Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > Apocalyptic And Insane
Jared starts sleepwalking, and ends up commiting a terrible crime while he's at it.
1Original
AUTHORS NOTE: I don't own any member of 30 Seconds To Mars (although I wish I did) and none of this is real. I know nothing about their personal lives, and this is all a work of fiction.
‘I lost my direction,
Caught in the overflow,
Looking for the answers,
Only time can tell’
Jared stopped singing, so Shannon and Tomo stopped playing their instruments and then gawked at their fearless leader, they were left in a complete, awkward silence. Why had he stopped? He looked distressed, which was unlike him. He was usually so focused and happy when he sang and played with his band mates, so what was the matter? What was on his mind? He often had thoughts where what he did wasn’t good enough, then went into periods of depression and wouldn’t snap out of it for days on end. Shannon didn’t like seeing him like that.
“Are you okay, Jared?” Shannon asked.
“I’m fine. I’m just… tired. I’m going to bed for a while.”
Jared had been suffering from exhaustion, as he never slept and wanted to make the new Thirty Seconds To Mars album the best it could be. Every waking moment was dedicated to writing songs, singing songs, and playing guitar, synths and other strange instruments for the songs. He had been ordered by his doctor to rest, but he was too stubborn to listen, although he had been told that he was working himself into an early grave. His health didn’t concern him at all, and he didn’t worry about it, but everyone else did. He was surprised that Shannon hadn’t pinned him to his bed and forced him to sleep yet. Shannon always overreacted when it came to his brother’s well-being. Why did everyone care so much?
“Okay. Sleep tight, and Tomo and I will get the rest of the song done.”
“Good night, Jared.” Tomo said quietly.
Jared made his way up to his bedroom, which was white like the rest of his house. He liked things to be simple and very clean, to the point of being obsessive compulsive, but furnished well. Photographs by his friend Terry Richardson hung on the walls, proudly displaying pictures of breasts and the Los Angeles skyline. Some of his most prized possessions were the pieces of artwork he had bought, they weren’t exactly cheap. He threw off his clothes, a t-shirt, fleecy sweater and black skinny jeans and tossed them to the floor. After getting undressed, he got into his warm, cosy bed and pulled the thick covers over himself. He wondered why he needed such a big bed, as he was pretty small, but maybe he had one for when he finally got a girlfriend that he could snuggle up with when it was cold and miserable outside. No… he knew that Shannon and Tomo were both in stable and sexually active relationships, and he bet that their beds were used well. In fact, he knew that Shannon’s bed was used well, as he was the one that washed the bed sheets. When his mind stopped wandering, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep, well deserved sleep. He hadn’t slept in days, so this felt amazing, to be able to finally lie down and get some shut-eye.
He sprinted through a lush green forest as fast as he could, not stopping. He was being chased. The sounds of hummingbirds, crickets, and his own breathing were the only sounds his mind could register. The air was thick, humid and damp, like in a jungle or a rainforest in the Amazon. He didn’t know what he was running from, it could have been a person or an animal, but he couldn’t turn his head and look behind to see. He then stumbled and fell, landing face down in the dark, rich dirt. When he tried to get up, he felt someone push him back down, and put a gun to his head, pushing the barrel through his messy, chocolate brown hair.
“Don’t speak or I’ll blow your head off. Put your hands above your head.”
The voice belonged to a man, a low, raspy voice. He didn’t say a word back; he just listened to what he was being told to do. He was scared, and his heartbeat was out of control. This must have been the person that was chasing him. A large hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing it firmly, to make sure that he didn't try and run off.
“You’ve had this coming for a long time, bitch.”
Whoa. A man, calling him bitch? He had never been called a bitch by a man before, and it surprised him, he almost giggled at the thought, but he knew that making a single noise would cost him his life.
Waking up with a start, he tried to control his heavy breathing. Drenched in sweat, he lay there gasping.
"Thank God, it was just a dream. It was only a dream." He reminded himself, closing his eyes again.
What had brought on this strange dream? What was the point of nightmares, anyway? He sat up, pushing a thick strand of hair out of his face. It had been clinging to his forehead, which was sticky with hot, salty sweat. Rhythmic footsteps pattered outside in the hall, and he tried to figure out who it would be. Shannon? Tomo? His step-brother Bob had gone home, and so had Jamie, his other best friend that was helping with the album. Their producer, Steve Lillywhite was at LAX airport, getting ready to board a plane and fly back to his swanky, expensive apartment in central London.
“Shannon, is that you?” He called out.
Suddenly, he felt a constricted grip around his throat, choking and smothering him. It was cruelly tight, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. He tried to pry the invisible hands away, but with no luck. Gasping for breath, he tried to yell for help but the only sound which left his mouth was a strangled cry. Was it a ghost? Was it all in his head?
“S-somebody please help me!”
He tried to shout again, but only a tiny whisper escaped from his lips. He started to panic, and tried to sit up, but fell off the bed and tumbled to the floor, then curled up into a ball on the ground. He felt hot, metallic tasting blood in his mouth, slithering down his throat like a serpent. He didn’t move after this, he just sat on the soft, beige, carpeted floor, trying to catch his breath, steady his heartbeat and calm himself down. Whatever had strangled him had let him go, for the time being.
‘I lost my direction,
Caught in the overflow,
Looking for the answers,
Only time can tell’
Jared stopped singing, so Shannon and Tomo stopped playing their instruments and then gawked at their fearless leader, they were left in a complete, awkward silence. Why had he stopped? He looked distressed, which was unlike him. He was usually so focused and happy when he sang and played with his band mates, so what was the matter? What was on his mind? He often had thoughts where what he did wasn’t good enough, then went into periods of depression and wouldn’t snap out of it for days on end. Shannon didn’t like seeing him like that.
“Are you okay, Jared?” Shannon asked.
“I’m fine. I’m just… tired. I’m going to bed for a while.”
Jared had been suffering from exhaustion, as he never slept and wanted to make the new Thirty Seconds To Mars album the best it could be. Every waking moment was dedicated to writing songs, singing songs, and playing guitar, synths and other strange instruments for the songs. He had been ordered by his doctor to rest, but he was too stubborn to listen, although he had been told that he was working himself into an early grave. His health didn’t concern him at all, and he didn’t worry about it, but everyone else did. He was surprised that Shannon hadn’t pinned him to his bed and forced him to sleep yet. Shannon always overreacted when it came to his brother’s well-being. Why did everyone care so much?
“Okay. Sleep tight, and Tomo and I will get the rest of the song done.”
“Good night, Jared.” Tomo said quietly.
Jared made his way up to his bedroom, which was white like the rest of his house. He liked things to be simple and very clean, to the point of being obsessive compulsive, but furnished well. Photographs by his friend Terry Richardson hung on the walls, proudly displaying pictures of breasts and the Los Angeles skyline. Some of his most prized possessions were the pieces of artwork he had bought, they weren’t exactly cheap. He threw off his clothes, a t-shirt, fleecy sweater and black skinny jeans and tossed them to the floor. After getting undressed, he got into his warm, cosy bed and pulled the thick covers over himself. He wondered why he needed such a big bed, as he was pretty small, but maybe he had one for when he finally got a girlfriend that he could snuggle up with when it was cold and miserable outside. No… he knew that Shannon and Tomo were both in stable and sexually active relationships, and he bet that their beds were used well. In fact, he knew that Shannon’s bed was used well, as he was the one that washed the bed sheets. When his mind stopped wandering, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep, well deserved sleep. He hadn’t slept in days, so this felt amazing, to be able to finally lie down and get some shut-eye.
He sprinted through a lush green forest as fast as he could, not stopping. He was being chased. The sounds of hummingbirds, crickets, and his own breathing were the only sounds his mind could register. The air was thick, humid and damp, like in a jungle or a rainforest in the Amazon. He didn’t know what he was running from, it could have been a person or an animal, but he couldn’t turn his head and look behind to see. He then stumbled and fell, landing face down in the dark, rich dirt. When he tried to get up, he felt someone push him back down, and put a gun to his head, pushing the barrel through his messy, chocolate brown hair.
“Don’t speak or I’ll blow your head off. Put your hands above your head.”
The voice belonged to a man, a low, raspy voice. He didn’t say a word back; he just listened to what he was being told to do. He was scared, and his heartbeat was out of control. This must have been the person that was chasing him. A large hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing it firmly, to make sure that he didn't try and run off.
“You’ve had this coming for a long time, bitch.”
Whoa. A man, calling him bitch? He had never been called a bitch by a man before, and it surprised him, he almost giggled at the thought, but he knew that making a single noise would cost him his life.
Waking up with a start, he tried to control his heavy breathing. Drenched in sweat, he lay there gasping.
"Thank God, it was just a dream. It was only a dream." He reminded himself, closing his eyes again.
What had brought on this strange dream? What was the point of nightmares, anyway? He sat up, pushing a thick strand of hair out of his face. It had been clinging to his forehead, which was sticky with hot, salty sweat. Rhythmic footsteps pattered outside in the hall, and he tried to figure out who it would be. Shannon? Tomo? His step-brother Bob had gone home, and so had Jamie, his other best friend that was helping with the album. Their producer, Steve Lillywhite was at LAX airport, getting ready to board a plane and fly back to his swanky, expensive apartment in central London.
“Shannon, is that you?” He called out.
Suddenly, he felt a constricted grip around his throat, choking and smothering him. It was cruelly tight, cutting off the oxygen to his lungs. He tried to pry the invisible hands away, but with no luck. Gasping for breath, he tried to yell for help but the only sound which left his mouth was a strangled cry. Was it a ghost? Was it all in his head?
“S-somebody please help me!”
He tried to shout again, but only a tiny whisper escaped from his lips. He started to panic, and tried to sit up, but fell off the bed and tumbled to the floor, then curled up into a ball on the ground. He felt hot, metallic tasting blood in his mouth, slithering down his throat like a serpent. He didn’t move after this, he just sat on the soft, beige, carpeted floor, trying to catch his breath, steady his heartbeat and calm himself down. Whatever had strangled him had let him go, for the time being.
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