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49. Chopsticks In Mouth

Mikey glared angrily at the blank sheet before him. It's empty lines were open, waiting hands that asked for the words to his eulogy speech -- but Mikey was at a loss to give it even one.

The memorial service was in three days, and Mikey barely could decide if he was going to bother to show up. As far as he was concerned, they were doing nothing but putting a box in the ground. While the invitations had Gerard Way's name engraved on them, this service was not for Gerard Way at all.

"It symbolizes our setting him to much needed rest, Mikes." James had told him along with all the others. Even his own parents saw it as a way to put Gerard "at ease".

Bullshit. This memorial service symbolized nothing more than the fact that they were giving up on their search for Gerard. They had failed, and so now they do this as though something out of respect.

It was actually rather sickening.

Alicia wanted to go. She wanted to be there to support Lindsey, Jamia, Chantal, and all her closer friends. She had set down her foot on the matter, along with insisting that he write this stupid eulogy to be read in front of a stupid empty box.

His hand was aching from holding his ballpoint pen in a still position for too long. Finally, he put it against the paper, and began to write on the top line:

My brother...

That was as far as he got before he stopped again, sighing a great sigh. This was going to be a long night.

He leaned back on his wooden chair, looking at the dark sitting room around him. The only light here was the lamp that illuminated the desk with this god forsaken paper. He could hear the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing as Alicia went for a midnight bathroom run. He waited for the sound of the toilet flushing and her going back to bed before he began again.

My brother...

My brother...

My brother...

...is still alive.

Indeed Gerard was, at that moment, very far from dead --- if the definition of dead was to be unfeeling and devoid of any emotion or sensations. No, he certainly was feeling one sensation at the moment, of which would not be hard to guess.

Pain.

The blackbirds had chosen his room as an adequate place for dinner, despite the putrid smell of feces and urine scattered all around. They had brought in a potable wood table along with boxes of Chinese food which they ate in front of Gerard. He was forced to watch them scarf the hot meals down, and Gerard was certain that they tried to assure that the scent wafted in his direction.

From his bed, Gerard stared upon foreign but familiar delicacies such as orange chicken, chow mien, fried shrimp, and hot and sour soup. His stomach growled even though it knew it could never handle even a bite of any of the foods before him, not with what it had been reduced to.

But they had decided that this taunting of hunger was not enough, and so the blackbirds thought to have some fun with the wooden chopsticks they had brought in with their meals.

Which brought Gerard to his current predicament, where there were two very hard, splintery chopsticks that were threatening to pierce the roof of his mouth as they held it open. Gerard, who had had plenty of experience with gagging as of lately, was able to tolerate this without doing so -- but he began to feel nervous when his tongue met what could only be blood.

They forced him to remain this way until they had finished their meal, which took at least somewhere around an hour and a half more. By the time they extracted the chopsticks, Gerard had to swallow a great mouthful of blood, which seemed even more insulting compared to the meal he had just witnessed.

The blackbirds cleaned their table, took their food, and quickly cleared out of the room. Gerard collapsed on the mattress, not expecting any more visitors for the night -- praying for no more visitors.

Yet following the trend of unfortunate events that Gerard seemed to constantly experience, this was not so. It was not very long after that the door lock could be heard opening again, and it took Gerard all his self restraint to not loudly groan at this announcement.

However when he turned around, he was almost happy to see the medical cart rolling inside with its many bottles and boxes, knowing who must be pushing it. The healer came in, and Gerard could feel that this was the same one who had been slipping him his little presents. He was not sure how, but he just knew.

The healer placed him into a sitting position and had him open his mouth. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but the healer still placed two packing rolls on either side, which were soft, tampon like bandages that were typically used for nose bleeds.

He began to check Gerard over in the general sense, and as he did, Gerard realized that he should not pass up the opportunity. He had to say something -- what, he didn't know --- but something....

"Thank you for the fruit strips." Gerard blurted out extremely meekly, just as the healer seemed like he might be almost finished. The healer said nothing, but Gerard felt brave and decided to continue, a bit louder this time. "...I used to eat them a lot. Back when I was home, and everything...." He paused, but only for a moment, before Gerard finally found what he had been wanting to ask.

"...Why are you so nice to me?"

There was a long silence. The healer only stared at him, and Gerard began to panic slightly. He felt almost sure that he had said the wrong thing, that he had confused the healer. The healer must not have been trying to help him at all, and now he was going to prove that by giving him some sort of horrid beating. Surely, he had made a mistake.

And the healer raised a gloved hand, causing Gerard to recoil. But the hand did not go towards him in some gesture meaning to harm. The healer grasped his mask -- and in one swift motion, he pulled it off his head.

Next chapter: "I might be going down in flames, but you'll burn with me!"