Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > This Is The Best Day Ever

This Is The Best Day Ever

by KilljoyOnFire 3 reviews

Gerard is a patient at a backward mental institution. He's been imprisoned within it for five years. He winds up in the emergency room after a failed suicide attempt and meets an angry young man na...

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: R - Genres: Crossover - Warnings: [V] [X] - Published: 2012-06-06 - Updated: 2012-06-07 - 1217 words

This Is The Best Day Ever
Chapter 1


I close my dream journal with a sigh. The entries get shorter and shorter every day. I’ve been plagued by the same reoccurring nightmares for three years, so I don’t bother writing down the details anymore.

The little mail slot in my door opens, and a gloved hand places a paper cup full of water on the floor, along with my morning pills. “Breakfast in twenty minutes.” a cold voice informs me.
I say nothing, collect the pills, and slip them into a plastic bag I stole from the kitchens. I fold the bag and stash it in my pocket. The two small white pills added to my collection make thirty-six in total. Just one more night and one more morning and I’ll have forty. The magic number.

I comb my shaggy black hair and change into jeans and a soft gray t-shirt. A piece of paper taped onto the mirror tells me what privilege level I’m on. It took about a year to achieve, but I’m on the second lowest security level, the lowest surveillance level, and I can leave my room as I please from 7:30 a.m. to 10 p.m.

When 7:30 comes around, the electronic lock on my door turns off and I stroll out of my room, free. Sort of. I head to the cafeteria, where I retrieve my breakfast tray and sit at my usual spot. Most of the people here have made friends with the other residents, but I prefer solitude. So I sit alone during meals and don’t interact with others.

I peel off the name label off my milk carton and put it in my pocket. My hand brushes against the plastic bag and I smile. I’ll be leaving this place by morning. I collect my name labels because they’re the only things I have to identify myself with. I’ve forgotten everything about myself except for my name. Gerard Way. I remember the outside world vaguely, a place of freedom, music, love… Sure, I remember the darker side to it as well, but I like to dream. Being imprisoned in a mental facility for five years puts a damper on your memory.

Breakfast is relatively tasteless, but according to the nutrition chart taped to my tray, it’s full of fiber and protein. Oh boy. I eat all of it anyways to cooperate with the system. In the distance, I hear the wail of a siren. That means somebody has been taken to the emergency room in the nearby hospital. I’ve managed to turn the sirens into a kind of music. I close my eyes and absorb the sound of it. This may be the last time I hear the sirens.

After breakfast, I check out a book from the facility’s library. A Greek mythology history book. The library is pretty pathetic. It’s filled with mainly encyclopedias and National Geographic-type magazines because the facility can’t censor books. There’s a lot of “censoring” here. No TV, no radio, no newspaper, nothing.

I sit on an old, sagging couch pushed up against the eggshell colored walls. My glazed-over eyes scan the pages, but I do not absorb anything. I count the letters in each sentence. I’m about to fall asleep when the silence is suddenly shattered by shouting.

“Get your filthy hands off of me!” a woman screams. I jump in surprise and look up. I immediately recognize the woman. It’s Tammy, one of the younger residents like me. A few of the staff members are trying to calm her down unsuccessfully.

“Don’t touch me, you bastards!” Tammy screams. She darts away from a doctor and runs behind a bookcase. They promptly chase her, which causes Tammy to cry out in frustration and push the bookcase over. Books spill onto the carpet, followed by a loud crash.

“Tamera, just take deep breaths.” a doctor says. He holds his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do! You don’t know anything!” Tammy shouts. She walks backwards until she bumps into the wall.

A female doctor approaches her cautiously. “Tamera, maybe we should go back to your room now.” she says.

“Maybe you should let me the fuck out of this place!” Tammy roars in frustration. She raises her foot to take another step backward, but her heel hits the wall. Now there are six staff members circling around her. She’s cornered.

“Dr. Mott, I suggest we use sedatives.” a woman mutters to one of the doctors. He nods in agreement and produces the syringe from the pocket of his white coat.

Tammy sees the syringe. Her expression turns furious. “If you come near me with that fucking thing, I will kick your teeth in.” she threatens. Dr. Mott quickly strides toward her. Before she has time to react, he jabs her in the side with the needle.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Tammy screams. She lunges forward, hands bent like claws. Dr. Mott ducks out of the way and she falls to the carpet. She starts to rise, but the sedative overcomes her and she faints. The doctors quickly strap her in to a straightjacket I hadn’t noticed before and carry her away.

A hand touches my shoulder. I jump and turn towards the source of the hand. It’s Dr. Dixon, a therapist that works at the facility.

“Gerard, I suggest you return to your room now.” she says in a strange tone. I try to read her expression but she’s keeping a good poker face.

“Why?” I ask.

Dr. Dixon just shakes her head and nods in the direction of the door. I set the book onto the arm of the couch and leave. Why does she want me to go to my room?

I reach my room and shut the door behind me. What do I do now? I have few possessions to call my own. Some clothes, basic toiletries, a small collection of comic books, and my dream journal. I decide to draw. I pick up a pencil and my dream journal and settle into my bed.

I love drawing. I’m good at it and there’s no censoring to it. I can draw whatever I damn well please. The instant the lead comes in contact with the paper, my mind begins to paint a scene. I see Tammy fighting the doctors. But instead of the doctors, they are wolves with blank, unseeing eyes. Glazed-over and distant like the eyes of the residents here. Eyes like my own. The scene in my head changes. Tammy, along with several other residents, are fighting the wolves with spears made of orange pill bottles. I’m in the battle too, wielding a syringe like a dagger.
The scene comes alive on the paper. I turn the page and write on the back of the drawing “Is this good or evil? Locking up the shunned and the insane, saturating their blood with medication? Are we patients or prisoners? Do they really care about us? This is an Armageddon.”
I title the drawing “House of Wolves” and close the page. I feel like taking a nap.
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