Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > [ Fatality Is Like Ghosts In The Snow ] Chapter One
One
September 26, 2006,
6:13 AM
Outside the bus stop, early-morning, low-laying fog mingled with the smoke from his cigarette, wreathing his thin face in some form of unholy halo, stopped from reaching the sky by the awning he was standing under. The tour bus was parked a little ways away. The sun had just come up despite the thin drizzle, barely visible through the dense fog. Even thirty miles outside the town, in the middle of nowhere, he felt a vague uneasiness about being there. The weather had nothing to do with it, although that was bad enough-cool and humid, standard Nevada weather. No, it was just the sense that he was home, even if he didn't want to be home. Even if he didn't want to call Santa Rose home.
He reached up and brushed a thick lock of white-blonde hair out of his eyes. His fingers were thin, accustomed to the thick strings of the bass, and his nails were covered in chipped black polish. Twin studs gleamed in his lower lip and another shone in his left ear. He had gotten them all two days before, on his eighteenth birthday, because Frank had paid. The older man had gone to get a tattoo at the same place and offered to pay when he said he was getting his lip done.
The albino was still small for his age, barely five six, but he didn't even look that because he slouched. He scaled in at a clean hundred and five and didn't look that, either. A black zip-up hoodie was partially unzipped on his torso, exposing a plain, white tee-shirt underneath. Jeans-one of the few pairs that weren't ripped, faded or stained somehow-hung from bony hips and brushed the tips of his shoes.
His head jerked up when his ears, accustomed to the silence, picked up someone's footsteps.
"Trent," someone called in a low voice. "You out here?"
"Yeah," he said, flicking his cigarette to the asphalt and grinding it out with his shoe. He flipped up his hood, the black fabric a striking contrast to his white skin, like the kohl around his eyes was contrasting to the maroon of his irises. After a moment, he walked out from under the awning. "Hey, Frankie."
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Just fine, thanks, and you?" Trent mumbled, staring at his shoes again. Damn it all, why did he get like this around Frank? All shy and awkward and quiet.
You don't want him to know who you are.
What you are.
He looked up and saw that Frank had thrust a cup of coffee at him. "I don't know how good this place's is, but it's better than nothing," he told him. Trent nodded gratefully and took a sip of the steaming-hot coffee. It didn't really affect him that much.
"Where's our next show? Do you know?" Frank asked after a moment.
"I think it's in Santa Rose," Trent said quietly. Even if he had been on the road with Frank for two weeks, he was still a little starstruck.
Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.
"You guys are from there, right?"
"Jeff and I are the only ones from Santa Rose. Dave and Chris are from Vargas."
"Must be nice to be home," Frank said after a moment, staring at the desert horizon, at the fog-blurred, bloody sun.
Trent shrugged. "I'd rather be in Jersey or New York... anywhere else. I don't like it here." He reached up and fingered the silver cross that hung around his neck on a thin chain.
The older man glanced at him. "Why?"
You don't want to know, believe me.
Trent sipped at his coffee, ignoring the rain that occasionally dropped into it. "I just don't like it. Too many memories." He sipped again. "Not very many of them are good."
Tell him, you fucking coward, before it's too late.
Frank, he saw gratefully, didn't seem to want to pursue the subject. "We've toured in Nevada, just not here. I 'spect this was the general area you guys toured in?"
"Not many kids here were into the kind of music we wanted to play. We toured in California, mostly, did a couple of Vegas shows."
Frank nodded. "Seems nice out here."
It's not what you think.
"It can be," Trent replied quietly.
After a few moments of silence, Frank said, "I better get back to the bus. 'Spect you better, too."
Trent nodded but didn't move. "I will in a few minutes."
"See you, kid."
"See you."
Then Trent was just left with the rain.
September 26, 2006,
6:13 AM
Outside the bus stop, early-morning, low-laying fog mingled with the smoke from his cigarette, wreathing his thin face in some form of unholy halo, stopped from reaching the sky by the awning he was standing under. The tour bus was parked a little ways away. The sun had just come up despite the thin drizzle, barely visible through the dense fog. Even thirty miles outside the town, in the middle of nowhere, he felt a vague uneasiness about being there. The weather had nothing to do with it, although that was bad enough-cool and humid, standard Nevada weather. No, it was just the sense that he was home, even if he didn't want to be home. Even if he didn't want to call Santa Rose home.
He reached up and brushed a thick lock of white-blonde hair out of his eyes. His fingers were thin, accustomed to the thick strings of the bass, and his nails were covered in chipped black polish. Twin studs gleamed in his lower lip and another shone in his left ear. He had gotten them all two days before, on his eighteenth birthday, because Frank had paid. The older man had gone to get a tattoo at the same place and offered to pay when he said he was getting his lip done.
The albino was still small for his age, barely five six, but he didn't even look that because he slouched. He scaled in at a clean hundred and five and didn't look that, either. A black zip-up hoodie was partially unzipped on his torso, exposing a plain, white tee-shirt underneath. Jeans-one of the few pairs that weren't ripped, faded or stained somehow-hung from bony hips and brushed the tips of his shoes.
His head jerked up when his ears, accustomed to the silence, picked up someone's footsteps.
"Trent," someone called in a low voice. "You out here?"
"Yeah," he said, flicking his cigarette to the asphalt and grinding it out with his shoe. He flipped up his hood, the black fabric a striking contrast to his white skin, like the kohl around his eyes was contrasting to the maroon of his irises. After a moment, he walked out from under the awning. "Hey, Frankie."
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Just fine, thanks, and you?" Trent mumbled, staring at his shoes again. Damn it all, why did he get like this around Frank? All shy and awkward and quiet.
You don't want him to know who you are.
What you are.
He looked up and saw that Frank had thrust a cup of coffee at him. "I don't know how good this place's is, but it's better than nothing," he told him. Trent nodded gratefully and took a sip of the steaming-hot coffee. It didn't really affect him that much.
"Where's our next show? Do you know?" Frank asked after a moment.
"I think it's in Santa Rose," Trent said quietly. Even if he had been on the road with Frank for two weeks, he was still a little starstruck.
Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.
"You guys are from there, right?"
"Jeff and I are the only ones from Santa Rose. Dave and Chris are from Vargas."
"Must be nice to be home," Frank said after a moment, staring at the desert horizon, at the fog-blurred, bloody sun.
Trent shrugged. "I'd rather be in Jersey or New York... anywhere else. I don't like it here." He reached up and fingered the silver cross that hung around his neck on a thin chain.
The older man glanced at him. "Why?"
You don't want to know, believe me.
Trent sipped at his coffee, ignoring the rain that occasionally dropped into it. "I just don't like it. Too many memories." He sipped again. "Not very many of them are good."
Tell him, you fucking coward, before it's too late.
Frank, he saw gratefully, didn't seem to want to pursue the subject. "We've toured in Nevada, just not here. I 'spect this was the general area you guys toured in?"
"Not many kids here were into the kind of music we wanted to play. We toured in California, mostly, did a couple of Vegas shows."
Frank nodded. "Seems nice out here."
It's not what you think.
"It can be," Trent replied quietly.
After a few moments of silence, Frank said, "I better get back to the bus. 'Spect you better, too."
Trent nodded but didn't move. "I will in a few minutes."
"See you, kid."
"See you."
Then Trent was just left with the rain.
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