Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Karma Police
So, so, so sorry for not updating any of Lorna’s stories in so long. My exams start tomorrow and they’re ultra-important so I’m just putting this up now to avoid you guys killing me. If you’ve been sending me mail telling me to hurry the eff up I haven’t seen them; I’ve been banned from the computer in order to study. As well as that, I’ve got a bad but of anaemia at the moment…stupid blood disorders. I’ll keep you posted and I’ll be free from school on the 24th of June.
Thanks for not killing me guys!
J
AAAAHHH So just as I took to my writing room (basically my bedroom with all the lights off and my cat keeping me company) my cat was next to me and when I started writing this he decided LET ME PLAY YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE and he won’t fucking stop meowing I MEAN JESUS CHRIST ATTICUS PLEASE KEEP MEOWING THE PEOPLE IN PHILEDELPHIA CAN’T HEAR YOU
AND DON’T YOU DARE TAKE A SHIT ON MY RADIOHEAD CD YOU LITTLE CUNT-CAT
LORNAIGH
Globe
It took place precisely one month after Frank Iero, his pseudo-guardian angel, had been sent by some unknown, presumably godly intervention to reform and improve his living standards. He was in his bedroom, History textbook splayed open in front of him while he tried to study. Ten minutes into his studying process, it had happened.
Everyone in Gerard’s hinterland had noticed the severe and drastic meander in the teenager’s mood, behaviour and manners. He was gruff, of course, but he hadn’t beaten someone up in seven days; a new record in his entire high school career. He assisted his mother in the homely chores and even extended his aid to improving Mikey’s grades and homework. On Wednesday evening Mikey had wrapped his arms around his older brother, thanking him endlessly; he’d gotten an A in French, thanks to Gerard.
Gerard was still rather alien to the situation. He wasn’t so allergic to this whole ‘karma’ deal anymore. He was feeling…better. In ways. Nothing could beat the warm gush of alcohol rushing down his throat or the adrenaline wave that came with sleeping men twenty years older than him but, as much as he loathed to admit it, it felt good when rewards came his way for being a reasonable human being. He didn’t get detention. His mother made his favourite meals and got him the new Call of Duty. He’d lost some chubbiness from staying off the booze and other fatty substances.
Of course, people began to question him. Where was Gerard gone to? The alcoholic, chain-smoking, promiscuous, trouble-making little cunt that made his family and friends’ life hell had disappeared and this wonder boy had taken his place. Gerard just shrugged the queries off, muttering about karma being a bitch. An odd response, most figured, but hey, he was an odd kid.
Donna Way had become a little weirded out by how much time Gerard was spending in his room. Not just in his room, but-last week she had been positive he had been talking to someone. He had been…laughing. It wasn’t on the phone and no visitors were over; she had peered through the crack in the door and seen Gerard reclining on the bed, hands behind his head, talking to himself. At least, that’s what it looked like. She pushed the door open cautiously, minding not to tip over the basket of laundry she had been carrying at the time.
“Honey?” She asked, smiling sweetly at her son. He regarded her with a defensive, shielded look, like a deer caught in headlights. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he spat back instantly. She felt wounded; he’d been behaving so well the last few weeks. Then, as if by magically reading her thoughts, he’d bitten his lip and looked downward. “S-sorry, mom. Yeah…everything’s cool.”
He was rubbing his temples intensely, she noticed. Squinting his eyes.
“Headache?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, headache.” He smiled wanely; he had been working his way to a full display of teeth for four weeks now. “Guess iPod’s up too loud.”
She nodded. She had seen her son reciprocate those actions quite a lot over the last month. “Okay, hon. You take a nap if you need it.”
Of course, Donna did not know what Gerard was actually being demanded to apologize by a five foot two, black-haired boy of sixteen that happened to die the year she was born. Frank had been chatting to Gerard amiably in the bedroom, the pair of them on the bed, when Donna had heard them. They had been discussing karma issues; Donna heard Gerard talking about his favourite Joy Division album.
Frank was like Gerard’s shortened shadow. He followed Way everywhere, minus the bathroom, and constantly monitored his mind, watched his mouth and controlled the movement and force of his fists. In times when Gerard’s raging temper had flared, Frank had murmured comforting, encouraging words of peace and Way had rendered down. This was particularly so in school; ever since Frank and Bert’s unfortunate little run-in together, McCracken had made his name dirt. Gerard had fumed and fussed but Frank had been adamant.
“Just hold your head high and ignore him,” had been whispered to Gerard in fourth-period English, when all heads had turned to him. “Don’t worry, Gerard. He’ll get his. What goes around comes around.”
Gerard had actually been a little creeped out by Frank’s ominous message of revenge. Then he had remembered; he reaps what he sows for a living.
Way himself didn’t like his reaction whenever Frank appeared right in front of him. If there was a free desk in school, Frank would be sitting next to him and their legs would touch; when brushing the floor for his mom Frank would be atop a counter, flicking through Mrs. Way’s endless supply of Rachael Ray cookbooks. Way felt that stupid, surly, lovesick churning of the intestines much too often for his liking, always around Frank. What’s more, he had not ceased to think explicit things about his karma police officer. And yet Frank had stopped scolding him for doing so.
At night-time, when Gerard would pull his duvet covers up to his chin and wait for Frank to quench the lights for him, he would see the outline of the dead boy by the window sill, just the dark trace of Frank’s facial features, his slim figure, his fluffy tufts of hair. The image, for whatever bizarre and absurd reason, always made Gerard feel desperately sad. It made him think of Frank’s own life and death. Gerard wondered what he thought about. His fiancé, probably.
Presently they were in Gerard’s bedroom, Frankie atop his bed, the older boy seated neatly at his desk. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to further understand the question; something about the Cold War. Gerard grumbled to himself. He hated History.
“Who overthrew General Batista again?” He asked the room, smiling craftily, leaning back on the chair. He looked to Frankie, wrapped up in Gerard’s Marvel Comics duvet cover; he was staring at a blank spot on the wall, face utterly undetectable and blank. His eyes were golden; thanks to his handy tutoring previously, Gerard knew this meant he himself was in a great mood. He didn’t like this though; he wished he could read Frank’s mind instead.
“Frankie? Yo, dude?” He jiggled the boy’s shoulder lightly. Frankie was slightly off today. “Earth to karma boy. Gerard here.”
Frank paused for a moment, then blinked harshly. His entire eyes turned white as snow. He was, as he had put it in the kitchen some weeks ago, Unplugged.
Gerard had found out, via his trust network of Frank, this was the only time that a karma police officer would not be aware of their client’s doings and whereabouts. During Frank’s duration of being Unplugged Gerard could drink, fight and fuck and the boy would never know. Way wasn’t contemplating completing those activities now, but he knew it was available.
He waited momentarily, blinking patiently. He looked out the window; just moments ago the weather had been crisp and fresh, wind seldom and warm. Kids in striped t-shirts had been frolicking amongst sprinklers. Little girls had been jumping rope on the street, yelling chants and concentrating on tripping each other up. Dogs had been yapping, mothers rocking prams easily by doorways.
The sky was dark, almost black, heavy with clouds and oncoming rain. Clouds had gathered together like a hoard of bullies and were looking ominous as they loomed above the neighbourhood. Gerard could see sunshine beyond the cul-de-sac, so he knew they were the only area being affected. Children were looking to the sky with a sort of fearful confusion, as if too afraid to question the sudden swing in temperature and setting. They were being ushered inside by equally confused parents, snatching quick glances backwards as if they didn’t quite believe their eyes. Gerard quirked an eyebrow and directed his vision back to the other boy.
“Frankie,” he called a little louder than a standard speaking tone. “Can you hear me?”
Iero looked to him suddenly, a swirling mist of oncoming danger present in Frank’s dead, white, lifeless eyes. There was something different in these eyes compared with every other they had detailed whilst being in Gerard’s company. They seemed…evil. Liable to attack. It reminded Gerard of the ominous quote from Jaws: “Sharks got lifeless eyes. Lifeless eyes that just rooooooll…right before he swims up and bites ya.”
“What do you think it is,” Frank muttered softly in a comatose hiss that did not belong to him. Gerard froze in his chair, paralyzed by aversion. He could hear the galloping, sweeping winds outside, the weather’s fists beating savagely against his window pane. Everything felt amplified by six, like his senses were extra perceptive today. The hairs on his neck prickled with an uncomfortable, cold sensation. “What do you think makes a person evil?”
Way was staring at Frank, mouth hanging open a fraction. Frank was staring right back, terrible blank eyes flickering slightly. His blood-tears were seeping slowly down from his eyeducts, slipping down his cheeks and along the outline of his neck. It was like something from a horror movie-Gerard had always been a fan of the particularly nasty Japanese ones, but they were nothing up against this Frank.
“Well?” Frank asked in that deadly whisper again. The wind was practically howling now. Bunny was mewing sharply from the back porch. “What do you think?”
Gerard saw Frank clutch something tightly in his balled fist, so tightly that his knuckles were blazing white. There was a rather sick ripping noise as the bones poked through his pale skin; Gerard turned a sickly shade of cream and fell off his chair. Frank was seething with anger like Gerard had never seen before. Thick wisps of toxic black were exiting his ears like a scene in a comic book. There was smoke coming from inside his fist as well. Gerard backed up, scrabbling, against his wardrobe, utterly terrified.
“I used to think everyone was born sin-free,” Frank said, eyes focusing on Gerard again. A dark, eerie glow was encasing the karma police officer like a shawl. Way was crying by now; it was so horrific, to see the most perfect boy in the world transform into this monster. “That was before I got into this fucking karma business. Dealing with fuck-ups every day of the goddamn week. Makes me SICK.”
The last word had been roared. Gerard heard Mikey call out in the distance in a high-pitched, fretful tone. The older boy’s throat was too constricted, too asphyxiated to reply.
“You gotta be the sickest goddamn piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” was the next sinful slur emmited from Frank’s mouth. This was not Frank; this was the same voice Gerard had heard when he had helped the dead boy up in the kitchen some weeks ago. “I can’t believe I fucking let Frank come down here to you, you little bastard. You’re corrupting his thoughts, fuck-face. Never in the fucking history of the KPC has someone been such a little prick. Watch yourself, you-“
“Gee!” Mikey, flushed with blood and breathless, finally forced the door open with such might he fell over. His older brother was sitting, shoved up against his wardrobe. There were wisps of dark smoke lilting gently across the room like dead butterflies. Small parts of Gerard’s duvet cover were singed with dark soot. Gerard was slick with sweat, and indeed tears. His hazel eyes were drawn to the window.
Smeared in blood across the glass was…
…this is what you get when you mess with us.
After what Donna Way described to the police what she thought was a break-in, Gerard was allowed to stay home from school for two weeks. He was in shock; shock that he had been yelled at, shock of the bleeding eyes, shock at the blood on the window. Shock that it had gone wrong so quickly, shock of the blood-stopping message on the wall.
Not a message, his brain reminded him now. Not a message but a warning.
“What does it mean?” Donna had asked the room desperately after the incident, clasping Gerard to her chest. “Oh God, what does it mean? ‘This is what you get when you mess with us’."
“Probably one of those gangs Gerard hangs around with now,” Donald, Gerard’s father, had said in a disapproving tone. “Y’know, come to reap their revenge or something.”
“A gang?” Missus Way had wailed. “Oh Lord, my poor baby!”
Gerard told no one of the real reason. How could he? How could he possibly come to his mother, father and brother and tell them of his experience with Frank? Was Frank ever real; had he even existed, or had Gerard’s mind simply concocted a solution in order to cope with his unhappy lifestyle? Was he just…insane?
No. The singe marks. The burned lamp. The sheer memory of the touch of the karma police officer.
That was mostly what Gerard missed. It sounded stupid, girly even, to think about, to think that he missed some dead kid from the sixties, something that wasn’t alive. Frank was just the same as the creatures from Dawn of the Dead, from 28 Days Later; he was Undead. He missed Frank’s small smile, his smooth voice. He felt bad that their last moments together had been spent over dull history homework.
Gerard was sitting on his bed, nearing midnight, listening to his iPod as he trolled mindlessly through Facebook. He hated half of these losers; the other he didn’t remotely know. He scowled as he scrolled through endless statuses and event listings, his mind still hovering to the spot in the corner of the room where Frank’s weird fiancé-thing had shouted at him. Bunny, Mikey’s cat, was settled in Gerard’s lap, purring contentedly.
“Song lyrics,” Gerard scoffed, stroking Bunny’s ear. “How fucking original, hipster.”
Gerard opened another tab on his computer and went straight into the Google search engine, meaning to search the name of the new Misfits album. Unfortunately he forgot his intentions halfway through and suddenly found himself at a stump, rifling through his mind as he attempted desperately to remember what he had wanted to look up.
“What was I gonna look up, huh?” He murmured to Bunny as he scratched under her chin. “What was I gonna look up…”
Bunny regarded him with a withering look.
Suddenly, Gerard’s fingertips received an urgent message from his brain. Quickly, and without a second thought, his fingers quickly jabbed the following letters: karma police.
He waited with baited breath as he watched the computer screen load. Bunny pounced from his lap onto the floor, apathetic. She began to lick daintily at her paws as Gerard drummed his fingers on his laptop’s fingerboard.
The only results were Youtube videos for the Radiohead song, Gerard realized with a bitter smile. He went back to his original search and followed with the word ‘constabulary’.
Bunny began to hiss. Gerard swore and aimed a shirt in her direction.
“Shut the fuck up. Shoulda gotta dog, I swear…”
Gerard’s eyes bulged suddenly when the computer buzzed. He saw several Youtube videos; the title of the first one was Karma Police Officers-Fact or Fiction? There was several million hits for the search…he spotted the Wikipedia page and snapped on the link.
The term ‘Karma Police Constabulary’ is an urban legend combining the Hindu beliefs of karma and the societal authoritarians of ‘police’. The legend goes that if an individual is leading an immoral existence that a ghostly figure (deceased person; or the Undead) will guide them through a year of training to achieve self-actualization in order to fulfil their self-worth. People who claim to have been reformed by ‘karma police officers’ (see Article 3) often exhibit an association towards the song ‘Karma Police’, released by English indie band Radiohead, from their 2000 album OK Computer. This is believed to be the anthem of the Karma Police Constabulary.
“Jesus,” Gerard said as he scanned through the page. He recognized the badge that had been adorning Frank’s naval jacket the first night they had met; a light blue background with a wheel with eight spokes in the foreground. Behind the wheel had been two diagonal swords. The words ‘this is what you get’ met ‘when you mess with us’ around the wheel. He felt his throat close up suddenly; he was drawn to Bunny, snarling, focused on a certain spot.
Frank.
Gerard jumped out of his skin and ripped his headphones from his ears.
Frank stood there, eyes a light yellow; Gerard was scared. He was wearing his naval uniform again (Gerard snapped the tab shut on his computer, not wanting Frank to know he had been reading up about the traditions of the KPC) and a small, kind smile. Today, however, the medals weren’t the only thing decorating Frank; purple bruises were marked along his skin. Gerard remembered Frank explaining he was dead, and therefore could not feel pain; nonetheless, his blood boiled to think of someone laying their hands on Frank.
He took a step forward, only for Gerard to fly from his bed and catch Frank in a tight embrace. Way felt strange, idiotic and girly, hugging a dead thing in such a loving manner as this. Frank was warm and soft, like a stuffed animal, and Gerard felt this unbelievable feeling of relief as he hugged his guardian. He said nothing-there was no need to. Frank had his own methods of communicating.
“I missed you too, Gerard,” he said softly, smiling. For a minute, they were just two friends, completely normal, sharing a hug.
Gerard tugged Frank even closer. He was going to find out who hit Frank. And that, important police prick or not, Gerard was gonna whup his karma loving ass.
Well that was a great end to a chapter wasn’t it Lorna I can’t wait until we win the Pulitzer this year
*severe sarcasm* Sorry for how shit that was; promise the next one will be better. I wrote this at like three in the morning with a French essay due, so…
And would you believe that cat still hasn’t goddamn shut up
Thanks for not killing me guys!
J
AAAAHHH So just as I took to my writing room (basically my bedroom with all the lights off and my cat keeping me company) my cat was next to me and when I started writing this he decided LET ME PLAY YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE and he won’t fucking stop meowing I MEAN JESUS CHRIST ATTICUS PLEASE KEEP MEOWING THE PEOPLE IN PHILEDELPHIA CAN’T HEAR YOU
AND DON’T YOU DARE TAKE A SHIT ON MY RADIOHEAD CD YOU LITTLE CUNT-CAT
LORNAIGH
Globe
It took place precisely one month after Frank Iero, his pseudo-guardian angel, had been sent by some unknown, presumably godly intervention to reform and improve his living standards. He was in his bedroom, History textbook splayed open in front of him while he tried to study. Ten minutes into his studying process, it had happened.
Everyone in Gerard’s hinterland had noticed the severe and drastic meander in the teenager’s mood, behaviour and manners. He was gruff, of course, but he hadn’t beaten someone up in seven days; a new record in his entire high school career. He assisted his mother in the homely chores and even extended his aid to improving Mikey’s grades and homework. On Wednesday evening Mikey had wrapped his arms around his older brother, thanking him endlessly; he’d gotten an A in French, thanks to Gerard.
Gerard was still rather alien to the situation. He wasn’t so allergic to this whole ‘karma’ deal anymore. He was feeling…better. In ways. Nothing could beat the warm gush of alcohol rushing down his throat or the adrenaline wave that came with sleeping men twenty years older than him but, as much as he loathed to admit it, it felt good when rewards came his way for being a reasonable human being. He didn’t get detention. His mother made his favourite meals and got him the new Call of Duty. He’d lost some chubbiness from staying off the booze and other fatty substances.
Of course, people began to question him. Where was Gerard gone to? The alcoholic, chain-smoking, promiscuous, trouble-making little cunt that made his family and friends’ life hell had disappeared and this wonder boy had taken his place. Gerard just shrugged the queries off, muttering about karma being a bitch. An odd response, most figured, but hey, he was an odd kid.
Donna Way had become a little weirded out by how much time Gerard was spending in his room. Not just in his room, but-last week she had been positive he had been talking to someone. He had been…laughing. It wasn’t on the phone and no visitors were over; she had peered through the crack in the door and seen Gerard reclining on the bed, hands behind his head, talking to himself. At least, that’s what it looked like. She pushed the door open cautiously, minding not to tip over the basket of laundry she had been carrying at the time.
“Honey?” She asked, smiling sweetly at her son. He regarded her with a defensive, shielded look, like a deer caught in headlights. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he spat back instantly. She felt wounded; he’d been behaving so well the last few weeks. Then, as if by magically reading her thoughts, he’d bitten his lip and looked downward. “S-sorry, mom. Yeah…everything’s cool.”
He was rubbing his temples intensely, she noticed. Squinting his eyes.
“Headache?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, headache.” He smiled wanely; he had been working his way to a full display of teeth for four weeks now. “Guess iPod’s up too loud.”
She nodded. She had seen her son reciprocate those actions quite a lot over the last month. “Okay, hon. You take a nap if you need it.”
Of course, Donna did not know what Gerard was actually being demanded to apologize by a five foot two, black-haired boy of sixteen that happened to die the year she was born. Frank had been chatting to Gerard amiably in the bedroom, the pair of them on the bed, when Donna had heard them. They had been discussing karma issues; Donna heard Gerard talking about his favourite Joy Division album.
Frank was like Gerard’s shortened shadow. He followed Way everywhere, minus the bathroom, and constantly monitored his mind, watched his mouth and controlled the movement and force of his fists. In times when Gerard’s raging temper had flared, Frank had murmured comforting, encouraging words of peace and Way had rendered down. This was particularly so in school; ever since Frank and Bert’s unfortunate little run-in together, McCracken had made his name dirt. Gerard had fumed and fussed but Frank had been adamant.
“Just hold your head high and ignore him,” had been whispered to Gerard in fourth-period English, when all heads had turned to him. “Don’t worry, Gerard. He’ll get his. What goes around comes around.”
Gerard had actually been a little creeped out by Frank’s ominous message of revenge. Then he had remembered; he reaps what he sows for a living.
Way himself didn’t like his reaction whenever Frank appeared right in front of him. If there was a free desk in school, Frank would be sitting next to him and their legs would touch; when brushing the floor for his mom Frank would be atop a counter, flicking through Mrs. Way’s endless supply of Rachael Ray cookbooks. Way felt that stupid, surly, lovesick churning of the intestines much too often for his liking, always around Frank. What’s more, he had not ceased to think explicit things about his karma police officer. And yet Frank had stopped scolding him for doing so.
At night-time, when Gerard would pull his duvet covers up to his chin and wait for Frank to quench the lights for him, he would see the outline of the dead boy by the window sill, just the dark trace of Frank’s facial features, his slim figure, his fluffy tufts of hair. The image, for whatever bizarre and absurd reason, always made Gerard feel desperately sad. It made him think of Frank’s own life and death. Gerard wondered what he thought about. His fiancé, probably.
Presently they were in Gerard’s bedroom, Frankie atop his bed, the older boy seated neatly at his desk. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to further understand the question; something about the Cold War. Gerard grumbled to himself. He hated History.
“Who overthrew General Batista again?” He asked the room, smiling craftily, leaning back on the chair. He looked to Frankie, wrapped up in Gerard’s Marvel Comics duvet cover; he was staring at a blank spot on the wall, face utterly undetectable and blank. His eyes were golden; thanks to his handy tutoring previously, Gerard knew this meant he himself was in a great mood. He didn’t like this though; he wished he could read Frank’s mind instead.
“Frankie? Yo, dude?” He jiggled the boy’s shoulder lightly. Frankie was slightly off today. “Earth to karma boy. Gerard here.”
Frank paused for a moment, then blinked harshly. His entire eyes turned white as snow. He was, as he had put it in the kitchen some weeks ago, Unplugged.
Gerard had found out, via his trust network of Frank, this was the only time that a karma police officer would not be aware of their client’s doings and whereabouts. During Frank’s duration of being Unplugged Gerard could drink, fight and fuck and the boy would never know. Way wasn’t contemplating completing those activities now, but he knew it was available.
He waited momentarily, blinking patiently. He looked out the window; just moments ago the weather had been crisp and fresh, wind seldom and warm. Kids in striped t-shirts had been frolicking amongst sprinklers. Little girls had been jumping rope on the street, yelling chants and concentrating on tripping each other up. Dogs had been yapping, mothers rocking prams easily by doorways.
The sky was dark, almost black, heavy with clouds and oncoming rain. Clouds had gathered together like a hoard of bullies and were looking ominous as they loomed above the neighbourhood. Gerard could see sunshine beyond the cul-de-sac, so he knew they were the only area being affected. Children were looking to the sky with a sort of fearful confusion, as if too afraid to question the sudden swing in temperature and setting. They were being ushered inside by equally confused parents, snatching quick glances backwards as if they didn’t quite believe their eyes. Gerard quirked an eyebrow and directed his vision back to the other boy.
“Frankie,” he called a little louder than a standard speaking tone. “Can you hear me?”
Iero looked to him suddenly, a swirling mist of oncoming danger present in Frank’s dead, white, lifeless eyes. There was something different in these eyes compared with every other they had detailed whilst being in Gerard’s company. They seemed…evil. Liable to attack. It reminded Gerard of the ominous quote from Jaws: “Sharks got lifeless eyes. Lifeless eyes that just rooooooll…right before he swims up and bites ya.”
“What do you think it is,” Frank muttered softly in a comatose hiss that did not belong to him. Gerard froze in his chair, paralyzed by aversion. He could hear the galloping, sweeping winds outside, the weather’s fists beating savagely against his window pane. Everything felt amplified by six, like his senses were extra perceptive today. The hairs on his neck prickled with an uncomfortable, cold sensation. “What do you think makes a person evil?”
Way was staring at Frank, mouth hanging open a fraction. Frank was staring right back, terrible blank eyes flickering slightly. His blood-tears were seeping slowly down from his eyeducts, slipping down his cheeks and along the outline of his neck. It was like something from a horror movie-Gerard had always been a fan of the particularly nasty Japanese ones, but they were nothing up against this Frank.
“Well?” Frank asked in that deadly whisper again. The wind was practically howling now. Bunny was mewing sharply from the back porch. “What do you think?”
Gerard saw Frank clutch something tightly in his balled fist, so tightly that his knuckles were blazing white. There was a rather sick ripping noise as the bones poked through his pale skin; Gerard turned a sickly shade of cream and fell off his chair. Frank was seething with anger like Gerard had never seen before. Thick wisps of toxic black were exiting his ears like a scene in a comic book. There was smoke coming from inside his fist as well. Gerard backed up, scrabbling, against his wardrobe, utterly terrified.
“I used to think everyone was born sin-free,” Frank said, eyes focusing on Gerard again. A dark, eerie glow was encasing the karma police officer like a shawl. Way was crying by now; it was so horrific, to see the most perfect boy in the world transform into this monster. “That was before I got into this fucking karma business. Dealing with fuck-ups every day of the goddamn week. Makes me SICK.”
The last word had been roared. Gerard heard Mikey call out in the distance in a high-pitched, fretful tone. The older boy’s throat was too constricted, too asphyxiated to reply.
“You gotta be the sickest goddamn piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” was the next sinful slur emmited from Frank’s mouth. This was not Frank; this was the same voice Gerard had heard when he had helped the dead boy up in the kitchen some weeks ago. “I can’t believe I fucking let Frank come down here to you, you little bastard. You’re corrupting his thoughts, fuck-face. Never in the fucking history of the KPC has someone been such a little prick. Watch yourself, you-“
“Gee!” Mikey, flushed with blood and breathless, finally forced the door open with such might he fell over. His older brother was sitting, shoved up against his wardrobe. There were wisps of dark smoke lilting gently across the room like dead butterflies. Small parts of Gerard’s duvet cover were singed with dark soot. Gerard was slick with sweat, and indeed tears. His hazel eyes were drawn to the window.
Smeared in blood across the glass was…
…this is what you get when you mess with us.
After what Donna Way described to the police what she thought was a break-in, Gerard was allowed to stay home from school for two weeks. He was in shock; shock that he had been yelled at, shock of the bleeding eyes, shock at the blood on the window. Shock that it had gone wrong so quickly, shock of the blood-stopping message on the wall.
Not a message, his brain reminded him now. Not a message but a warning.
“What does it mean?” Donna had asked the room desperately after the incident, clasping Gerard to her chest. “Oh God, what does it mean? ‘This is what you get when you mess with us’."
“Probably one of those gangs Gerard hangs around with now,” Donald, Gerard’s father, had said in a disapproving tone. “Y’know, come to reap their revenge or something.”
“A gang?” Missus Way had wailed. “Oh Lord, my poor baby!”
Gerard told no one of the real reason. How could he? How could he possibly come to his mother, father and brother and tell them of his experience with Frank? Was Frank ever real; had he even existed, or had Gerard’s mind simply concocted a solution in order to cope with his unhappy lifestyle? Was he just…insane?
No. The singe marks. The burned lamp. The sheer memory of the touch of the karma police officer.
That was mostly what Gerard missed. It sounded stupid, girly even, to think about, to think that he missed some dead kid from the sixties, something that wasn’t alive. Frank was just the same as the creatures from Dawn of the Dead, from 28 Days Later; he was Undead. He missed Frank’s small smile, his smooth voice. He felt bad that their last moments together had been spent over dull history homework.
Gerard was sitting on his bed, nearing midnight, listening to his iPod as he trolled mindlessly through Facebook. He hated half of these losers; the other he didn’t remotely know. He scowled as he scrolled through endless statuses and event listings, his mind still hovering to the spot in the corner of the room where Frank’s weird fiancé-thing had shouted at him. Bunny, Mikey’s cat, was settled in Gerard’s lap, purring contentedly.
“Song lyrics,” Gerard scoffed, stroking Bunny’s ear. “How fucking original, hipster.”
Gerard opened another tab on his computer and went straight into the Google search engine, meaning to search the name of the new Misfits album. Unfortunately he forgot his intentions halfway through and suddenly found himself at a stump, rifling through his mind as he attempted desperately to remember what he had wanted to look up.
“What was I gonna look up, huh?” He murmured to Bunny as he scratched under her chin. “What was I gonna look up…”
Bunny regarded him with a withering look.
Suddenly, Gerard’s fingertips received an urgent message from his brain. Quickly, and without a second thought, his fingers quickly jabbed the following letters: karma police.
He waited with baited breath as he watched the computer screen load. Bunny pounced from his lap onto the floor, apathetic. She began to lick daintily at her paws as Gerard drummed his fingers on his laptop’s fingerboard.
The only results were Youtube videos for the Radiohead song, Gerard realized with a bitter smile. He went back to his original search and followed with the word ‘constabulary’.
Bunny began to hiss. Gerard swore and aimed a shirt in her direction.
“Shut the fuck up. Shoulda gotta dog, I swear…”
Gerard’s eyes bulged suddenly when the computer buzzed. He saw several Youtube videos; the title of the first one was Karma Police Officers-Fact or Fiction? There was several million hits for the search…he spotted the Wikipedia page and snapped on the link.
The term ‘Karma Police Constabulary’ is an urban legend combining the Hindu beliefs of karma and the societal authoritarians of ‘police’. The legend goes that if an individual is leading an immoral existence that a ghostly figure (deceased person; or the Undead) will guide them through a year of training to achieve self-actualization in order to fulfil their self-worth. People who claim to have been reformed by ‘karma police officers’ (see Article 3) often exhibit an association towards the song ‘Karma Police’, released by English indie band Radiohead, from their 2000 album OK Computer. This is believed to be the anthem of the Karma Police Constabulary.
“Jesus,” Gerard said as he scanned through the page. He recognized the badge that had been adorning Frank’s naval jacket the first night they had met; a light blue background with a wheel with eight spokes in the foreground. Behind the wheel had been two diagonal swords. The words ‘this is what you get’ met ‘when you mess with us’ around the wheel. He felt his throat close up suddenly; he was drawn to Bunny, snarling, focused on a certain spot.
Frank.
Gerard jumped out of his skin and ripped his headphones from his ears.
Frank stood there, eyes a light yellow; Gerard was scared. He was wearing his naval uniform again (Gerard snapped the tab shut on his computer, not wanting Frank to know he had been reading up about the traditions of the KPC) and a small, kind smile. Today, however, the medals weren’t the only thing decorating Frank; purple bruises were marked along his skin. Gerard remembered Frank explaining he was dead, and therefore could not feel pain; nonetheless, his blood boiled to think of someone laying their hands on Frank.
He took a step forward, only for Gerard to fly from his bed and catch Frank in a tight embrace. Way felt strange, idiotic and girly, hugging a dead thing in such a loving manner as this. Frank was warm and soft, like a stuffed animal, and Gerard felt this unbelievable feeling of relief as he hugged his guardian. He said nothing-there was no need to. Frank had his own methods of communicating.
“I missed you too, Gerard,” he said softly, smiling. For a minute, they were just two friends, completely normal, sharing a hug.
Gerard tugged Frank even closer. He was going to find out who hit Frank. And that, important police prick or not, Gerard was gonna whup his karma loving ass.
Well that was a great end to a chapter wasn’t it Lorna I can’t wait until we win the Pulitzer this year
*severe sarcasm* Sorry for how shit that was; promise the next one will be better. I wrote this at like three in the morning with a French essay due, so…
And would you believe that cat still hasn’t goddamn shut up
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