Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Cemetery Drive
Chapter 2. Wake up and notice you're someone you're not
1 reviewFrank has the truth about where he came from revealed to him. Well, half of it...
0Unrated
Second chapter, yayyy... So, if you're reading this then I guess you liked the first chapter? Maybe? Or... I dunno. Either way, let me know what you think of this. ¦) ~KilljoyBandit
Chapter 2 - Wake Up And Notice You're Someone You're Not
Frank looked down at himself and felt embarrassed, despite the fact that he was the only one in the room. The clothes that the nurse had given him looked worse on him than they did when they were crumpled up into a ball. It was just a baggy, long-sleeved shirt, and basic long trousers, clearly made from the same, thin, light grey fabric. Frank was pretty sure that this pajama-like outfit was once white, but had become the same color as the gross, peeling walls of the room he was in after being worn repeatedly by other people who must have found themselves in the same situation as him at one point or another. Though Frank still didn't know exactly what that situation was.
So he decided it was about time to leave the claustrophobic little room and try to find out. Just as he reached for the door handle, he heard a deafening knock on the other side of the door, and the muffled sound of the mad nurse's screechy voice yelling, "I don't have all day, y'know!"
He opened the door just a crack, just to be pushed away by it as the nurse barged in.
"I said I don't have all day, so you better be ready," She snapped furiously, her voice even more screechy and sharp than before.
Frank stepped out from behind the door, saying nothing for the fear of being nearly deafened again if he said something wrong.
The nurse just grabbed his forearm and tugged him out of the door, slamming it behind her.
As Frank was pulled long the corridor, he couldn't help but look around. And what he saw, scared the life out of him.
All around him, were people, men, dressed in the exact same outfit as him. But all of them had a different two digit number sewn onto the back of their shirts in bold, red numbers. This made him wonder if he had his own number too.
Some of the people were just standing there, pointlessly, some walking around in circles, some of them talking aloud to themselves, but nobody was socializing.
But the thing that really made Frank's heart beat so hard he thought his ribs might snap under the pounding pressure, was one other guy. Roughly his age.
The boy was screaming and kicking as three other people, who seemed to be doctors, held him up in the air. But his screams were like blades, soaring through the air, into Frank's ears, slicing his eardrums. But not because they were high pitched. They weren't. It was because of the pure fear and hatred which they carried with them.
Frank watched in horror as the boy kicked with what seemed like an incredible force, and struggled to get out of the doctors' grip, then sank his obviously sharpened teeth into one of their arms. It was all happening so fast, Frank couldn't tell whose arm it was.
Almost straight away, a tall, elderly doctor let out a hoarse scream and swung his arms wildly.
The boy was dropped to the floor, and he scuttled backwards about two meters, bearing his teeth and crouching on the shiny floor, in a position that only suggested he would pounce like an animal if anyone even tried to come closer. His slightly long, messy, cherry-red hair with obvious black roots, dripping with sweat, was plastered to his face, covering his right eye. But his left eye was still perfectly visible. It had a wild look in it, like that of a furious tiger, a bright green star with a black center about to explode.
Frank swallowed as the nurse angrily dragged him down the corridor. But strangely, Frank didn't want to leave. He wanted to keep watching. Not to see what would happen next, not because it was interesting (although it was), but because somewhere deep inside, he felt like he wanted to help that boy. To take him away from the irritating, insane doctors and hide him. But where. Where could anyone hide in this place, with endless, twisted corridors with plain cream walls and identical, white doors?
The sound of a door opening right in front of him snapped him out of his transfixed state. The nurse shoved him through the door and closed it, sending Frank stumbling towards a large, organized, oak desk. Behind it sat a large man. He was wearing a shirt and tie, with a grey blazer hung over the back of his chair. He was quite chubby, half bald and wore glasses with thin, rectangular frames.
"Sit down." The man mumbled, his eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him.
Frank sat obediently, feeling more and more awkward with every passing second.
"Okay," the man peeled his eyes away from the screen and looked straight at Frank, who was now sitting up, very tense, with a look of innocence and confusion in his murky, hazel-ish eyes. "Do you know why you are here?" His deep voice sounded tough, but kind at the same time.
Frank shook his head slightly, remembering that he can't remember.
"Let me explain what happened. At least as far as we know." The friendly-looking man spoke again. "This is a mental hospital. You are here be......"
Mental hospital, mental hospital, mental hospital... The word echoed in Frank's brain, forcing his stomach to flip and nearly make him sick. He couldn't even hear the man anymore. All sound was blocked out by the wooshing sound in his ears. A mental hospital. So that's where he was... But... why?
"I-I'm really sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"I said, you are here because you were in a serious car accident. You were in a coma for just over two weeks."
Frank gasped, then closed his mouth and let the man continue.
"The only ID you had on you was your driver's license. With that, we were able to locate your birth certificate and medical records, but that was it. There was no other proof of who you were."
"So why am I in a mental hospital?" Frank was confused enough already.
"Well, we flipped through your medical records, and we found out you had Paranoia and Schizophrenia. We figured that this must have been the cause of the crash, since there were no other explanations. We couldn't let you walk the streets alone until we were sure there was nothing wrong."
Wide-eyed, Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again. He started shaking his head violently, but had no words for what he was hearing. It was all out of place and plain ridiculous.
"O-o-okay... But... who... who am I?"
"Well," The man put his hands together as if he was praying and rested his face on them. "Where do I begin? Your name is Frank Anthony Iero, your date of birth is October 31'st 1981, on Halloween..." He trailed off. "Do you want to write that down for now?"
Frank nodded awkwardly and took the notepad and pen which the man handed to him.
"Where is my family? I want to see them! Meet them..." He questioned after scribbling down his personal details. He was more that surprised at his incredibly neat handwriting.
"Frank, I'm really sorry to say this... you don't have any family members that we know of..." The man looked considerably sadder now than before.
"Oh... Well... It's okay... Even if you didn't find any of my family, that doesn't mean that I don't have one, right? I have to have one. And I'll find them one day..."
"That's the spirit." The man smiled warmly at Frank. "Now come with me and I'll show you to your room. I'm Doctor Martinez, by the way. You can come to me with anything. My office is the one with the brown door. It's pretty easy to get to from anywhere in the ward."
So Frank followed Dr. Martinez out of the door, through a twist and tangle of corridors, and reached room number 6.
"Your room is the same number as the number on the back of all your clothes. Don't worry, you'll find your way around here after a few days. Good luck, Frank."
And with that, Frank was left alone to explore his new room. But that whole time, one thing didn't leave his mind... The boy with the red hair, and how much hatred was exploding from his bright green eyes...
Any good? Or crap? And if so, how crap? Tell me! Tell me! Chapter 4 will be a normal lenght and I'll try to keep them longer after that ¦) ~KilljoyBandit
Chapter 2 - Wake Up And Notice You're Someone You're Not
Frank looked down at himself and felt embarrassed, despite the fact that he was the only one in the room. The clothes that the nurse had given him looked worse on him than they did when they were crumpled up into a ball. It was just a baggy, long-sleeved shirt, and basic long trousers, clearly made from the same, thin, light grey fabric. Frank was pretty sure that this pajama-like outfit was once white, but had become the same color as the gross, peeling walls of the room he was in after being worn repeatedly by other people who must have found themselves in the same situation as him at one point or another. Though Frank still didn't know exactly what that situation was.
So he decided it was about time to leave the claustrophobic little room and try to find out. Just as he reached for the door handle, he heard a deafening knock on the other side of the door, and the muffled sound of the mad nurse's screechy voice yelling, "I don't have all day, y'know!"
He opened the door just a crack, just to be pushed away by it as the nurse barged in.
"I said I don't have all day, so you better be ready," She snapped furiously, her voice even more screechy and sharp than before.
Frank stepped out from behind the door, saying nothing for the fear of being nearly deafened again if he said something wrong.
The nurse just grabbed his forearm and tugged him out of the door, slamming it behind her.
As Frank was pulled long the corridor, he couldn't help but look around. And what he saw, scared the life out of him.
All around him, were people, men, dressed in the exact same outfit as him. But all of them had a different two digit number sewn onto the back of their shirts in bold, red numbers. This made him wonder if he had his own number too.
Some of the people were just standing there, pointlessly, some walking around in circles, some of them talking aloud to themselves, but nobody was socializing.
But the thing that really made Frank's heart beat so hard he thought his ribs might snap under the pounding pressure, was one other guy. Roughly his age.
The boy was screaming and kicking as three other people, who seemed to be doctors, held him up in the air. But his screams were like blades, soaring through the air, into Frank's ears, slicing his eardrums. But not because they were high pitched. They weren't. It was because of the pure fear and hatred which they carried with them.
Frank watched in horror as the boy kicked with what seemed like an incredible force, and struggled to get out of the doctors' grip, then sank his obviously sharpened teeth into one of their arms. It was all happening so fast, Frank couldn't tell whose arm it was.
Almost straight away, a tall, elderly doctor let out a hoarse scream and swung his arms wildly.
The boy was dropped to the floor, and he scuttled backwards about two meters, bearing his teeth and crouching on the shiny floor, in a position that only suggested he would pounce like an animal if anyone even tried to come closer. His slightly long, messy, cherry-red hair with obvious black roots, dripping with sweat, was plastered to his face, covering his right eye. But his left eye was still perfectly visible. It had a wild look in it, like that of a furious tiger, a bright green star with a black center about to explode.
Frank swallowed as the nurse angrily dragged him down the corridor. But strangely, Frank didn't want to leave. He wanted to keep watching. Not to see what would happen next, not because it was interesting (although it was), but because somewhere deep inside, he felt like he wanted to help that boy. To take him away from the irritating, insane doctors and hide him. But where. Where could anyone hide in this place, with endless, twisted corridors with plain cream walls and identical, white doors?
The sound of a door opening right in front of him snapped him out of his transfixed state. The nurse shoved him through the door and closed it, sending Frank stumbling towards a large, organized, oak desk. Behind it sat a large man. He was wearing a shirt and tie, with a grey blazer hung over the back of his chair. He was quite chubby, half bald and wore glasses with thin, rectangular frames.
"Sit down." The man mumbled, his eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him.
Frank sat obediently, feeling more and more awkward with every passing second.
"Okay," the man peeled his eyes away from the screen and looked straight at Frank, who was now sitting up, very tense, with a look of innocence and confusion in his murky, hazel-ish eyes. "Do you know why you are here?" His deep voice sounded tough, but kind at the same time.
Frank shook his head slightly, remembering that he can't remember.
"Let me explain what happened. At least as far as we know." The friendly-looking man spoke again. "This is a mental hospital. You are here be......"
Mental hospital, mental hospital, mental hospital... The word echoed in Frank's brain, forcing his stomach to flip and nearly make him sick. He couldn't even hear the man anymore. All sound was blocked out by the wooshing sound in his ears. A mental hospital. So that's where he was... But... why?
"I-I'm really sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"I said, you are here because you were in a serious car accident. You were in a coma for just over two weeks."
Frank gasped, then closed his mouth and let the man continue.
"The only ID you had on you was your driver's license. With that, we were able to locate your birth certificate and medical records, but that was it. There was no other proof of who you were."
"So why am I in a mental hospital?" Frank was confused enough already.
"Well, we flipped through your medical records, and we found out you had Paranoia and Schizophrenia. We figured that this must have been the cause of the crash, since there were no other explanations. We couldn't let you walk the streets alone until we were sure there was nothing wrong."
Wide-eyed, Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again. He started shaking his head violently, but had no words for what he was hearing. It was all out of place and plain ridiculous.
"O-o-okay... But... who... who am I?"
"Well," The man put his hands together as if he was praying and rested his face on them. "Where do I begin? Your name is Frank Anthony Iero, your date of birth is October 31'st 1981, on Halloween..." He trailed off. "Do you want to write that down for now?"
Frank nodded awkwardly and took the notepad and pen which the man handed to him.
"Where is my family? I want to see them! Meet them..." He questioned after scribbling down his personal details. He was more that surprised at his incredibly neat handwriting.
"Frank, I'm really sorry to say this... you don't have any family members that we know of..." The man looked considerably sadder now than before.
"Oh... Well... It's okay... Even if you didn't find any of my family, that doesn't mean that I don't have one, right? I have to have one. And I'll find them one day..."
"That's the spirit." The man smiled warmly at Frank. "Now come with me and I'll show you to your room. I'm Doctor Martinez, by the way. You can come to me with anything. My office is the one with the brown door. It's pretty easy to get to from anywhere in the ward."
So Frank followed Dr. Martinez out of the door, through a twist and tangle of corridors, and reached room number 6.
"Your room is the same number as the number on the back of all your clothes. Don't worry, you'll find your way around here after a few days. Good luck, Frank."
And with that, Frank was left alone to explore his new room. But that whole time, one thing didn't leave his mind... The boy with the red hair, and how much hatred was exploding from his bright green eyes...
Any good? Or crap? And if so, how crap? Tell me! Tell me! Chapter 4 will be a normal lenght and I'll try to keep them longer after that ¦) ~KilljoyBandit
Sign up to rate and review this story