Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Channel Hopping

Six: Pete Wentz is dead, long live Pete Wentz

by FrostedGlass 10 reviews

You can´t be dead if you´re still seeing your reflection in the mirror, can you?

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst, Drama, Fantasy, Sci-fi - Warnings: [!!!] - Published: 2006-11-19 - Updated: 2006-11-19 - 1021 words

Six: Pete Wentz is dead, long live Pete Wentz

My first reaction: I laughed out loud.

My funeral.

Yeah, right. I´m Pete Wentz. In the fucking flesh and very alive. From my position in front of the TV set I glanced at the mirror on the wall. Pete Wentz´s face. My trademark growlie face.

The countdown was back on.


No doubt I was losing my mind. I had laughed at seeing my own funeral.

How on earth had they managed to fake a clip like this one? My parents... my friends... Patrick, they all had looked so much like the people I´ve spent my life with. My life´s only really begun with the band. Well, there was one important thing that had happened pre-Fall Out Boy. But it was done and over with.


Time didn´t mean shit in this dungeon. I headed for the TV and pushed the off-button. The screen was black for a split second. But just for a split second.


Off. Black.


I repeated this spiel two more times. Weird sense of humor my tormentors had.

I laughed out loud once more and finally pulled the plug out of the socket. Fuck you. I surveyed my achievement in the form of a black TV screen.

But not for long.


"What in the name of...!" I cried.

Was this some kind of advanced technology? A TV that didn´t need electricity? Or maybe it was powered by batteries?


A psychological experiment. They tested how long it would take me to go completely crazy in here. Showing me clips of the people who mattered to me going through hell. I still couldn´t figure out how they had pulled off this funeral thing though. Pretty elaborate technology was used in our music videos but this... They couldn´t have been actors. I had seen my mother and father, Andy, Joe and Patrick.

Patrick. It almost tore my heart apart remembering the look on his face when he finally tossed the rose onto my- THAT coffin. It was all so real. The emotions. I´ve seen that boy cry a million times, there was nothing fake about it.


Aliens. Doing tests on humans. With alien TVs that didn´t need to be plugged in to work.

"I´m not a guinea pig, for God´s sake!" I screamed at the door. For what it was worth.


Bullshit, aliens. Pete, don´t make it so easy for them. Try to stay sane.

I hadn´t slept for how long?


I guessed I wouldn´t get anything to eat or drink soon. Funny thing was I didn´t mind. I was just relieved that I didn´t have to piss or take a number two. Imagine the smell in a room without windows.


Four hours down. I lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Maybe this was just a dream. I had taken a lot of sleeping pills before I went to bed after the party, thus this really long strange dream. Nightmare.


I was determined to wake up. I grabbed the mirror off the wall and looked at my face for a moment. No stubble. Hair looking as good as ever.

An idea struck me. I breathed onto the glass.

No sign of respiration.

What a fucking weird dream. Nah, well.

I threw the mirror onto the floor and picked up a bigger splinter.

It´s time to wake up, Pete.

I closed my eyes and hesitated before pressing the piece of glass against the skin on my upper arm. Then I cut myself.

No pain.

I opened my eyes to inspect the wound. Not the slightest lasceration. I repeated the action with more pressure. Same result.

I tried to cut myself on various spots of my body. Other arm, legs, tummy, face. Growing more frantic with every failed attempt to injure myself. I even took off all my clothes in a quest to find a spot on my body that would bleed when penetrated with the glass.

I was a freaking rubber man. With elastic skin.



I was still naked, sitting on the chair. The broken mirror on the floor, the harmless glass splinters forming an odd pattern. I had stepped on them to injure my feet but it didn´t happen.

Ha, I´m immortal.


The future.

The TV showed me the future, at least the funeral bit. Near future though, the guys hadn´t looked much older than the last time I had seen them.


I had put my clothes back on, out of habit. I hadn´t felt cold without them and I didn´t feel any warmer with them. But they were the only things that I had left from my life outside of this hellhole.

I glanced at the door. They had to come in here eventually. They just had to.

Would the mirror be replaced as well?


I sniffed my hoodie, my arm pits. I wasn´t smelling. Thank God, this was bad enough already.


A young man in a bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, rubbing his hands up and down his face. He´s looking distraught.

"I need some fucking sleep," he mumbles and opens the drawer of his nightstand.

"Hello, my friends," he says as he removes the cap from the pill bottle.

He pops in several pills, grabs the beer can from the floor and takes a few gulps. Then he lies down on the bed. He doesn't bother to turn off the light, just shields his eyes with one arm. Moments later he´s asleep.



The man is still lying on the bed, in the same position he feel asleep. Motionless.

"Peter, it´s time for you to get up," a woman bursts into the room. Upon seeing him she stops for a second and smiles to herself. Then she walks up to the bed and softly shakes him, one hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, get up already. It´s-" She stops, realizing the guy´s not breathing.

"PETER?!" She´s shaking him forcefully now.

He doesn´t stir.
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