Besides not having my high school diploma, I was pretty behind in terms of knowledge on the modern world. I had died about fifteen years ago, at sixteen, by way of... well, ‘blowing my brains against the ceiling’, as some would put it. I had been sent to heaven and was dubbed a ‘suicide angel’, angels with reddened wings that were allowed, every once in a while, into the human world to save the poor souls who wanted to end their own lives.
Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job.
I sighed, and sat down on the frigid, barren pavement of the broken metropolis in which I had landed, resigned to slowly starving, or whoring myself out to earn enough money to get a gun or something.
I’m totally going to Hell.
I leaned against the brick wall behind me, and soaked in the dying winter sunlight. Dressed only in jeans and a Green Day T-shirt (the clothes I had worn the day I died), it was bitterly cold, but relieving to the sweat-drenched mess that was my spine. My eyes began drooping shut from boredom, and it took only the occasional snowflake to keep me awake. But after awhile, even that wasn’t enough.
~%#%~
Fact: Kids apparently love having snowball fights in the streets nowadays. They also have developed terrible aim.
I was first vaguely awoken by the shouting and scuffling in the streets, then jolted fully awake when one hit me in the face. It was a short, measly kid in an oversized hoodie that had thrown it, and he obviously hadn’t been aiming for me. I wiped the freezing snow from my face, royally pissed and cussing like a bitch.
“Fuckety-fucking... fuck-fuck! What the fuck was that for?!” I shouted.
“Oh God. I am so, so sorry man,” the kid apologized profusely, helping me scrape away the frozen water.
“You’d better be,” I grumbled, picking out the excess snow from my eyelashes.
“What’re you doing out here without a coat, anyways?” midget kid asked randomly. “Frank, by the way.”
He extended his petite hand in a friendly way, and I pulled myself erect with his help. I groaned when my back snapped awkwardly.
“I was being homeless, douche. Gerard.” I said politely, stretching and conveniently showing off my middle fingers to Frank- let’s just say that I wasn’t ‘angel’ material to start with. “Goddamn, you got me good.”
“Sorry, again.” Frank said, flustered. “Need a place to stay? My mum owns a B&B, and I don’t think she’ll mind a one-night freeloader.”
Maybe God wasn’t a total asshole.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I said, shrugging, more fallen snow sliding off my shoulders.
The Bed & Breakfast was housed in a quaint, A-Frame cottage- like from that book, Lord of the Rings. Several chimneys rose from its steep roof, and on the door was an old-fashioned brass knocker, which Frank raised and let it bang against the wood.
A tall, tan brunette Italian-looking woman holding a spoon opened the door and grinned at her small son.
“Hey, Frank! Who is...” she trailed off, faintly gesturing to me.
“I’m Gerard.” I said, shaking her hand. “I guess you could say I’m his friend...”
Friend. That sounded odd, rolling off my tongue so easily. I had no friends.
“Uh, listen mom. Gee kinda needs a place to crash and uh, I thought it’s be nice to help the guy out a little, y’know?”
Frank’s mom was silent, absentmindedly curling a strand of hair around her index finger and surveying me in a scary, testy way. Like that St. Peter guy at the pearly gates, but not as bad because she couldn’t throw me into another plane of existence.
“So... he’s like, a hobo, and you’re asking me if he can stay here?” she reasoned slowly, enunciating. I winced. Enunciating is bad.
“Well... yeah.” Frank slumped.
She scratches the back of her head, the spoon now lodged in her mouth. Finally, she spat out the spoon and said, “Okay!”
Frank’s eyebrows shot up. “Serious?”
“Yeah.” she said, shrugging easily. “Being homeless sucks. I wanna help. Y’know, make it suck less, yeah?”
“Great.” I said happily, walking past her. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Second floor, first one on the left!” she called after me.
I blindly stumbled out of the shower stall, blindly grappling for a towel. Apparently, B&B’s have this rule where the water has to be either fucking Arctic or near boiling... mine had opted for the latter option. I wrapped the fuzzy green towel around my waist and wiped away the stringy black hair. I looked around the plain bathroom in search of my clothes, but in their place was a pair of baggy pants and the hoodie that Frank had worn earlier, which, upon closer inspection, had a Dropkick Murphys logo stitched onto it. Nice. I pulled on the hoodie and pants and slid the pocket door open, switching the fan on as well.
I had just settled into the floral bed sheets when Frank shuffled into the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs balanced on it.
“Coffee?” he offered, holding the tray out.
“Sure.” I said happily. The mug burned my palms and taste buds, but that didn’t stop me from chugging it down like eggnog at Christmas. It tasted nice. Nice, like Frank and his tolerant mom. They were nicer than my parents. The kids at school, definitely.
I felt like this kindness couldn’t go unnoticed.
“Hey Frank?” I say, taking one last sip of my precious coffee.
“Huh?”
I feel like I should hesitate, but that is a cliché solely reserved for corny romances.
“Thanks.”
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
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