Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Man Who Sought Revenge and the Man Who Led The Parade
The Darkness
4 reviewsTwo men are locked inside an impenetrable prison. Both are shackled in chains, and both in grief over their own deaths.
4Ambiance
This story's also available in Wattpad in the category of fan fiction under a different pseudonym.
The prison was a darkness of the most fearsome kind. Every sort of fear you felt in the world can be found in this kind of darkness.
Are you afraid of monsters? The monsters lurk in the dark, eating the shadows and shunning the light. They are silent, like predators watching the lone prey.
Are you afraid of being alone? Trust me. This darkness makes you feel even more alone. You have been forsaken, and left to die on your own. Not even your calming words can comfort you.
Are you afraid of uncertainty? For definitely this darkness is uncertainty embodied. Who knows what lies beyond the darkness? Who knows what horrors lie in those shadows? You are being watched, and at the same time, you aren't. You are uncertain.
And lastly...are you afraid of ghosts?
The ghosts of this place do not hide in the darkness. As we look away from the darkness, we see a dim light. Its light source is unknown. But it comes from atop. Could it be the moonlight? Could it be an artificial light, groping around the dark spaces?
There are two ghosts. Two men, both chained to armchairs in the dark, dark room. Their arms are rigidly shacked into place on the arms of the chairs. Their feet are tied together with rusty links of metal. But not even rust could deteriorate the strong iron. It was hard to set the feet free.
The dim light shone upon these two men. Their heads are bowed down, but one can clearly see the appearance of each.
The first ghost was a thin man, all dressed in black. If you looked closer you could see that he wore a black suit, and over his black shirt was a tight red tie. It was the only color on him, for this man looked like a black and white photograph. His head may be bowed low, but we see his pallid complexion. The waxy white of his skin gave more blackness to his long matted hair. His hair reached his shoulders.
The pallor of his hands, as they are stuck on the chair arm, was deathlike. Look at them, and see how smooth they are compared to the rough surface of the wooden chair on which he is forced to sit for all eternity.
But this ghost is not dead. It is a living ghost. Look more closely at those white bony hands and see that they are flinching. His fingers are making jerky movements.
From behind his mane of black hair, we hear a small sound. What sound is it? It's a laughing sound...but very small. This ghost was stifling a giggle. He was laughing to himself. His small laugh grew louder gradually, so as not to suddenly break a most serene silence.
As he roared with laughter, he raised his head up into the light that bathed him. He was momentarily blinded by it, but he slowly opened his hazel eyes and embraced what was before him. He saw only a small light, a great amount of darkness, and another fellow tied to a chair across him. He cocked his head to one side and wondered who this fellow might be.
He noticed, with awe, the other ghost's short blonde hair that illuminated the light so brightly that his head seemed to shine in the darkness. His blonde hair looked almost white, but there was no old age in its whiteness. There was only a glow...almost like an angelic glow.
This other ghost had on what seemed to be a marching band attire. The horizontal lines across his chest were discernible.
"What's with the uniform?" asked the first ghost to the white-haired one.
He waited patiently for an answer, for he knew that fellows like these must not be hassled. He looked like one of those fragile types. Better not hurry them, especially when you've got all eternity.
His patience was worth it. The white-haired ghost raised his head also and looked at the light that shone from above. He turned towards the man who spoke to him. He too had hazel eyes.
"What's with that face?" the white-haired ghost answered back, his voice tinged with sardonic detachment.
The first ghost was offended. "My face? Why, what's wrong with my face?"
The white-haired ghost did not reply but he only kept staring at this pale man. "Have you been crying?" he asked this pale man.
The pale man, or the first ghost, realized that his own face was stained with tears...black tears.
"Yes" the pale ghost shrugged, "I bet you were to. Now what's with that uniform?"
The white-haired ghost shrugged in return, "I don't know anymore."
"Of course you do...er.." started the pale ghost, "Well...what should I call you?"
"I don't know anymore"
"You're strange, you know that? But I'll give you a name anyway. I'll call you Blondie. No? You don't like that? How about Leader of the Marching Band? Since that's what you look like. Hm?"
But the Leader of the Marching Band bowed his again and did not reply.
"It's your turn to give me a name, Leader."
The Leader wouldn't respond. He kept still, but the pale ghost refused to take silence for an answer.
"Alright. I'll give myself a name. From now on I shall be called - "
"Sorrow." the Leader suddenly said.
"Sorrow? Why Sorrow?"
The Leader looked up to face him and said, "Because when I look at you, I see sorrow."
"That's very sad."
"It should be. It's Sorrow, after all."
Sorrow liked his new name, and began to venture into thousands of things he and the Leader can talk about. He wriggled his wrists and heard the clinking of the chains.
"Why are we shackled?"
"You know the answer to that" the Leader said, "And don't bring it up."
"No, honestly, I don't know. Why are we in chains? And is this a prison? What crime did we commit?"
"Stop it. You know as well as I do."
"Aw, you're no fun at all."
"We better keep silent."
"Why?"
"Someone will soon come for us."
"Really? Whatever for?"
"Redemption, my friend" replied the Leader with a more relaxed tone, "Your redemption, my redemption."
"My redemption? Why, what is my redemption?"
"Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Oh dear...you really don't remember" the Leader looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.
"What don't I remember?" Sorrow asked, "And what is my redemption?"
The Leader once again fell into silence.
"Can you at least give me a clue" pleaded Sorrow. If his hands weren't shackled, he would put them together, beg on his knees, and plead with the man to tell him what he doesn't know. "Just one clue."
The Leader looked at him and relented. The poor ghost needed to know. "In one word" he said.
"What?"
And with all the courage in his heart, and with all the hatred he stored up in his soul, the white-haired ghost, the Leader, smiled weakly and uttered the word with much power and clarity. He almost trembled when he said it, knowing that Sorrow would very soon remember.
"Revenge."
The prison was a darkness of the most fearsome kind. Every sort of fear you felt in the world can be found in this kind of darkness.
Are you afraid of monsters? The monsters lurk in the dark, eating the shadows and shunning the light. They are silent, like predators watching the lone prey.
Are you afraid of being alone? Trust me. This darkness makes you feel even more alone. You have been forsaken, and left to die on your own. Not even your calming words can comfort you.
Are you afraid of uncertainty? For definitely this darkness is uncertainty embodied. Who knows what lies beyond the darkness? Who knows what horrors lie in those shadows? You are being watched, and at the same time, you aren't. You are uncertain.
And lastly...are you afraid of ghosts?
The ghosts of this place do not hide in the darkness. As we look away from the darkness, we see a dim light. Its light source is unknown. But it comes from atop. Could it be the moonlight? Could it be an artificial light, groping around the dark spaces?
There are two ghosts. Two men, both chained to armchairs in the dark, dark room. Their arms are rigidly shacked into place on the arms of the chairs. Their feet are tied together with rusty links of metal. But not even rust could deteriorate the strong iron. It was hard to set the feet free.
The dim light shone upon these two men. Their heads are bowed down, but one can clearly see the appearance of each.
The first ghost was a thin man, all dressed in black. If you looked closer you could see that he wore a black suit, and over his black shirt was a tight red tie. It was the only color on him, for this man looked like a black and white photograph. His head may be bowed low, but we see his pallid complexion. The waxy white of his skin gave more blackness to his long matted hair. His hair reached his shoulders.
The pallor of his hands, as they are stuck on the chair arm, was deathlike. Look at them, and see how smooth they are compared to the rough surface of the wooden chair on which he is forced to sit for all eternity.
But this ghost is not dead. It is a living ghost. Look more closely at those white bony hands and see that they are flinching. His fingers are making jerky movements.
From behind his mane of black hair, we hear a small sound. What sound is it? It's a laughing sound...but very small. This ghost was stifling a giggle. He was laughing to himself. His small laugh grew louder gradually, so as not to suddenly break a most serene silence.
As he roared with laughter, he raised his head up into the light that bathed him. He was momentarily blinded by it, but he slowly opened his hazel eyes and embraced what was before him. He saw only a small light, a great amount of darkness, and another fellow tied to a chair across him. He cocked his head to one side and wondered who this fellow might be.
He noticed, with awe, the other ghost's short blonde hair that illuminated the light so brightly that his head seemed to shine in the darkness. His blonde hair looked almost white, but there was no old age in its whiteness. There was only a glow...almost like an angelic glow.
This other ghost had on what seemed to be a marching band attire. The horizontal lines across his chest were discernible.
"What's with the uniform?" asked the first ghost to the white-haired one.
He waited patiently for an answer, for he knew that fellows like these must not be hassled. He looked like one of those fragile types. Better not hurry them, especially when you've got all eternity.
His patience was worth it. The white-haired ghost raised his head also and looked at the light that shone from above. He turned towards the man who spoke to him. He too had hazel eyes.
"What's with that face?" the white-haired ghost answered back, his voice tinged with sardonic detachment.
The first ghost was offended. "My face? Why, what's wrong with my face?"
The white-haired ghost did not reply but he only kept staring at this pale man. "Have you been crying?" he asked this pale man.
The pale man, or the first ghost, realized that his own face was stained with tears...black tears.
"Yes" the pale ghost shrugged, "I bet you were to. Now what's with that uniform?"
The white-haired ghost shrugged in return, "I don't know anymore."
"Of course you do...er.." started the pale ghost, "Well...what should I call you?"
"I don't know anymore"
"You're strange, you know that? But I'll give you a name anyway. I'll call you Blondie. No? You don't like that? How about Leader of the Marching Band? Since that's what you look like. Hm?"
But the Leader of the Marching Band bowed his again and did not reply.
"It's your turn to give me a name, Leader."
The Leader wouldn't respond. He kept still, but the pale ghost refused to take silence for an answer.
"Alright. I'll give myself a name. From now on I shall be called - "
"Sorrow." the Leader suddenly said.
"Sorrow? Why Sorrow?"
The Leader looked up to face him and said, "Because when I look at you, I see sorrow."
"That's very sad."
"It should be. It's Sorrow, after all."
Sorrow liked his new name, and began to venture into thousands of things he and the Leader can talk about. He wriggled his wrists and heard the clinking of the chains.
"Why are we shackled?"
"You know the answer to that" the Leader said, "And don't bring it up."
"No, honestly, I don't know. Why are we in chains? And is this a prison? What crime did we commit?"
"Stop it. You know as well as I do."
"Aw, you're no fun at all."
"We better keep silent."
"Why?"
"Someone will soon come for us."
"Really? Whatever for?"
"Redemption, my friend" replied the Leader with a more relaxed tone, "Your redemption, my redemption."
"My redemption? Why, what is my redemption?"
"Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Oh dear...you really don't remember" the Leader looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.
"What don't I remember?" Sorrow asked, "And what is my redemption?"
The Leader once again fell into silence.
"Can you at least give me a clue" pleaded Sorrow. If his hands weren't shackled, he would put them together, beg on his knees, and plead with the man to tell him what he doesn't know. "Just one clue."
The Leader looked at him and relented. The poor ghost needed to know. "In one word" he said.
"What?"
And with all the courage in his heart, and with all the hatred he stored up in his soul, the white-haired ghost, the Leader, smiled weakly and uttered the word with much power and clarity. He almost trembled when he said it, knowing that Sorrow would very soon remember.
"Revenge."
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