Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
My gift for my AK-47 (MyVengefulRomance); sorry it's not longer sweetie. I tried.
This is based ENTIRELY off of a dream I had not too long ago (I tend to have entirely too many zombie dreams), so if you find it written rather strangely, it's supposed to sound like that. I writes it as I sees it. Also, you should probably listen to "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville" while reading this.
Just a filler story for you impatient Anatomy readers and a challenge for myself to escape my writers block. Tell me what you think.
---
Gerard's body was heavier than he thought it would be. He wondered blankly for a moment whether he wasn't just tugging Gerard across the ground, but Gerard's essence; his mistakes, his regrets, his accomplishments, his trials, errors, experiences, everything. It certainly felt like it. But Frank didn't mind.
It made Gerard still feel alive. He was just tired, after all. So very tired. He just wanted to take a little rest. Frank understood. He was tired too.
The sounds behind him were horrible. Growls and groans and ripping flesh. The tearing, searing pain vibrated in Frank's ears and mind as the creatures behind him skinned victims--alive and dead--to the bone. The nauseating echo of gushing blood and squelching noises, mixed horribly with chomping and chewing and cries and insanity.
Insanity. This was insane.
Only a few hours previously did the end of his life begin. The innocent trip to Frank's parents' house was intervened when the car skidded to side of the road to avoid the vile-looking creature that had jumped in front of them, baring it's blood-stained teeth and ripping it's own shirt to pieces in what looked like mindless agony and lust. Red marks and chunks of flesh stuck to the side of it's face and Gerard barely had time to whip the steering wheel to the left before hell had broken loose.
And then they were running. Gerard's hand was wrapped tightly in Frank's to avoid them getting separated as their trail was picked up by the screaming, moaning bodies of the demented dead. The area was large--a field thick with long grass and soft, sweeping trees. They were lost. Lost in the fright and the dead and night and the incomprehensible reality that they were suddenly trust into.
Frank's hand was wet. Red. Gerard's chest was carved open, blood running freely down his arms, leaving matching veins on the outside of the skin that shone lightly in the advancing darkness. The sky was orange and pink, twilight, and still Gerard ran with him until his body shut down.
He collapsed to the ground, whispering words of nonsense as Frank bent down next to him, fresh tears erupting on his cheeks and he desperately tried to mend the deep wound. There were no teeth marks, only sharp, broken nails marks that had torn painfully into the beautiful pale expanse of Gerard's flesh, clawing him open until Frank had managed to get the creature off of him by pulling the handgun out of the glove compartment and shooting the thing in the head. Just like his favorite scenes had taught him. That's when they had run. Frank shot it and they ran from the wreckage of their car.
But Gerard had faded. His eyes went glassy and he grabbed Frank's shirt roughly and pulled him down, speaking roughly against his lips, "No room in hell, Frank, no room. Tell Mikes. Tell him not to die. Don't you die, Frank."
Gerard licked his lips, his broken chest rising and falling spastically. Frank could hear the moans and cries of the creatures following their scent. The blood. Their flesh. They were being hunted in a field radiating with twilight gloom and the sounds of dozens of dead killing machines. Frank cried softly, touching Gerard's cheek with his bloodied hand, leaving smears of colour vividly against the skin.
"I want you to fly, Frank. Fly for me. Fly. Fly. Fl..."
He stopped speaking. His eyes lolled to the back of his head and his chest stopped moving so quickly. Frank held on to the belief that he just couldn't see him breathing because of the growing darkness; that he couldn't hear his breath because of the predators howling; that he was crying because he was being hunted. Not because he was alone. Never alone.
He dragged Gerard's body across the field with him, his arms underneath Gerard's shoulders as he hauled him as far as his body was going to let him before he collapsed on the ground as well. Gerard didn't put a fight. He was probably just tired. Frank knew he was tired. He needed a hospital, but it was okay.
He could see a road.
A road would lead to a hospital, he thought madly. A hospital. Gerard hated (hates) hospitals, but he was hurt. Injured. Frank wasn't alone. Never alone. They just needed a hospital.
The creatures were coming closer, their agility increased by their instincts. They smelt the blood; the trail that Gerard was leaving behind, a faint rust colour on the dry grasses of Autumn, fueled their senses and their mad lust.
The road. He had reached the road. It curved along a small hillside and was only two lanes wide. Out of place. Barely used. Cracked and broken and forgotten. He propped Gerard against the thick wooden fence and placed feather-light kisses on his eyes, hoping not to wake him. Gerard was asleep. He was just tired. He'd wake up at the hospital. He'd wake up and they'd go to Frank's parents' house and drink lousy champagne and celebrate nothing and absolutely everything simultaneously until they passed out from happiness. Frank felt tired just thinking about it.
He climbed over the fence and onto the road. His pants were torn up the side and his white shirt blossomed with darkening blood. Gerard's blood. He hadn't lost that much. Just enough to make him tired. So very tired. Frank was so very tired. He was tired of running.
Headlights appeared quickly. Too quickly. They rounded the corner too fast. A shriek behind him told Frank that the creatures had found them. Found Gerard. He turned, handgun raised with a shaking hand as he took aim with crazed, maddening eyes. Gerard was sleeping. He was tired. No one was going to wake him up.
No one was going to wake him up.
A horn bellowed. Frank pulled the trigger, and it fired uselessly into the sunset, a small black dot in a dizzying twilight shadow. The truck didn't even bother to slam on his brakes and it hit Frank full force, the handgun flying from his grip as he was shot into the twilight after his bullet. He wasn't so tired anymore. His arms were spread far apart as the sunset offered a background to his body.
He was flying.
This is based ENTIRELY off of a dream I had not too long ago (I tend to have entirely too many zombie dreams), so if you find it written rather strangely, it's supposed to sound like that. I writes it as I sees it. Also, you should probably listen to "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville" while reading this.
Just a filler story for you impatient Anatomy readers and a challenge for myself to escape my writers block. Tell me what you think.
---
Gerard's body was heavier than he thought it would be. He wondered blankly for a moment whether he wasn't just tugging Gerard across the ground, but Gerard's essence; his mistakes, his regrets, his accomplishments, his trials, errors, experiences, everything. It certainly felt like it. But Frank didn't mind.
It made Gerard still feel alive. He was just tired, after all. So very tired. He just wanted to take a little rest. Frank understood. He was tired too.
The sounds behind him were horrible. Growls and groans and ripping flesh. The tearing, searing pain vibrated in Frank's ears and mind as the creatures behind him skinned victims--alive and dead--to the bone. The nauseating echo of gushing blood and squelching noises, mixed horribly with chomping and chewing and cries and insanity.
Insanity. This was insane.
Only a few hours previously did the end of his life begin. The innocent trip to Frank's parents' house was intervened when the car skidded to side of the road to avoid the vile-looking creature that had jumped in front of them, baring it's blood-stained teeth and ripping it's own shirt to pieces in what looked like mindless agony and lust. Red marks and chunks of flesh stuck to the side of it's face and Gerard barely had time to whip the steering wheel to the left before hell had broken loose.
And then they were running. Gerard's hand was wrapped tightly in Frank's to avoid them getting separated as their trail was picked up by the screaming, moaning bodies of the demented dead. The area was large--a field thick with long grass and soft, sweeping trees. They were lost. Lost in the fright and the dead and night and the incomprehensible reality that they were suddenly trust into.
Frank's hand was wet. Red. Gerard's chest was carved open, blood running freely down his arms, leaving matching veins on the outside of the skin that shone lightly in the advancing darkness. The sky was orange and pink, twilight, and still Gerard ran with him until his body shut down.
He collapsed to the ground, whispering words of nonsense as Frank bent down next to him, fresh tears erupting on his cheeks and he desperately tried to mend the deep wound. There were no teeth marks, only sharp, broken nails marks that had torn painfully into the beautiful pale expanse of Gerard's flesh, clawing him open until Frank had managed to get the creature off of him by pulling the handgun out of the glove compartment and shooting the thing in the head. Just like his favorite scenes had taught him. That's when they had run. Frank shot it and they ran from the wreckage of their car.
But Gerard had faded. His eyes went glassy and he grabbed Frank's shirt roughly and pulled him down, speaking roughly against his lips, "No room in hell, Frank, no room. Tell Mikes. Tell him not to die. Don't you die, Frank."
Gerard licked his lips, his broken chest rising and falling spastically. Frank could hear the moans and cries of the creatures following their scent. The blood. Their flesh. They were being hunted in a field radiating with twilight gloom and the sounds of dozens of dead killing machines. Frank cried softly, touching Gerard's cheek with his bloodied hand, leaving smears of colour vividly against the skin.
"I want you to fly, Frank. Fly for me. Fly. Fly. Fl..."
He stopped speaking. His eyes lolled to the back of his head and his chest stopped moving so quickly. Frank held on to the belief that he just couldn't see him breathing because of the growing darkness; that he couldn't hear his breath because of the predators howling; that he was crying because he was being hunted. Not because he was alone. Never alone.
He dragged Gerard's body across the field with him, his arms underneath Gerard's shoulders as he hauled him as far as his body was going to let him before he collapsed on the ground as well. Gerard didn't put a fight. He was probably just tired. Frank knew he was tired. He needed a hospital, but it was okay.
He could see a road.
A road would lead to a hospital, he thought madly. A hospital. Gerard hated (hates) hospitals, but he was hurt. Injured. Frank wasn't alone. Never alone. They just needed a hospital.
The creatures were coming closer, their agility increased by their instincts. They smelt the blood; the trail that Gerard was leaving behind, a faint rust colour on the dry grasses of Autumn, fueled their senses and their mad lust.
The road. He had reached the road. It curved along a small hillside and was only two lanes wide. Out of place. Barely used. Cracked and broken and forgotten. He propped Gerard against the thick wooden fence and placed feather-light kisses on his eyes, hoping not to wake him. Gerard was asleep. He was just tired. He'd wake up at the hospital. He'd wake up and they'd go to Frank's parents' house and drink lousy champagne and celebrate nothing and absolutely everything simultaneously until they passed out from happiness. Frank felt tired just thinking about it.
He climbed over the fence and onto the road. His pants were torn up the side and his white shirt blossomed with darkening blood. Gerard's blood. He hadn't lost that much. Just enough to make him tired. So very tired. Frank was so very tired. He was tired of running.
Headlights appeared quickly. Too quickly. They rounded the corner too fast. A shriek behind him told Frank that the creatures had found them. Found Gerard. He turned, handgun raised with a shaking hand as he took aim with crazed, maddening eyes. Gerard was sleeping. He was tired. No one was going to wake him up.
No one was going to wake him up.
A horn bellowed. Frank pulled the trigger, and it fired uselessly into the sunset, a small black dot in a dizzying twilight shadow. The truck didn't even bother to slam on his brakes and it hit Frank full force, the handgun flying from his grip as he was shot into the twilight after his bullet. He wasn't so tired anymore. His arms were spread far apart as the sunset offered a background to his body.
He was flying.
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