Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Apples:Prologue:

Ch12: Tyrant

by Frerardpervert 2 reviews

corrupt teachers are the worst and they do exist

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: G - Genres: Angst - Characters: Frank Iero - Published: 2014-02-22 - 828 words

Wow this is so bad, im sorry i couldnt bear keeping you guys waiting any longer. It's pure shit sorry but I tried.

The weekend felt quite short, despite all the things that have occurred. So it is only logical that when I arrive to school,I feel like shit. Of course Monday being Monday, it brings a brooding air of tragedies that promise agony and everything above and below that line of pain. As evidence, I arrive to school late, lacking coffee in my system. Thus that is enough proof that I shall not be having a dandy day. My classes pass in a blur, seeing as I fell asleep in most of them, luckily, as I am a teacher's pet, I did not arise attention from my teachers. Well except for that beast that believes herself to be a human teacher in history and that annoying, insolent prick that thinks my guitar skills are unworthy.

The only constant thing I remember in every class was the relentless, droning chatter emitting from my peers' lips. Another thing I remember that I shall refuse to acknowledge and analyze any further than necessary, are my trips down the hallways from class to class, eyes glancing imperceptibly about for a familiar pale face. The action was of course, mere curiosity. Still, my findings have proved to be unsuccessful.

So it is only when I'm walking towards my usual spot in lunch that I accept that the owner of that familiar, pale face is absent. I slide down the wall and light up a cigarette, the smoke clinging to my clothes just like that discovered feeling of absence clings to the air. It is sort of mortifying how accustomed I have grown to his presence, that the realization makes me cough, just a bit, on the ash of my cigarette. As I splutter and choke embarrassingly so, a familiar voice leaps out from the intervals of silence, like a preying lion, between the sounds of my coughing.
"Those can't be good for you." The voice comments, a voice that I indeed despise.

I trap the resounding chokes behind the cage of my mouth, throat convulsing and tensing around the puffs of breath imprisoned behind my teeth. Eyes watering, I glance up at the owner of the familiar voice. As much as I can with watering eyes, I glare.
"Yeah well." I reply, not sure knowing how to reply when one is caught smoking by a school faculty.
"You know, this broken rule would cause you school suspension and three weeks of detention.." The voice drawls, the owner himself stretches, sighs after the release of clenching muscles, and slowly slides down the wall, sitting next to me. Uninvited.
"And yet, I have neither." I shoot out, annoyed.
"Ah but you didn't let me finish." he replies, voice lifted in pitch from the tone of condescension. I nod my head at him, demanding him to continue.
"If you'd been listening, as you evidently haven't, you'd know that our annual guitar festival event is coming up next month. And if you'd like to, than you could participate and perhaps play an accompaniment with a peer of yours."
I stare at him, incredulously, is this bastard really going to ask me a favor when he finds my guitar playing terrible?
"What." I say, ineloquently and baffled. Then," I don't want to be part of this festival."
"Then I suppose you'll take the suspension and detentions." He replies quickly, voice threatening and sharp like a lightning bolt. I stare, this bastard. My god, who would've thought.
I narrow my eyes, tilting my head.
"What song?" I ask, eyes narrowed. My gaze roams over the parking lot, I light up another cigarette.
He opens his mouth, letting a gasp of air within, and pauses, staring at me. Obviously at shock. Then he starts, now assured that I've agreed to his little offer, "Black Bird." He firmly states.
A groan drawls from my mouth, smoke clinging to the noise.
"Ok why me? You hate the things I play so why are you crawling over here, asking me for a favor when you can ask your little pet Tommy." I snap, appalled at such a terrible offer of a song, my guitar skills may not be great but I do not play sell out classic travesties.
"I'm not asking a favor." He glares, "Tommy is transferring schools." He says as an explanation.
"I can't sing so I'm choosing who is going to." I say.

He stretches out his legs, sighs and gets up.
"Deal." He snaps, then walks away. Leaving me alone, fuming with annoyance and disgust.

My mood is sour for the rest of the day.

It is only as I walk towards my home, that my mood is wiped away. There's a little surprise perched on the steps of my porch, waiting.

apologies for any mistakes my eyes really burn right now so I cant see well
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