Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
2 reviewsThere's a school shooting at Belleview High.
1Exciting
New story! I got the inspiration for this story from Jodi Picoult's Nineteen Minutes. I wrote this days before the Colorado shooting, so please don't think I'm a psychopath. T-T
I'm going to write this story with a style similar to Picoult's. Like having background stories for all the characters in between the present-day chapters and whatnot.
Enjoy. :3
p.s The Mussolini joke is original. ^-^ I came up with it on the way to school one day.
p.p.s I changed Gerard and Mikey's hometown name to Belleview. Just.... because I can.
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I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
Chapter 1
Gerard’s POV
Paying attention to your history teacher proves to be extremely difficult when your ridiculously sexy boyfriend is sitting directly next to you. Frank’s eyes continuously slide sideways to meet mine. We grin at each other every time we catch the other person staring. And every time, my heart swells with love. I’m hopelessly in love with this quirky, short boy with scarlet eyeliner and a lip ring.
“Mussolini’s full name was Benito Amilcaro…” I catch a snippet of Mrs. Pryce’s lecture. An idea for a joke pops into my head and I quickly scrawl it down on the back of my homework. When Mrs. Pryce turns around, I discreetly slide it over to Frank.
Why did Mussolini win the race? I had written.
Dunno, Frank replies.
I grin at my own dumb punch line and write it down for Frank to read. Because he was the Fascist.
Really? Frank writes back. But his smile tells me that he likes the joke.
“Mr. Way, care to show me what you and Mr. Iero have been passing back and forth?” I look up from under my long black hair to find Mrs. Pryce giving me the hairy eyeball from across the classroom. Frank ducks his head to hide his blushing face.
“Well?” she presses impatiently.
“I came up with a joke.” I say, feeling slightly stupid. My classmate’s eyes follow me as I make my way to the front of the classroom, paper in hand. Mrs. Pryce reads the joke and laughs.
“This is actually pretty good.” she approves. “Go back to your seat.” I retreat to my desk. The other 10th graders exchange looks with one another, curious to hear the joke that had actually brought a smile to Pryce’s typically sullen face.
“Like I was saying, the Italian Fascist Party was founded in 1919…” the teacher droned on.
Suddenly, I hear a far-off scream. Frank turns to me with an alarmed expression. Students look around the classroom as if it would expose to them the source of the scream.
Mrs. Pryce shrugs it off. “People being too loud in gym again.” she says dismissively. But I can’t help thinking that the scream had sounded slightly fearful…
Suddenly, another scream. Louder this time. I jump in my seat. Then, an ashen-faced teacher appears in the doorway. His voice shakes as he says:
“We all need to evacuate immediately.”
A girl named Sailor rises out of her seat. “What’s going on?” she asks. As if on cue, everybody stands up and rushes towards the classroom door.
“Frank, don’t leave my sight.” I command him, intertwining my fingers with his. It’s not like people at school don’t know about us, anyway.
A third scream rings through the hallway, followed by a loud blast. Students stream out of the classrooms, ignoring the frantic shouting of their teachers. I see a stricken, terrified boy sprinting past and I realize something.
Shit is going down.
“Gerard…” Frank cries, his voice muted by the screams and wailing. I pull him through the pulsing crowd of people in identical uniforms and down a stairwell. The first floor is equally panicked as the second.
I can’t tell whether my palms are sweating, or if it’s Frank. Time slows down as we dash through Belleview High, pushing and elbowing white-faced peers out of the way. I don’t know who I’m pushing, I don’t know who’s screaming, I don’t know what the fuck is going down. All I know is that there’s danger and I have to protect Frank.
A gunshot rings out. It cuts through the wall of terrified sound and rises above all the screaming. Time speeds up again. I can hear the seconds ticking away in my head, like a metronome. Something might happen to Frank if I don’t move fast enough. He clutches my hand in a death grip, dependent on me to lead the way to safety. But how can I find safety when I don’t know where the threat is, much less the threat itself?
My foot steps on something hard, and there’s a snapping sound. I look down and a sickening feeling washes over me. Underneath my foot is the lifeless arm of Victoria Chadwell, a junior. Victoria Chadwell, my brother’s ex girlfriend…
“GET DOWN!” someone bellows. My heartbeat quickens, and the ticking grows louder. I almost scream when I realize that the ticking isn’t in my head.
It’s real.
The word bomb flashes through my mind, followed by Frank’s name. I see open double doors ahead and sprint towards them. Belleview High’s front door. The school office is directly beside it. Carl Poulin, the assistant principal, is standing in its doorway. He looks utterly confused, as if he doesn’t understand that there’s danger. As if he doesn’t understand that he needs to get the fuck out of there. I try to scream at him to run, but the words won’t come out of my throat. I’m one stride away from the heavy oak doors. When I step onto the front stairs with Frank, a second gunshot blasts through the school. I can feel it vibrate in my bones.
“Get down.” a calm, cool, and all too familiar voice says behind me. I turn around.
Mikey, my younger brother, is standing three steps above me. His brown hair clings to his face, damp with sweat. His eyes are vacant behind his glasses. There’s a speck of blood on each lens.
“Mikey!” I cry. “We need to keep running-”
“Get down.” he repeats, cutting me off. Only then do I notice the black object in his right hand. Ice runs through my veins, freezing my body and rooting me to the spot. Time grows incredibly slow once again.
“Frank.” I mutter. “Get behind me.” Frank is completely still, hand limp in mine. A tear streaks down his pretty face.
Mikey’s shaking hand raises the gun. His finger rests on the trigger. “G-Get down.” he says again, his calm demeanor disappearing.
“Behind me NOW!” I shout to Frank.
Time freezes altogether. I move in front of my boyfriend. I can’t tell what went first, Mikey pulling the trigger or Frank throwing the textbook he’d been carrying. The book, World History, hits Mikey in the gut, causing his aim to falter. I feel a sharp, burning hot pain in my left side. Frank’s hand slips out of mine with a piercing cry.
“BASTARD!” I screech, and prepare to lunge for my brother’s throat. Instead, I slump to the concrete steps. Frank lies on the steps below me, hands covered with his own ruby red blood. It matches his eyeliner. I can feel hot, wet blood spreading around me. It stains my white button-down shirt with bright, vibrant red. The sheer amount of blood makes me gag.
“Gerard…” Frank gasps. I sit up, crying out in pain. I desperately push his hair away from his shocked face, stroke his cheek, every physical sign of love I can possibly do before it’s too late. I kiss his lips for what may be the last time.
“Frank, Frankie, baby…” I choke out, my eyes traveling over his body, trying to find the source of all the blood. He whimpers and clutches my sleeve.
“It hurts.” he chokes out.
“I know, Frankie. It’s going to be okay.”
Then I collapse forward and everything goes dark.
I'm going to write this story with a style similar to Picoult's. Like having background stories for all the characters in between the present-day chapters and whatnot.
Enjoy. :3
p.s The Mussolini joke is original. ^-^ I came up with it on the way to school one day.
p.p.s I changed Gerard and Mikey's hometown name to Belleview. Just.... because I can.
--
I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
Chapter 1
Gerard’s POV
Paying attention to your history teacher proves to be extremely difficult when your ridiculously sexy boyfriend is sitting directly next to you. Frank’s eyes continuously slide sideways to meet mine. We grin at each other every time we catch the other person staring. And every time, my heart swells with love. I’m hopelessly in love with this quirky, short boy with scarlet eyeliner and a lip ring.
“Mussolini’s full name was Benito Amilcaro…” I catch a snippet of Mrs. Pryce’s lecture. An idea for a joke pops into my head and I quickly scrawl it down on the back of my homework. When Mrs. Pryce turns around, I discreetly slide it over to Frank.
Why did Mussolini win the race? I had written.
Dunno, Frank replies.
I grin at my own dumb punch line and write it down for Frank to read. Because he was the Fascist.
Really? Frank writes back. But his smile tells me that he likes the joke.
“Mr. Way, care to show me what you and Mr. Iero have been passing back and forth?” I look up from under my long black hair to find Mrs. Pryce giving me the hairy eyeball from across the classroom. Frank ducks his head to hide his blushing face.
“Well?” she presses impatiently.
“I came up with a joke.” I say, feeling slightly stupid. My classmate’s eyes follow me as I make my way to the front of the classroom, paper in hand. Mrs. Pryce reads the joke and laughs.
“This is actually pretty good.” she approves. “Go back to your seat.” I retreat to my desk. The other 10th graders exchange looks with one another, curious to hear the joke that had actually brought a smile to Pryce’s typically sullen face.
“Like I was saying, the Italian Fascist Party was founded in 1919…” the teacher droned on.
Suddenly, I hear a far-off scream. Frank turns to me with an alarmed expression. Students look around the classroom as if it would expose to them the source of the scream.
Mrs. Pryce shrugs it off. “People being too loud in gym again.” she says dismissively. But I can’t help thinking that the scream had sounded slightly fearful…
Suddenly, another scream. Louder this time. I jump in my seat. Then, an ashen-faced teacher appears in the doorway. His voice shakes as he says:
“We all need to evacuate immediately.”
A girl named Sailor rises out of her seat. “What’s going on?” she asks. As if on cue, everybody stands up and rushes towards the classroom door.
“Frank, don’t leave my sight.” I command him, intertwining my fingers with his. It’s not like people at school don’t know about us, anyway.
A third scream rings through the hallway, followed by a loud blast. Students stream out of the classrooms, ignoring the frantic shouting of their teachers. I see a stricken, terrified boy sprinting past and I realize something.
Shit is going down.
“Gerard…” Frank cries, his voice muted by the screams and wailing. I pull him through the pulsing crowd of people in identical uniforms and down a stairwell. The first floor is equally panicked as the second.
I can’t tell whether my palms are sweating, or if it’s Frank. Time slows down as we dash through Belleview High, pushing and elbowing white-faced peers out of the way. I don’t know who I’m pushing, I don’t know who’s screaming, I don’t know what the fuck is going down. All I know is that there’s danger and I have to protect Frank.
A gunshot rings out. It cuts through the wall of terrified sound and rises above all the screaming. Time speeds up again. I can hear the seconds ticking away in my head, like a metronome. Something might happen to Frank if I don’t move fast enough. He clutches my hand in a death grip, dependent on me to lead the way to safety. But how can I find safety when I don’t know where the threat is, much less the threat itself?
My foot steps on something hard, and there’s a snapping sound. I look down and a sickening feeling washes over me. Underneath my foot is the lifeless arm of Victoria Chadwell, a junior. Victoria Chadwell, my brother’s ex girlfriend…
“GET DOWN!” someone bellows. My heartbeat quickens, and the ticking grows louder. I almost scream when I realize that the ticking isn’t in my head.
It’s real.
The word bomb flashes through my mind, followed by Frank’s name. I see open double doors ahead and sprint towards them. Belleview High’s front door. The school office is directly beside it. Carl Poulin, the assistant principal, is standing in its doorway. He looks utterly confused, as if he doesn’t understand that there’s danger. As if he doesn’t understand that he needs to get the fuck out of there. I try to scream at him to run, but the words won’t come out of my throat. I’m one stride away from the heavy oak doors. When I step onto the front stairs with Frank, a second gunshot blasts through the school. I can feel it vibrate in my bones.
“Get down.” a calm, cool, and all too familiar voice says behind me. I turn around.
Mikey, my younger brother, is standing three steps above me. His brown hair clings to his face, damp with sweat. His eyes are vacant behind his glasses. There’s a speck of blood on each lens.
“Mikey!” I cry. “We need to keep running-”
“Get down.” he repeats, cutting me off. Only then do I notice the black object in his right hand. Ice runs through my veins, freezing my body and rooting me to the spot. Time grows incredibly slow once again.
“Frank.” I mutter. “Get behind me.” Frank is completely still, hand limp in mine. A tear streaks down his pretty face.
Mikey’s shaking hand raises the gun. His finger rests on the trigger. “G-Get down.” he says again, his calm demeanor disappearing.
“Behind me NOW!” I shout to Frank.
Time freezes altogether. I move in front of my boyfriend. I can’t tell what went first, Mikey pulling the trigger or Frank throwing the textbook he’d been carrying. The book, World History, hits Mikey in the gut, causing his aim to falter. I feel a sharp, burning hot pain in my left side. Frank’s hand slips out of mine with a piercing cry.
“BASTARD!” I screech, and prepare to lunge for my brother’s throat. Instead, I slump to the concrete steps. Frank lies on the steps below me, hands covered with his own ruby red blood. It matches his eyeliner. I can feel hot, wet blood spreading around me. It stains my white button-down shirt with bright, vibrant red. The sheer amount of blood makes me gag.
“Gerard…” Frank gasps. I sit up, crying out in pain. I desperately push his hair away from his shocked face, stroke his cheek, every physical sign of love I can possibly do before it’s too late. I kiss his lips for what may be the last time.
“Frank, Frankie, baby…” I choke out, my eyes traveling over his body, trying to find the source of all the blood. He whimpers and clutches my sleeve.
“It hurts.” he chokes out.
“I know, Frankie. It’s going to be okay.”
Then I collapse forward and everything goes dark.
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