Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Neon Angels and Fucking Garbage
Author's Note- HEAR YE HEAR YE!! I'm GerardAllTheWay- trust me, and I'm here to rewrite and repost my stories!! The first one (the only one I can find right now) was previously title "Neon Angels and Fucking Garbage". It still has that title because of one of Frank's lines later on. Okay? Okay. And baby, I can face all the pain and take it on so haters gonna hate and procreators gonna procreate. BOOM BABY.
I stood on the roof of a building, overlooking the smoldering city beneath me. Flames still flickered across the heaps of debris surrounding the building I stood on. A cold hand entwined itself in mine.
"Frankie.." A smooth, velvet-like voice whispered in my ear. I turned to look, but it disappeared.
"Don't despair, we'll meet again..." The voice echoed round the empty city again. I pondered the words, and drowned in my thought, I did not feel the sharp shove that was used to push me off the edge of the building, into the slowly dying bed of fire at the bottom.
...
BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKING BEEP!!
The alarm clock beside my bed started screaming its tiny, mechanical lungs out.
"Alright, alright, keep your speakers on," I retorted grumpily before pulling myself out of the Frank Anthony Thomas Iero- scented haven I called bed and trudging to the mirror. My hair was everywhere. Agh. Sometimes, I wanted to smack the scrawny, pale, little thing in the mirror. Yes, it's not even a person, it's a thing. I don't exactly consider myself a person anymore. Frowning, I slipped out of my clothes and hit the shower. I bet I showered more than the sweaty jocks at my last school. No, seriously, you smelled them before you saw them. It was.... disgusting. Even more disgusting that Madonna's boobs. Oh, yeah, I left something out. I'M GAY. Yes, yes, it's out, don't hit me.
...
Moments later, I was out of the shower and into the closet. No, no, I wasn't back to denying the fact I was gay, I was actually in a closet. I flicked through the clothes hanging on the rack and plucked off a Black Flag hoodie, a tight-fitting dark grey V-neck to go undneath and a pair of ripped white jeans. Before you start off with the 'gay' remarks, I knew I looked alright in those jeans. I only wore them occasionally. And today was a pretty fucking good reason to wear them. I had just moved house, my mom had finally agreed to move in with her boyfriend and decided to bring me with her. Honestly, I would've been fine staying in Vegas with my friends Spencer, Jon, Brendon and Ryan but noooooo, WhatsHisFace was so much more 'important' to Mom than her own son. Insert dramatic sigh here. Fucking internet dating site they met on. Grrrrrr. Anyway, back to my appearance. I sound so narcissistic and vain there.. NEVER MIND. So, where was I, oh yes, my jeans... To compliment the bright white of my pants, I picked out a pair of black Doc Martens. To finish off the deranged, messed up masterpiece, I rimmed my eyes in scarlet eyeliner and stuck a small silver hoop through my lip. And my nose. Yes, I have my nose and lip and ears pierced, got a problem? No? Didn't think so. So, I looked in the mirror. Wow. I actually looked decent... The side of my hair that was black covered my eye and the shaved red side was, well, er, you get the picture.
"FRANK!!!!" A shrill voice broke the beautiful silence I had going there. Jesus, my stepsister could yell when she wanted to. After flashing a grin at the dude in the mirror, I slid down the banister to the ground floor of the small house we lived in.
"FRANK!!" Cynthia called out again.
"YES, I'M COMING!! KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON!!" I yelled back at her. When I walked into the kitchen, I had to duck to avoid a soapy frying pan being swung at my head.
"Breakfast, you cocky fucker. Eat it now." Let me introduce my stepsister, Cynthia. Well, she'll be a stepsister soon. I'm pretty sure she was the Devil in a previous life. She's one of those fake-baked, peroxide blonde, Oompa-Loompa girls. Yes, she's on the slut- oops, I honestly meant to say cheerleading team there. I hate her, she hates me. She's a few years older than me. After saving my head from the Frying Pan of Doom, I sat down to not eat breakfast and drink about five cups of coffee. I was addicted to that stuff, if I didn't have it, I turned into something worse than a PMS-ing teenage girl with extreme hormonal problems. Yeah.
"Whatever you do, avoid me at school." Her voice broke the awesome silence.
"You think I'm gonna come near a bunch of peroxide Barbies? Hah," I scoffed, "not fucking likely." And with that, I drained my fifth mug of coffee, grabbed my bag and danced out the door. The bus stop was a couple blocks away, so I pulled out my trusty iPod and settled the earbuds in. Selecting Green Day off a long list of artists, I strolled down the streets in the drizzling rain. Lucky I had pulled my hood up earlier, eh? While Billie Joe sang about being an American idiot, I thought about the chances of survival in this new school.. It was obviously zero.
R & R? I LOVE ALL OF YOOOOOUUUU- well, except for her. I think you all know who I mean. AND NO IT IS NOT YOU HAILI I FREAKING LOVE YOU.
I stood on the roof of a building, overlooking the smoldering city beneath me. Flames still flickered across the heaps of debris surrounding the building I stood on. A cold hand entwined itself in mine.
"Frankie.." A smooth, velvet-like voice whispered in my ear. I turned to look, but it disappeared.
"Don't despair, we'll meet again..." The voice echoed round the empty city again. I pondered the words, and drowned in my thought, I did not feel the sharp shove that was used to push me off the edge of the building, into the slowly dying bed of fire at the bottom.
...
BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKING BEEP!!
The alarm clock beside my bed started screaming its tiny, mechanical lungs out.
"Alright, alright, keep your speakers on," I retorted grumpily before pulling myself out of the Frank Anthony Thomas Iero- scented haven I called bed and trudging to the mirror. My hair was everywhere. Agh. Sometimes, I wanted to smack the scrawny, pale, little thing in the mirror. Yes, it's not even a person, it's a thing. I don't exactly consider myself a person anymore. Frowning, I slipped out of my clothes and hit the shower. I bet I showered more than the sweaty jocks at my last school. No, seriously, you smelled them before you saw them. It was.... disgusting. Even more disgusting that Madonna's boobs. Oh, yeah, I left something out. I'M GAY. Yes, yes, it's out, don't hit me.
...
Moments later, I was out of the shower and into the closet. No, no, I wasn't back to denying the fact I was gay, I was actually in a closet. I flicked through the clothes hanging on the rack and plucked off a Black Flag hoodie, a tight-fitting dark grey V-neck to go undneath and a pair of ripped white jeans. Before you start off with the 'gay' remarks, I knew I looked alright in those jeans. I only wore them occasionally. And today was a pretty fucking good reason to wear them. I had just moved house, my mom had finally agreed to move in with her boyfriend and decided to bring me with her. Honestly, I would've been fine staying in Vegas with my friends Spencer, Jon, Brendon and Ryan but noooooo, WhatsHisFace was so much more 'important' to Mom than her own son. Insert dramatic sigh here. Fucking internet dating site they met on. Grrrrrr. Anyway, back to my appearance. I sound so narcissistic and vain there.. NEVER MIND. So, where was I, oh yes, my jeans... To compliment the bright white of my pants, I picked out a pair of black Doc Martens. To finish off the deranged, messed up masterpiece, I rimmed my eyes in scarlet eyeliner and stuck a small silver hoop through my lip. And my nose. Yes, I have my nose and lip and ears pierced, got a problem? No? Didn't think so. So, I looked in the mirror. Wow. I actually looked decent... The side of my hair that was black covered my eye and the shaved red side was, well, er, you get the picture.
"FRANK!!!!" A shrill voice broke the beautiful silence I had going there. Jesus, my stepsister could yell when she wanted to. After flashing a grin at the dude in the mirror, I slid down the banister to the ground floor of the small house we lived in.
"FRANK!!" Cynthia called out again.
"YES, I'M COMING!! KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON!!" I yelled back at her. When I walked into the kitchen, I had to duck to avoid a soapy frying pan being swung at my head.
"Breakfast, you cocky fucker. Eat it now." Let me introduce my stepsister, Cynthia. Well, she'll be a stepsister soon. I'm pretty sure she was the Devil in a previous life. She's one of those fake-baked, peroxide blonde, Oompa-Loompa girls. Yes, she's on the slut- oops, I honestly meant to say cheerleading team there. I hate her, she hates me. She's a few years older than me. After saving my head from the Frying Pan of Doom, I sat down to not eat breakfast and drink about five cups of coffee. I was addicted to that stuff, if I didn't have it, I turned into something worse than a PMS-ing teenage girl with extreme hormonal problems. Yeah.
"Whatever you do, avoid me at school." Her voice broke the awesome silence.
"You think I'm gonna come near a bunch of peroxide Barbies? Hah," I scoffed, "not fucking likely." And with that, I drained my fifth mug of coffee, grabbed my bag and danced out the door. The bus stop was a couple blocks away, so I pulled out my trusty iPod and settled the earbuds in. Selecting Green Day off a long list of artists, I strolled down the streets in the drizzling rain. Lucky I had pulled my hood up earlier, eh? While Billie Joe sang about being an American idiot, I thought about the chances of survival in this new school.. It was obviously zero.
R & R? I LOVE ALL OF YOOOOOUUUU- well, except for her. I think you all know who I mean. AND NO IT IS NOT YOU HAILI I FREAKING LOVE YOU.
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