Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Twenty-Seven Portraits
Did You Come to Stare?
4 reviewsThis morning at school I looked for you, thought maybe I could find your eyes and I'd know, but for some reason I feel like I'm looking in the wrong place.
5Original
I'd go with you, I'd leave, I hate it here, my dad, I can't take it anymore. Ihate this place, I hate this town, I hate the people, I hate the smell, the air, the mouth breathing nine to fivers, I might even hate Jessica, even though she thinks that I am kind. You can hate something fundamentally without disliking it. I think, I mean I hate to eat meat, not that I don't like the taste of it, I'm a vegetarian. I don't know anymore Gee, It's really late,right now, the sun is starting to peek through the horizon. I'm going straight to school, I guess, I want to stay here, to wait for you. One thing, before you decide to take me with you, draw me.
She had not stayed to wait for me. When I read her note, I knew there was no going back, that this was now a reality. I was no longer cocooned in a blanket of hopeless aspirations. When I went home, it was passed four, and I felt like it was cheating to wait for her there, like I was intruding on her space, I still owned the keys to a building I had been evicted from.
My father had cooked dinner when I arrived home, and the smell of burnt bread wafted into my nose as opposed to the sharp bitter tang that normally assaulted me when I opened the door. He was there sitting on the couch, a Pepsi in his hand. He turned to look at me and his face was still sallow behind his black hair.
He had done this twice now. After I had passed out, I awoke in my bed and there was a bowl of soup next to me, still hot. The thought that maybe, my mother had come home, passed my mind, that she had mixed broth and vegetables and small bites of chicken into a pot and roasted it over low heat until it had become a consumable healing solution. But when I took a bite, the familiar taste of Campbell's rolled over my tongue, and somehow that had made it worse, that my father had taken the time to open a can, to put it in a bowl, and microwave it. The soup tasted like rubber after that.
“I made dinner” he said, and I looked at the table, two plates with two sandwiches, the tops of each had been burned and the blackness hastily scraped off the bread. This was him trying, this was him asking for forgiveness. I felt that bubble build in my throat, the one that makes your voice crack when you're about to cry. He was not forgiven.
“I'm not hungry” I said flatly and exited to my room.
That night I drew portraits, I drew four of them one after the other, feverish with effort, and even more so when I thought of what her dad had done, to make her want to leave so badly.
At school I searched the hallways for girls with bruises but with the cold weather everyone was covered up. I found a face with round green eyes underlined with a dark bruise under the left eye, and I thought wow shes pretty even with that bruise, and then I realized, he was a boy a grade below me. He always wore cool patches on his vests, but I never noticed his face. He turned away from me fast.
Dear F.I, I don't exactly know where I want to go on this train, but I know that where ever it is it'll be better if I'm with you. To me we've never met, though I'm sure we've passed at school, maybe I picked up your pencil for you in the sixth grade, maybe you were a friend of a friend, back when I still had friends. This morning at school Ilooked for you, thought maybe I could find your eyes and I'd know, but for some reason I feel like I'm looking in the wrong place. I saw someone I thought could be you, but it wasn't. There are four more sketches her, which might be cheating but I put the same amount of effort into them as I do each. I'm worried about you, about your dad. We have to go soon.
-Gerard
Dear Gerard, none of those are me, but I am in the same class as two of them, that'll be a big hint for you I guess. My dad, he doesn't do anything to me I don't deserve. When I was born, my mother died, and it's my fault that she and my dad couldn't be happy together. When he remarried my step mother, she left because she hated me. I don't remember either of them but I know my mother had wavy black hair that shined like oil. I have the same hair but it's no where near as beautiful, I have her eyes too, but not nearly as bright.He says I look like her and sometimes he'll call me by her name. My dad says that it's only fair I take her place. He thinks I want to take her place, he's sick in his mind I think, but because of that, there is no true place for me. I exist in her image or I don't exist at all.
I want to exist, I don't want this guilt sitting on my shoulders, or standing in between my legs. I'm sick of this place. You're the only one I can confide in. Soon would be better than never.
- F.I
[**]
[*Omg two chapter two days in a row! I might make it three but I'm working on a waycest, I know what your thinking, Waycest, that's just crossing the line, just read it, If you like me as a writer, you'd be surprised. Anyway, thanks for reading Dollies, I love all of you. Pretty Please Rate and review!
She had not stayed to wait for me. When I read her note, I knew there was no going back, that this was now a reality. I was no longer cocooned in a blanket of hopeless aspirations. When I went home, it was passed four, and I felt like it was cheating to wait for her there, like I was intruding on her space, I still owned the keys to a building I had been evicted from.
My father had cooked dinner when I arrived home, and the smell of burnt bread wafted into my nose as opposed to the sharp bitter tang that normally assaulted me when I opened the door. He was there sitting on the couch, a Pepsi in his hand. He turned to look at me and his face was still sallow behind his black hair.
He had done this twice now. After I had passed out, I awoke in my bed and there was a bowl of soup next to me, still hot. The thought that maybe, my mother had come home, passed my mind, that she had mixed broth and vegetables and small bites of chicken into a pot and roasted it over low heat until it had become a consumable healing solution. But when I took a bite, the familiar taste of Campbell's rolled over my tongue, and somehow that had made it worse, that my father had taken the time to open a can, to put it in a bowl, and microwave it. The soup tasted like rubber after that.
“I made dinner” he said, and I looked at the table, two plates with two sandwiches, the tops of each had been burned and the blackness hastily scraped off the bread. This was him trying, this was him asking for forgiveness. I felt that bubble build in my throat, the one that makes your voice crack when you're about to cry. He was not forgiven.
“I'm not hungry” I said flatly and exited to my room.
That night I drew portraits, I drew four of them one after the other, feverish with effort, and even more so when I thought of what her dad had done, to make her want to leave so badly.
At school I searched the hallways for girls with bruises but with the cold weather everyone was covered up. I found a face with round green eyes underlined with a dark bruise under the left eye, and I thought wow shes pretty even with that bruise, and then I realized, he was a boy a grade below me. He always wore cool patches on his vests, but I never noticed his face. He turned away from me fast.
Dear F.I, I don't exactly know where I want to go on this train, but I know that where ever it is it'll be better if I'm with you. To me we've never met, though I'm sure we've passed at school, maybe I picked up your pencil for you in the sixth grade, maybe you were a friend of a friend, back when I still had friends. This morning at school Ilooked for you, thought maybe I could find your eyes and I'd know, but for some reason I feel like I'm looking in the wrong place. I saw someone I thought could be you, but it wasn't. There are four more sketches her, which might be cheating but I put the same amount of effort into them as I do each. I'm worried about you, about your dad. We have to go soon.
-Gerard
Dear Gerard, none of those are me, but I am in the same class as two of them, that'll be a big hint for you I guess. My dad, he doesn't do anything to me I don't deserve. When I was born, my mother died, and it's my fault that she and my dad couldn't be happy together. When he remarried my step mother, she left because she hated me. I don't remember either of them but I know my mother had wavy black hair that shined like oil. I have the same hair but it's no where near as beautiful, I have her eyes too, but not nearly as bright.He says I look like her and sometimes he'll call me by her name. My dad says that it's only fair I take her place. He thinks I want to take her place, he's sick in his mind I think, but because of that, there is no true place for me. I exist in her image or I don't exist at all.
I want to exist, I don't want this guilt sitting on my shoulders, or standing in between my legs. I'm sick of this place. You're the only one I can confide in. Soon would be better than never.
- F.I
[**]
[*Omg two chapter two days in a row! I might make it three but I'm working on a waycest, I know what your thinking, Waycest, that's just crossing the line, just read it, If you like me as a writer, you'd be surprised. Anyway, thanks for reading Dollies, I love all of you. Pretty Please Rate and review!
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