FicWad

The papers were not needed by me. I crumbled them up and threw it to the ground. Why did I have to take it in? My brother picked up the thrown garbage, “Why would you do this? I thought you knew about this. I thought you were ready to take on this responsibility. It’s huge, Gerard, you just can’t throw it out like it’s nothing.” I sighed, “It is nothing to me,” I sat on the ledge of the road, “I never asked dad to leave this to me. Why couldn’t he have chosen you? Why not Lyndsie, for gods’ sake, why not you Michael? Michael, our parents always made you the one in charge-“He laughed, “Wait, did you just say Lindsey? That’s your wife. How can dad leave his will to her?” I thought about it. He was right, “You need to get your head right. What you have right here is a big responsibility. It’s on your shoulders for now on. “ I looked at my feet,” What if I left to Lindsey and then killed myself?” He bundled up, “I don’t know, bro, but you’re gonna have to make it work. Good luck.” He patted my back and walked away. Damn it, it’s like he knew I wanted to be left alone. I guess sleeping in the same room for about 15 years did help a lot.



I took out a cigarette, I knew I wasn’t supposed to smoke, but no one could stop me from doing it. I lit it. I don’t see how smoking would be such a problem. I mean, I’m only hurting myself, not others. I looked at the smoke I puffed out. Something so small could hurt me and kill me. This cigarette can damage my lungs and make it hard for me to breath, hopefully even killing me. I threw it to the ground and stepped over it. My wife would kill me if she found out I was smoking again. I promised her I’d stop, but I broke long ago. I just couldn’t stop blowing in and out. It relaxed me in a way, and now that I need it even more, I’ll be blowing them like a house of cards. My dad passed away last week, It kind of happened with a blink of an eye. Dad was living a happy normal life. He wasn’t even old to be able to pass away from old age. He was only 54, and I’m 24. Michael is three years younger than I am. Mom passed away when I was 17.

We’re young. We’ve been through a lot, but we made it. It’s different now that we’ve grown up.

“Oh my gosh. No Way” the way she emphasized on the word ‘way’ made me cringe, “You’re thee Gerard Way, right?” I deal with these kind of people daily. Sure, yeah, I don’t mind when they ask me for my autograph or anything, but really? Do they seriously have to act like this? I mean, if I was a fan of some guy I’d try to act my best around them. “Can I, like, have, like, your autograph?” She screamed at me. I shrugged, “Everyone is different no matter what. –Xoxo”

It's short, I can see that very well. I hope it kind of gives you the idea of what is taking place. I really do hope I finish this story. I've started at least a dozen stories about My Chem, never finished one. Only two have been posted on here, this one being the third one. R&R? :D