FicWad

Prologue-You're Never Gonna Be Cool So Stop Trying
Summary: “Come on! Whatever happened to third time lucky? Third time’s the charm?”

"Hey watch it creep!"
"Move it fag!"
"Watch where you're going, loser!"
"Such lovely vocabulary." I mumbled sarcastically, rubbing my painfully sore shoulder before I swept my dark, shoulder length brown hair out of my pale face, "Some people have obviously never heard of a dictionary."
"Move it freak!" I was shoved painfully to the cold, hard white corridor floor, causing my art folder to fall from my hands and my all ready beat up headphones to slip off.
“Ah fuck.” I cussed under my breath, hooking my headphones back on, sweeping my hair out of my face again and picking up my art folder, “I don’t understand why the bloody hell I even bother getting up in the morning and drag my ass to this shithole, I really don’t.” I mumbled furiously, shrugging my Misfits bag over my shoulder as I stood up.
I sighed heavily and tucked my folder underneath my arm to switch my I-pod from playing Queen to Iron Maiden before heading-cautiously- to my locker. Reason being is because the last time I wasn’t, my head was hit off it twenty times. The blood stains on it prove as much.
I let out a small breath of relief noticing no jocks were around to beat me up again. Of course, it was Friday; everyone left as quickly as possible.
I tugged at my locker to open it-only it didn’t open.
“Not again.” I groaned; this keeps on happening ever since my head was smashed off it. I did once have a lock combination-but it had fallen off. Making it much easier for assholes to take my stuff-mainly my art- and throw it out the window. Or put shit in it-literally. You would think, having no lock it would be easier to open. But it’s me we’re talking about here, so of course it would do the exact opposite.
“C’mon don’t do this to me.” I begged quietly, “Please you twisted, sick son of a bitch people call God, don’t start your shit.” I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried again-nothing, “Oh come on!” I cried out annoyed, “What the hell!?” I threw my arms up in exasperation then tried again-nada.
“Come on! Whatever happened to third time lucky? Third time’s the charm?” I asked no-one in particular.
I tucked a few strands of my hair behind my ear and tried again-no such luck.
“GOD DAMN IT!” I yelled, losing patience altogether and punching it, “FUCK! THAT HURT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU MADE FROM?! FUCKING TITANIUM?! GOD! FUCK THE SCHOOL BOARD AND THEIR CHEAP ASS LOCKER BUDGET!” I ranted holding my now throbbing hand which was now a flaming red rather than its usual deathly white.
I groaned loudly, running a hand through my already dishevelled hair then glared at a few freshman nerds who were snorting in laughter a few lockers down, before catching sight of my glare and quickly bolting away, still laughing, “Great, even nerds think I suck, fucking lovely.” I muttered sarcastically, hands on my hips.
I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking, then placed my leather boot clad foot on the door and pulled as hard as I could on my locker-absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. Zero.
“Fuck!” I cussed loudly, throwing my arms up in defeat.
I folded my arms and kicked my locker in childish frustration, “Ah fuck, fuck, fucking, fuckety fuck!” Which hurt like a bitch.
I quit hopping up and down on one foot and glared, “God, aren’t you violent? What did I ever do to you? I never asked to get my head hit off you like as thousand times.” I said irritated, knowing I wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon, “Why the fuck am I talking to my locker which is beating the shit outta me? That’s like, visiting a guy in prison who’s locked up because he tried to murder you.” I realised; I shook my head, “Okay, one more time.” I decided.
I pulled my locker door, “Got it!” BAM! “FUCK!” and the door swung around to hit me full in the face, “Ah fuck!” I cussed again, bending over and clutching my nose as I stumbled away from the violent thing, “Jesus Christ.” I groaned letting my hands fall limply to my sides, “WHAT THE HELL MAN?! IS IT TOO MUCH, TOO FUCKING MUCH TO ASK, FOR ONE, JUST ONE, SIMPLE, SINGLE, FUCKING DAY, JUST ONE! THAT’S ALL, FOR EVERYTHING TO GO OKAY! THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING FOR!” I shouted, throwing my arms up again then let them fall as I looked at my locker hopelessly, “Honestly, is it too much to ask?” I muttered; I ran a hand through my hair again and pulled my throbbing hand down my face-only to see red liquid over my hand; I stared at it blankly for a few seconds then threw my hands up again, “OKAY, I GET IT! IT’S TOO MUCH! YOU HAPPY?! NOTHING GOES OKAY! NOTHING! GOES O-FUCKING KAY! OKAY, I GET IT!” I let my hands drop to my sides again, and then placed them on my hips.
“Okay, fuck this shit, it’s the weekend, no more school, no more nagging teachers, no asshole jocks or slut like bitchy sluts to shove me or bitch at me, no more violent lockers, for two days.” I reassured myself, “Ha, and one month to graduation, can’t fucking wait.” I mumbled.
I sighed heavily and grabbed my science books from my locker. Though why I took science in the first place is a mystery to me. All I do is blow the freaking class up when doing experiments.
“I swear the minute the bell rings on the last day, I am outta here, arrividerci to six years of hell.” I muttered putting my books in my bag; I stood up to shut my locker over-only to hit my head off the corner of the door, “AH FUCK! FUCKING BASTARD! SHIT EATING MOTHERFUCKER!” I cussed in Italian, clutching my head, “GOD I CANNOT WAIT TO GET AWAY FROM YOU ON GRADUATION DAY!” I declared loudly, slamming my locker door shut.

I’m Gerard Way, eighteen years old, gay, live in Newark, New Jersey with my sixteen year old, sexuality confused electric appliance challenged, straightener obsessed brother, my thirty-seven year old cartoon illustrator mother, and my forty two year old father who works as a doctor. Both I and my brother go to Bellville high school where we’re known as the outcasts, the lowest of the low on the high school food chain. Me being the ‘faggot ass gothic art freak’ and my brother ‘an emo, geeky anorexic whore.’ And I’ve just been beaten up by my locker-again.
Welcome to an oh so perfect day, in my oh so perfect life.