FicWad

- Disclaimer- I may or may not own the narrator. It depends on who you interpret him or her to be. Everything else I don't own. This never happened. (Oh, thank God.)

A/N- I've decided to write a story based on my pen-name. Um, so yeah. Blood and gore galore, my friends. Now, I'm serious. This is disturbing. And written to very happy music, so it shall be twisted. Don't read if you are easily offended or have a queasy stomach. This will probably disgust you. laughs evilly I'm gonna have fun writing this...I hope you like. Enjoy...

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Revenge. The word rolls off the tongue, does it not? I love the feel of it. The roll of the 'r', the way it fades after the 'g'.

Some people shy away from vengeance, some fear it. Though, some...some embrace it.

I am one of those people.

It's always been too easy. All it takes is a seductive glance, a quick beckoning of the finger. He never suspected a thing. He's definitely not my first, but it's been awhile. Though, it's never been this personal.

So, now, as he cowers before me, I can only laugh. So pathetic...he is not who he was on stage any more. I've shown him for what he is truly. A sniveling coward. Though, not many have seen him like this. Probably none. Naked, bleeding, crying.

"What did he ever see in you?" I asked aloud. It's always been a burning question of mine. His black hair brushes his shoulders as he glances up at me. He whimpers. It's about the only sound he can make. He can't really answer.

"What, cat got your tongue?" I asked, kneeling before him and placing a hand on his cheek. He whimpered. I told you that it's the only sound he can make.

I picked up a small, fleshy object from the floor and flick it at him. He winces.

"Oh, that's right. I've got your tongue," I laughed in his crying face. Blood still seeped from between his lips, dribbling down his pale chin.

"Why did he love you?" I asked, inspecting his face. "I mean, he must've, to give you that ring. Was it your kiss?"

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. He let out a muffled cry, trying to pull away. I finally let go, and licked my lips.

"Hmm," I said. "Your blood tastes sweet."

He turned his face away, and I angrily gripped his face, suddenly overwhelmed with the want to hurt him. Badly.

"Was it your voice?" I asked, inwardly laughing at the genius of removing his tongue. He kept on crying.

I fake-gasped.

"Oh. I know what I was," I said, nodding. "Was it...your eyes?" Without hesitation, I suddenly lunging forward, plunging my knife into his pretty hazel eye and ripping it out. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and his hands groped at the sight of his now empty socket.

"Oh, wait. Was it your smile?" I asked. I gripped the sides of his face, and cut into his cheeks, curling up towards his ears. The bastard had a new smile.

"How could he love you? You're, like, a skeleton." He stared at me with his remaining eye. I knew I had to work quickly now, before he died of blood loss, shock, or pain.

"That ring was supposed to be mine," I said, sawing through each of his fingers on his right hand. Repeating the process on the left, I said, "I mean, come on. He's mine. Not yours."

I smiled suddenly.

"I know what it was," I said coyly, my eyes trailing down his body. His eye widened as he realized what I was going to do. I grabbed his knees and pried them away from his chest. Then, I moved his arms. Quickly and efficiently, I sliced right through his manhood as his mouth opened in a silent howl of pain.

I stood up and turned away from him. I wasn't too worried about him running away. The cuts on the back of his ankles assured me of that. True, he could crawl, but he wouldn't get very far.

I walked over to my table covered with my tools. My hand passed over the butcher knife, the power drill, the gun, and finally stopped over the chainsaw. True, it's a bit clichéd, but it's nice and messy. And I don't want anything left of that fucker when I'm through with him.

So, I walked back over to him and gripped him by the throat. Lifting the drill in my hand, his eye widened when he saw the nail at the end.

"Gotta hold you in place," I said, smirking, flicking on the switch to start it. I smiled, enjoying the whirring noise it made. And then, I drilled a nail right through his shoulder. Another went into his other shoulder. Then, I put two more into each of his wrists. His useless feet barely grazed the floor. Finally, I put two more into his legs, just above the knee. (These were heavy duty nails.)

I smiled at him, "Your legs are probably gonna fall off when I'm done, but I like the look of the nails."

And then, I started the chainsaw.

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I was right about his legs earlier. They did fall off. He was missing chinks from his torso, but surprisingly, the fucker was still alive.

His lone eye stared at me, pleading with me. Probably just to end it all. See, I'm a good person. So, I picked up my final weapon of choice and pressed it to his head. And then, I pulled the trigger.

His head, missing much of his skull and brains, lolled down and rested on his shoulder. I laughed long and loud, before saying, "Frank was mine."

I walked over and picked up his ring finger, with the silver and black ring still around it. Chuckling to myself, I walked out of the room, glancing one last time at the bloodied body.

"Goodbye, Gerard Arthur Way," I laughed, playing catch with myself with the finger.

Frank was going to get some pretty interesting mail.

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A/N- bites nails I'm seriously considering therapy right now. I just had to write it. hangs head WHY WAS THAT SO SATISFYING TO WRITE????????? Please review and refer me to a good psychologist. REVIEW!!!