FicWad

My first attempt at Frerard, but it's not very conventional...

I blinked hard and sat up. "Another dream," I muttered, sighing. Well... dream wasn't exactly the right word. Idea was slightly more accurate. Sleep and consciousness had long since melted together. I no longer knew what was real. Nothing was a dream. Everything was a dream.

I got out of bed slowly and stumbled upstairs to the kitchen. I needed coffee, and needed it badly. I brewed a cup and sat at the table while I waited. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I sighed. I could still remember the dream, as vividly as if it had just happened. The colors, the smells of the countryside. But this time it wasn't my fault. I didn't cause this and I did what I had to. No, this wasn't my fault. It normally was.

This time, however, Frank and I were standing on the side of the highway, just past the barrier. Frank's arm was around my waist as we watched the sunset peacefully. I rested my head on his shoulder and smiled. I had finally gotten Frank. After years of waiting and wishing. But alas, it was a dream. That much I knew, even while I was still dreaming it.

Frank let his arm fall from my waist so he could hoist his jeans, which were slipping. He shuffled his feet, trying to make it easier to pull the tight pants up.

That's when he tripped over the rock. I yelled, and before I knew it, Frank was rolling down the hill. I quickly ran after him, trying to catch him before he reached the bottom. I was too late. I tried. I did.

There was a sickening crack as Frank's head collided with the base of a tree. I finally reached him and knelt over his motionless body.

"F-Frank?" I held back the vile and tried to ignore the pungent smell of the blood covering Frank's face. His legs were broken and a branch was embedded in his torso.

Frank groaned slightly and looked into my eyes, struggling to focus. I looked at him in shock.

"You're still..."

"G-Gerard... h-help... me..."

I knew what had to be done. Frank couldn't live like this. He'd never walk again. Never play on stage. And judging from the branch in his side, he might be completely paralyzed.

I picked up a rock the size of my fist and lifted it above my head. I thrust down quickly. Over and over, I hit Frank in the face, sobbing as his skull shattered, cracking under the weight of the rock.

The teapot whistled, snapping me out of my stupor. I got up and turned it off, pouring it into the strainer of coffee grounds.

This dream wasn't as bad as the others. It wasn't my fault. I did what I had to do.

So why was I disappointed?