Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I'm Just A Kid.

I'm Just A Kid.

by XxxFallenAngelXxxx 2 reviews

Bandit has a two point plan. 1: achieve world domination with her band, and 2: find her dad. There's only one issue. She doesn't know who he is, let alone that he is a rockstar.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Bob Bryar,Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2013-05-10 - Updated: 2013-05-13 - 794 words

This cannot be my life.
Seriously. It’s so dull. So mundane and crappy. So unimportant. There must be something better, something bigger than this. Somewhere. I know everyone says that, and then it turns out that their lives are pretty much picture perfect and they have a complete change of heart and end up shitting rainbows and cute little puppy dogs, but trust me on this one; my life is boring. Mundane. Uninteresting. It doesn’t suck major balls or anything and I`m not some poor underprivileged kid dying of malnutrition or anything like that. I know I`m one of the lucky ones in life who has food, clean water, a roof over her head and all that great stuff, but still, my life is seriously lacking in the excitement department.
My name is Bandit Lee Dawson (don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I named myself, is it?) and I live in crappy little town somewhere in the middle of delightful England called Corby. Or as I like to call it, Hell on Earth. A teensy, insignificant little angry red pimple on the face of England, which all in all, isn’t too bad I suppose. London`s alright, same for Liverpool and Birmingham sometimes has some decent gigs I beg my mum to let me go to. On my knees, I might add.
So you know my name, truthful opinion on my fantabulous life and you may have noticed I`m not exactly what you could call a major optimist. Now it`s time for me to set the scene for you a bit. Picture a dismal grey morning. And not just any morning, a Monday morning. Satan`s day. All I have to look forward to today is an hour long school assembly about the importance of road safety we get every year from an overweight copper, with a severe sweat problem, geography taught by the Victorian Ms. Webster and the joys of sitting by the rubbish bins at lunch by myself. Again.
I screw my eyes up tightly, hoping and praying that I can somehow stop the day from starting if I can’t see it from behind my closed eyelids. I curl my knees up to my embarrassingly puny chest, my glow in the dark skeleton bed sheets wrapping around my legs. I had finally had my room redone last year, the faded butterfly wallpaper, childish hello kitty curtains and bedding replaced with glittery black wallpaper, skeleton duvet set with matching rug and curtains and a lamp shade in the shape of a star. One of mum`s exes had done the redecorating for me, replacing the shoddy work of Rob (or was it Bob?) who had been responsible for the original, childish décor nearly ten years ago.
From downstairs the smell of cooking bacon and eggs wafts up to me, through the slightly ajar door that had been skilfully nudged open in the night by my ex racing greyhound, suitably named Chase. (I was eight, alright?!) The dark furred culprit was snoring softly at the bottom of my bed, a worn teddy of a tiger cub nestled in-between her front paws. I smile, despite my crappy mood. We never had a cooked breakfast, so mum must be in a really good mood. Maybe she had finally came to her senses and chucked her personality-less boyfriend of four months, Jake.
Resigning myself to my fate, the promise of a cooked breakfast making this grey Monday seeming just a smidge less terrible, I climb out of bed, careful not to disturb Chase. I head to the bathroom, collecting some clean clothes and my makeup bag on the way. I shower in record time and I scramble into my skin tight jeans, the ones with the skeletal paw prints on the back pockets. Once fully clothed I glare at my reflection, or more specifically, at my laughable chest area. “Look up to two cup sizes bigger, without bumps or bulges!” boasted the thirty five quid bra I got last week. Yeah fucking right.
I avoid the creaky bottom step, and the mountain of fresh washing piled on top and wander into the kitchen, belly rumbling at the delicious smells. What I see sat casually in my seat, makes me lose my appetite altogether.
“Oh gross. So he stayed here the night. And now he`s eating my bacon and eggs.” I glare at the object of my disgust through narrowed eyes, smudged black eyeliner and shadow enhancing the look. “Lovely, just fucking lovely.” I say, quickly turning my eyes away from the slightly chubby, half dressed thing sat in the brightly coloured bar stool lookalike chair.
My mother`s latest boyfriend. Jake Personality-Bypass.
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