Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance

Mama, we all go to hell

by IndiaGirl 0 reviews

Mikey hasn't been himself lately.. Oneshot. {no pairing}

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: G - Genres: Drama,Humor,Sci-fi - Characters: Mikey Way - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2012-12-16 - Updated: 2012-12-16 - 2350 words - Complete

This was a oneshot which I wrote, inspired by the song, Mama. I've kind of always imagined something like a demon or.. You know, possession, in this song. Idk. R&R?

"Mikey? Hey, are you going to come out soon?" My older brother knocked a fist gently against the basement door. He's been standing out there for, a while now, listening, because I can hear him breathing.
He isn't breathing loud. Not at all, his respiration is hardly even audible but when I was burdened as a child with what would be later named "short-sightedness", I was also gifted with an acute, heightened sense of smell and hearing, both of which benefit me greatly (However, having to wear glasses for two thirds of your life wasn't particularly worth it.).
I must add now, that I have had laser eye surgery. Just a few months ago actually. There were a few complications, but I'm good to go, now with impeccable eyesight, hearing, and smell. What do you know - I'm superhuman, I guess, let's leave it at that.
I now realise that I have been caught up for what has probably been several minutes since my brother was talking to me. I hastily come up with a reply.
"Oh yeah, yeah sure - course." I replied, raising an eyebrow. I pushed myself away from my desk, placing the bass back in it's stand and opening the basement door. Gerard greeted me with a soft smile, and he held out his hand for me to touch his fingers. I didn't like hugs. Far too much human contact for my liking, things touching where they shouldn't, that kind of thing. Doesn't work for me. I reached out and pressed each individual fingertip to his.
"I haven't seen you in days, Mikes, how are you not dead? You haven't eaten or anything." My brother stated, his eyebrows raised. He was obviously shocked by this but I only ate when people were around so they didn't think me strange - I had always been like that. Funny thing is, I don't remember ever feeling hungry; even as a child, I was adored simply because I would never ask when dinner was ready, never whine on long car journeys that I required a bathroom break or that I needed a drink immediately. I just didn't need it.
I still don't understand it today, but if anything, it makes me superior. I have advanced beyond the rest of the humans and I know it.
Once again it occurs to me that I have been lost in my own thoughts.
"I uh, had some food in there, Gee." I replied, reassuring him. He stared at me as if I were bat crazy and I didn't question his reasoning. All the guys in the band thought I was losing it; I suppose my erratic behaviour has been getting slightly worse as of a few weeks ago.

"Mikey, I swear if you get any paler, you'll disappear." Ray's voice protruded into my mind fog and cleared it. I cocked my head towards him and blinked. I didn't really have a response, I wasn't even entirely sure what he said (which was also a particularly big problem for me.). Gerard cut in and made my life ten times easier, then simultaneously twenty times worse.
"That's because he never goes outside! Too busy practicing," Gerard smiled fondly, his gaze resting uncomfortably on me. I dropped my eyes to the floor. "And, Mikey, Mom is coming over today." I quickly snapped my gaze to meet his eyes, horrified.
"Why?" I pressed, my hands tightening around the bass. Gerard sighed, exchanging worried glances with his fellow bandmates before returning his attention to me.
"We're worried about you, Mikes." He said, gently. I tilted my head at him, perceiving him as best as I could. There isn't any need to be worried about me. I don't leave the house, sure, and I don't eat, drink, or sleep, but that isn't really an issue either - doesn't this make me stronger? I don't understand my brother's thinking, though somehow I suppose I am slightly touched that he actually cares for me.
"I'm fine," I replied, nodding to him. "There's nothing to be worried about."

It was exactly two hours and forty three minutes after I said this that perhaps, I might have regretted it. My mother would be over in less than an hour, and there was a heat bubbling deep within me that I was already frightened of. It happened sometimes.
Next thing I know I have my beloved bass in my hands, and I strum a few of the heavy, steel strings, which are thick and weighty. But before I can stop myself I squeeze my eyes shut and bring it above my head, proceeding to smash the room up with it. It isn't the first time, believe me, but I can't control it and I would do anything to stop it. I doubt you have ever felt this, but if you can relate then don't hesitate to do so; It's like fingers under my skin. If you could zip open someone's skin at the back and climb in like a slightly disturbing skin onsie, this is what it would feel like to share one. What makes it worse it that I have no idea who's climbing in, since once they're behind me I cannot physically control myself.
Gerard arrives promptly after about two minutes, likely from hearing the insane crashes and sounds I'm creating. My bass at this point is ruined and I make a small cry when I see it. I didn't want to ruin it - it was my pride and joy. Gerard is followed by the other members of our actually, pretty good band, in my opinion, and they shout at me. I'm trying to listen but whoever is writhing underneath my skin has rendered me partially deaf. When the perpetrator finally dissolves, I fall to my knees exhausted and lie back, sweating profusely at this point and upset that my bass has fallen to pieces. I know I have others to play, but this one was mine and it was my favourite.
"What have you done?" Gerard asked, his voice still gentle as he knelt beside me. "Are you alright?" He brushes a thumb over my forehead where blood is now running. I would usually flinch and bat him away but I'm fatigued and he looks so frightened.
"I didn't mean to." I reply, honestly, shrugging. He sighs and shakes his head.
"Mom will be here soon, alright? I'll clean up your forehead."

Mom arrived with a few visitors, and then some.
There was a man with a mustache who to me, had a strange likeness to Albert Einstein, which kept me entertained whilst he asked me to lie down on the sofa and 'open up' (which you can see me taking the wrong way. I asked, he was appalled, and my mother had to cover her eyes in embarrassment. I just wanted to know his intentions, as all).
I laid myself down as instructed, after questioning the psychologist, and shut my eyes. He put on some kind of 'plinky plonky' music (that is how it was described to me, as an artist and scholar I am sure I could come up with a better word. I know - the intangible, soothing melodies. There.) and began to ask me questions. I answered them shortly and gave him very little information, as I felt the inquiries were irrelevant to my condition and what we should really be discussing is the fact that I may or may not be becoming a skin onsie.

At that point was the moment when I felt the rage bubbling up again. My mother and my brother sat on one side of the room and the psychologists were dotted around me. I had no bass to throw but my fists were free, and this moment, was the first time that my skin invader spoke.
He spoke through me.
It ranks high in the most frightening times of my life, apart from once when my brother licked my nipple on stage, which I recall was definitely more frightening, even if he had drunk half a bottle of vodka before going up there. He apologized dutifully the night after.

"Mama, we're all full of lies..
Mama, we're meant for the flies..
And right now they're building a coffin your size..
Mama, we're all full of lies.."
I could see my mother staring at me directly but I couldn't stop singing because this person had me throttled. The words I sung rung true in some respects; my mother never did treat me quite like my older brother. He was the favourite and I was constantly aware, but I wouldn't say a word, because I simply didn't mind.
At this point my singing progressed into slight shouting and the words rung true even further.
"Well Mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue, you should've raised a baby girl, I should've been a better son!" I crawled from the sofa and moved to my mother. "If you could coddle the infection they can amputate at once, you should've been, I could have been a better son!" I yelled at her, upset that I couldn't control myself, hurt forming behind her glassy, thick lashed eyes.
I continued shouting at her but, as a relation of mine, the born mother of my quick wit and naturally precise eyebrows, she retaliated quickly.
"You ain't no son of mine!" She cried, viciously glaring into my eyes. "For what you've done they're.. Gonna find - A place for you, and just you mind.. Your manners when you go," She paused, tears forming. "And when you go, don't return to me, my love!"
I was upset and infuriated and I simply wanted my mother to love me in return, but the ghost that spoke through me was transforming me into something evil. I started to thrash about, knocking things off the shelves and shouting, gripping on my hair and willing the dark shadow to release me, but I had no such luck. The other psychologists took a hold of me and pushed me up against the wall as I screeched, taking a sedative and slamming it without warning into my arm. I watched them drowsily as my back slid down the wall and I passed out from the drug.

Gerard and my mother stood above my cradle. People say you don't remember things from when you were younger than six, but I do. I remember it incredibly well, because my childhood was unlike any other. I distinctly remember a sigil; anti-possession. It was circled under my cradle, and the room was lined with the thick zing of salt. Gerard was at the young age of six and I was premature and incredibly tiny. I was actually three at this point, but small enough for a crib. My mother used to sing to me and Gerard if I remember correctly. And on this particular night, with a devil trap beneath our feet, she did.
"And if you would call me your sweetheart, I'd maybe then sing you a song.." She sung.

I was abruptly ripped from sleep as the voice took hold and something felt ultimately different. The psychologists had cleverly strapped me down, which stressed me out further. My wrists and ankles were restricted and the anger was bubbling.

"But there's shit that I've done, with this fuck of a gun, you would cry out your eyes all along.." This was the change. And as I opened my eyes and began to sing, the reaction from my mother and the psychologists was audible and horrifying.
My eyes were completely, and utterly, ebony. Black all over. No iris or whites, like one big glassy pupil.
"We're damned after all! Through fortune and flame we fall.. And if you can stay then I'll show you the way, To return from the ashes you crawl.." I shouted, the glass of the window's shattering as I did so, the bulbs in the lamps shattering, the tv switching white noise on and off and my mother's heart breaking into pieces. I was completely out of control, I wasn't sure the restraints would hold me back but as far as I was concerned I was glad they were there.
"We all carry on.. When our brothers in arms are gone!" The restraints began to tear and my back arched as I cried, tears spilling from my eyes as I tried to fight the monster within me.
"So raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die, and return from the ashes you.."
I screamed once as I felt the darkness throttling me, ripping up my insides. Another door slammed shut as I did so, and I could hear my mother sobbing but i /couldn't stop/.
I screamed again, the restrains ripping fully and letting my burning heart push forward, sending my back arching as I dug my nails into the couch, tears spilling over my cheeks.
I shrieked for the last time as the beast left me, sobbing uncontrollably, staring at my brother through my blackened eyes in a hope that he could come and find a way out of this. He was crying with his hands over his eyes, too frightened to look, curled at my mother's side. I let me body fall, once the screams were over and done with and I felt like me again. I breathed out, sweating profusely, opening my eyes and surveying my crying relatives. My mother didn't dare glance upwards, but my brother approached me, holding out his hands. I was quiet for a second, breathing slowly, feeling somewhat human, before throwing my self towards him, wrapping my arms around his neck and actually enjoying human contact. He was unsurprisingly shocked, but adjusted quickly, apprehensively putting his hands around me and comforting me accordingly.
The only thing I remember after that is that I had a sudden, completely irrational, craving..
For sushi.
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