Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Cobwebs On My Zipper

Bridges Over Ink

by ZippersOverYou 3 reviews

A little bit of life.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG - Genres: Humor, Parody, Romance - Published: 2006-12-06 - Updated: 2006-12-07 - 1226 words

Another update for my happy fingers. Thank you to all the amazing reviews because they're what keep my life going.

I immersed my huge hands in the crosshairs of my unruly black hair and growled in frustration. If there was one thing I hated, it was feeling confused. I hated it when I felt like I could just stand-alone in a room filled with people and seriously consider going any direction. Reining myself in, I realized that I didn't hate it; I just really, really didn't like feeling that way. How could I be so confused just by the sight of this girl I'd known but never really seen? Not just her looks drove me crazy. Everything I knew about her drove me crazy: her smell, her hair, her eyes, her words, her hips...

My ugly green eyes focused back into the room and met the collective stare of Jess and Patrick. The lump in my throat dropped down and I shot them a half-smile.

Jess' mouth moved slowly,

"Pete, are you ok?"

Scratching the back of my head, I nodded and did my best to cover,

"Just tired, guys. Nothin' to worry about."

I could almost read their thought bubbles as they furrowed their eyebrows simultaneously.

Andrew John Hurley faced me in the hall and the meeting of our eyes was all that was needed to convey. We stood shoulder to shoulder before the large brown roadblock of the bus. Both of us turned our rock star heads and nodded at each other before my polish met the paint of the door and it opened like we'd said 'Open Sesame'. Andrew and Pete stood in the doorway like two tattooed angels coming to confess their sins to St. Patrick.

Below the bedposts lay Patrick with his nose in a magazine with less naked ladies than last Sunday's mass. He put it down slowly and stared at us expectantly through his glasses. With John Wayne in mind, we strode into the room. Sitting on either side of him, the both of us continued our suspense and crossed our arms.

After several seconds, he spoke,


Andy answered in his 'deep, serious' voice,

"So, Mr. Stump, would you care explaining the earlier incident?"


I intervened,

"Mr. Stump, we would appreciate your participation. How do you explain the missed vocal cue earlier precisely at 9:45 pm, today?"

"9:30," Andy corrected.


"Oh, that. I wasn't paying attention is all," he tried to hide behind his magazine but he wasn't nearly as good at hiding behind words as I was.

Andy gave him a cocked-eyebrow,

"Bull shit, Stump. If you can sing flawlessly while Pete is streaking around the room; you can sing through anything."

I remembered that day fondly, as Patrick tried to leave the room. Luckily, my piles of fat were blocking the door, so I jumped on him.

"Lemmmmmme gooo, Pete!"

"What was it? Tell us."

"Ettt was nooothing."

"We don't believe you."

"Lehmmmme oop, Pete."

"Were you on your period, Patrick?"

"Yess, noww lemme up."

Andy smiled evilly,

"Patrick, the menstrual cycle is a natural, beautiful thing and you shouldn't be ashamed of it."


"Paco, I think he's clean for now. What do you think?"

"He could use a shower but I know what you mean and he's pretty clean in that area."

Pouting, Patrick stood his small self up and dusted the sleep from his shoulders.


A dark spinach colored hill led my shoes one step at a time as my hands pressed deeper into the holes of my pockets. Eyes stared out from over pursed lips and reached over the surface of the never ending plain.

The feet in my shoes froze with every step but the noise coming from the ground under me almost inflicted deafness. I know that if I looked down, I'd see nothing. That's what always happened. I'd look down expecting a mass of god knows what and nothing would be there.

As I walked, a shrinking feeling overcame me and it took four steps for me to feel three inches tall.

It was as if some perfectly crafted invisible force pulled me by the chin with her graceful putrid-smelling fingers.

For an eternity, I stepped on, feeling smaller and smaller until the fingers died at a tree. This cork tree stood in front of me sporting black bark and dead branches. A branch just above my head held a singing Patrick sturdily. Ssshing the monsters under my feet, I listened carefully to my best friend. He looked down at me with crossed legs and sang 'Cupid's Chokehold'.

From the branch across from him, Jess sat with her back to the trunk and twiddled a tulip in between her digits. She sang backup to Patrick, perfectly.

Simply listening to them, I looked straight at the trunk and touched it.

Their synched voices faded, as did the image of the hill and the tree. I reappeared flat on my back with a plastic dress over me. Panic arose as I saw needles piercing and throbbing through every part of my arms. Looking down led to me seeing the doctors over me with their sterile masks and sterile instruments digging in to me with scalpels.

Dreadfully, I screamed and started to sweat,

"What are you doing? There's nothing wrong with me. What's wrong with me?! What are you doing?"

It was then; I catapulted myself out of the dream and sat up in the bed. My chest heaved as cold sweat dripped off of my face and body.

My palms pressed to my eyes and I saw stars behind my eyelids as I held my breath. Around me, the darkness and cold wrapped me in a frozen blanket. With chattering lips, my legs swung over the edge of the bed like the lyrics of 'Sugar, we're going down' and I stood up on the cold floor.

The clock read '6:10' between the sleeping figures of Andy and Patrick as I ignored it.

In the living room, the general light level was greater but the temperature dropped a couple of degrees.

Jess sat in front of the passing scenery like she was before a green screen. Knees propped up next to hearts, and words propped up under tongues. That is, a notebook sat on her thighs and a pen in her hand. It was one of the only moments in my life I had the horrible urge to take a picture of someone.

The film on her eyes disappeared as she saw me. As if a reflex, she covered up the paper, laid down the pen and stretched out her legs. It was that moment I felt like the idiot that ruined the perfect moment.

"Hey, Pete, what's going on?"

Her voice was soft and tired, like a non-morning person.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just...couldn't sleep well."

Mine, on the other hand, was cracked and scratchy, like Pete Wentz, "Wacha doing?"

"Just...trying to write something. Anything."

"I know the feeling."

"You? Seriously? That's strange..."

"Are you kidding me? I live in a world of writer's blocks...and green hills apparently."

"Wow, I never thought you'd get the block, you're such an amazing writer."

"What are you writing about?"

"Scenery...stupid, I know."

"Nah, that's not stupid. Can I read it?"

"Knock yourself out, just don't laugh too loudly. You'll wake everyone up."
Sign up to rate and review this story