Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Interlude
This chapter's a little longer, and introduces the crossover, I hope you like it c: R&R for more c:
I had been in the orphanage for a week days now, and there was nothing that could possibly make me label it a ‘positive experience’ as the policemen had called it. My parents were now pronounced deceased, and Mikey had been trundling around with a heavy cloud hanging over him since it had been announced. Everywhere he walked he wore a frown and he was too sad to even cry anymore. He sleeps beside me, refusing to go in his own bed in fright. He wouldn’t even explain what he was upset about. As for Frankie, he was at a loss, though mostly because he needed his parents by his side, they had always been good to him – and how he was on his own.
I had Mikey. Things were different for me because I had to be strong; I had someone who, althought he was young and innocent and off his tiny head, he could be there for me too. Frankie, however, was on his own. He had to fend for himself, and from previous experience, he wasn’t exactly a fan of social interaction. Then again, neither was I.
Which was why it took me with such a surprise when I actually managed to talk to another child without saying something very weird.
At the time, I was sat in one of the more secluded room, the study. The kids of the orphanage were free to roam around the house wherever they pleased, but no one ever went in the study. I would sit in there on my own and draw, or read, or sit with Mikey whilst he neighed and played with his horses, acting like he used to, before the accident. A boy who must have been around my age, or maybe nine, came tottering over to me. He had dark, brunette hair and hazel eyes, similar to his own and Mikey’s, maybe a little darker.
He smiled and sat beside me, crossing his little, skinny legs, clasping his hands together on his lap. He peered over me at my sketchbook and a small smile danced on his lips.
“You’re a very good drawer.” He chimed, his voice high and squeaky. I couldn’t help but smile a little and fold up my arms, a giggle slipping from between my usually tight shut lips.
“Thank you.” I replied, averting his gaze in slight embarrassment. His eyes were wide and still staring at the drawing I had done with a look of wonder glittering in his eyes. Suddenly they snapped up to meet my own gaze.
“Do you know Frankie?” He asked, abruptly. I stared at him for a few moments before giving him my answer. I nodded and he continued to talk. “I like Frankie. Would you like to come to the park with me and George and Frankie?”
“George?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded. “He’s my friend. He’s called George.”
“What are you called?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.
The boy smiled and chirped. “Brendon. My name’s Brendon! What’s your name?” Brendon seemed a tad brighter than my usual – infrequent friends, but I liked him, despite this. I told him my name and he laughed a little, saying it was ‘odd’, before scrambling to his feet, asking me to follow. We wandered together through to the kitchen, where a boy who was definitely the same age as me was sat on the floor, looking scornfully at the children that surrounded him, scowling. The moment he saw Brendon approaching his sour expression lightened and a smile played on his lips.
Brendon walked towards him and held out a hand. The older boy, who I assumed, was George, grinned and took his hand, climbing up to his feet.
“Hello Brendon.” George smiled, seeing me and narrowing his gaze again. “Who’s this?” Brendon clapped his hands in his seemingly cheery disposition and almost chanted out my name. George was disapproving, as he crossed his arms and glazed his eyes over me. “He’s coming to the park?” He said, his voice dark.
“Yes! With Frankie. And you. And me!” Brendon beamed, begging for George’s approval. George rolled his eyes a little, looking me up and down before nodding, so slightly, it could have been a twitch.
“Alright..” George growled. “Frankie’s in his bedroom.”
We walked to the park along with one of the older boys, named Brian. We wandered along together, Brendon skipping along beside George, who had a tiny bit of bounce in his step. Brendon seemed like the talker of the two – George, however seeming quiet and scornful, was certainly loud, perhaps even louder than Brendon, yet he didn’t like to show it. Frankie was skipping along with them, so I hung back with Brian, staying close to him.
“How old are you, Gerard?” Brian asked, gently. He was around sixteen – young, wanted by all the teenage girls of the orphanage, apparently – and I liked him straight away. He was a little different to the other teenagers, because he didn’t ruffle my hair or tell me I was stupid. He listened to me and sat with me and looked at my art.
“I’m ten.” I replied, marching beside him. He nodded gently.
“Do you like the orphanage?” He asked again.
I shook my head. “No.” Brian laughed.
“That’s what I said when I first got here. Do you not like anything?”
I pondered this as we walked before replying.
“I like you. I like Brendon, and I like George. But I don’t like the orphanage. It makes my brother cry.” Brian listened to me and nodded as I spoke, absorbing my words. We wandered together into the park, where Frankie, George and Brendon skipped together towards the climbing frame. I stayed behind with Brian, hopping up onto a bench and swinging my legs idly.
Brian was gazing wistfully into the distance, sucking on his bottom lip. He breathed in as if he were about to speak.
“Gerard, are you sad?” He asked me.
I stared down, searching for an answer to his inquiry, but my scrawny knees didn’t provide me with anything. I shrugged, gently, thinking his words over and over in my head and getting nothing that seemed important.
“I don’t feel sad,” I responded, gently. “It’s been a week, but I don’t feel sad. I loved my parents very much, I just don’t really believe that it happened, I think.” I shrugged.
“I think a lot of kids feel like that.” Brian responded, thoughtfully.
I liked Brian. He made me feel like I was just a little less weird than I was, as if I were like the other kids, but then he praised me on every single abnormality I possessed.
“Did you feel like that?” I asked him. He smiled, with the corner of his lips, and nodded.
“Of course I did.”
I had been in the orphanage for a week days now, and there was nothing that could possibly make me label it a ‘positive experience’ as the policemen had called it. My parents were now pronounced deceased, and Mikey had been trundling around with a heavy cloud hanging over him since it had been announced. Everywhere he walked he wore a frown and he was too sad to even cry anymore. He sleeps beside me, refusing to go in his own bed in fright. He wouldn’t even explain what he was upset about. As for Frankie, he was at a loss, though mostly because he needed his parents by his side, they had always been good to him – and how he was on his own.
I had Mikey. Things were different for me because I had to be strong; I had someone who, althought he was young and innocent and off his tiny head, he could be there for me too. Frankie, however, was on his own. He had to fend for himself, and from previous experience, he wasn’t exactly a fan of social interaction. Then again, neither was I.
Which was why it took me with such a surprise when I actually managed to talk to another child without saying something very weird.
At the time, I was sat in one of the more secluded room, the study. The kids of the orphanage were free to roam around the house wherever they pleased, but no one ever went in the study. I would sit in there on my own and draw, or read, or sit with Mikey whilst he neighed and played with his horses, acting like he used to, before the accident. A boy who must have been around my age, or maybe nine, came tottering over to me. He had dark, brunette hair and hazel eyes, similar to his own and Mikey’s, maybe a little darker.
He smiled and sat beside me, crossing his little, skinny legs, clasping his hands together on his lap. He peered over me at my sketchbook and a small smile danced on his lips.
“You’re a very good drawer.” He chimed, his voice high and squeaky. I couldn’t help but smile a little and fold up my arms, a giggle slipping from between my usually tight shut lips.
“Thank you.” I replied, averting his gaze in slight embarrassment. His eyes were wide and still staring at the drawing I had done with a look of wonder glittering in his eyes. Suddenly they snapped up to meet my own gaze.
“Do you know Frankie?” He asked, abruptly. I stared at him for a few moments before giving him my answer. I nodded and he continued to talk. “I like Frankie. Would you like to come to the park with me and George and Frankie?”
“George?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded. “He’s my friend. He’s called George.”
“What are you called?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.
The boy smiled and chirped. “Brendon. My name’s Brendon! What’s your name?” Brendon seemed a tad brighter than my usual – infrequent friends, but I liked him, despite this. I told him my name and he laughed a little, saying it was ‘odd’, before scrambling to his feet, asking me to follow. We wandered together through to the kitchen, where a boy who was definitely the same age as me was sat on the floor, looking scornfully at the children that surrounded him, scowling. The moment he saw Brendon approaching his sour expression lightened and a smile played on his lips.
Brendon walked towards him and held out a hand. The older boy, who I assumed, was George, grinned and took his hand, climbing up to his feet.
“Hello Brendon.” George smiled, seeing me and narrowing his gaze again. “Who’s this?” Brendon clapped his hands in his seemingly cheery disposition and almost chanted out my name. George was disapproving, as he crossed his arms and glazed his eyes over me. “He’s coming to the park?” He said, his voice dark.
“Yes! With Frankie. And you. And me!” Brendon beamed, begging for George’s approval. George rolled his eyes a little, looking me up and down before nodding, so slightly, it could have been a twitch.
“Alright..” George growled. “Frankie’s in his bedroom.”
We walked to the park along with one of the older boys, named Brian. We wandered along together, Brendon skipping along beside George, who had a tiny bit of bounce in his step. Brendon seemed like the talker of the two – George, however seeming quiet and scornful, was certainly loud, perhaps even louder than Brendon, yet he didn’t like to show it. Frankie was skipping along with them, so I hung back with Brian, staying close to him.
“How old are you, Gerard?” Brian asked, gently. He was around sixteen – young, wanted by all the teenage girls of the orphanage, apparently – and I liked him straight away. He was a little different to the other teenagers, because he didn’t ruffle my hair or tell me I was stupid. He listened to me and sat with me and looked at my art.
“I’m ten.” I replied, marching beside him. He nodded gently.
“Do you like the orphanage?” He asked again.
I shook my head. “No.” Brian laughed.
“That’s what I said when I first got here. Do you not like anything?”
I pondered this as we walked before replying.
“I like you. I like Brendon, and I like George. But I don’t like the orphanage. It makes my brother cry.” Brian listened to me and nodded as I spoke, absorbing my words. We wandered together into the park, where Frankie, George and Brendon skipped together towards the climbing frame. I stayed behind with Brian, hopping up onto a bench and swinging my legs idly.
Brian was gazing wistfully into the distance, sucking on his bottom lip. He breathed in as if he were about to speak.
“Gerard, are you sad?” He asked me.
I stared down, searching for an answer to his inquiry, but my scrawny knees didn’t provide me with anything. I shrugged, gently, thinking his words over and over in my head and getting nothing that seemed important.
“I don’t feel sad,” I responded, gently. “It’s been a week, but I don’t feel sad. I loved my parents very much, I just don’t really believe that it happened, I think.” I shrugged.
“I think a lot of kids feel like that.” Brian responded, thoughtfully.
I liked Brian. He made me feel like I was just a little less weird than I was, as if I were like the other kids, but then he praised me on every single abnormality I possessed.
“Did you feel like that?” I asked him. He smiled, with the corner of his lips, and nodded.
“Of course I did.”
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