Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tragic Tale of The Black Parade
"So, you need to know what I remember?" the patient asked thoughtfully. The band-leader-turned-doctor nodded once in agreement. The patient's face fell.
"Well, now that you mention it...I can't seem to remember much at all." The man sighed inwardly. This was going to be more difficult than he had originally thought. He was waiting carefully for one word, one single world, that would help him carry through with this task.
"What do you remember?" The patient thought. He ran through every scattered memory in his mind. Every two-second clip to the very few that lasted entire days. He thought. He remembered. His mind pieced everything together in one single, flowing motion.
He was left with one memory. A memory that, once thought to be lost with time, resurfaced and flitted about his thoughts.
"The parade." He whispered it so softly and slowly that at first the leader thought he had imagined it. But as soon as he heard the soft words, a chord struck in his mind and rang out harmoniously. He felt the electricity of a plan building up in his fingertips. This was the beginning of something entirely new, something powerful. He could feel it.
Suddenly the patient shook his head.
"But it's not very clear. I'm afraid I don't know exactly what happened." The man waved one hand in an elaborate swirl, and another door appeared in the middle of the hospital room, this time a lead gray. The room itself began to melt away and drip into oblivion, much like the rain. The patient stood.
"This will help." A thick cloud of black smoke surrounded the man for a second, transforming his attire back into the uniform he had become accustomed to. He opened the door with a leather-gloved hand, this time leading the patient inside.
And the darkness enveloped them once again.
-
Son...
The voice seemed to echo, it was so far away. The word itself was lost within its own sound, and the meaning quickly followed it. He kept his eyes closed.
Son...wake up... The tone seemed lost as though it traveled through a pool of water. It seemed so distant, so detached from this world...
The patient's eyes flew open. When had he even fallen asleep?
"Where am I?" he asked, marveling at the sound of his own voice. He sounded so much younger, so much stronger.
"We're almost there, son; I know it's been a long trip, but it'll be worth it. You'll see." He yawned and stretched, noting how short his arms and legs were. Then it occurred to him. He couldn't be more than eight years old.
The car door next to him opened, and a man helped him out of the car. He looked into the man's face with wide-eyed shock. It was his father. His father who had died just months earlier of heart failure. What was going on here?
"Well, let's go." The elder man's time-worn hand took his own, the one belonging to a child with a man's heart, and they began to walk. He soon realized how much smaller his steps were as he leapt to keep up with his father. The man slowed his steps in response.
They came to a large crowd of smiling faces. The sun shone down upon the mass of people, revealing the bright colors of a celebration. The man's grip tightened on his son's hand as he wove a path through the crowd and finally was able to come to the edge of the street. They both sat on the curb and waited. The large, colorful floats came not long after, bringing shouts of laughter and bursts of applause. There was synthesized, recorded music, but nothing truly real. Until the band appeared.
The patient's father stood and hoisted him onto his shoulders to get a better view. He looked down the street and saw, amongst the clouds of streamers and confetti, a field of deep azure with glints of light like nighttime stars. He heard the music not long after, a cheerful march that well suited the atmosphere. The band grew nearer and nearer, eventually halting right in front of him and his father. The music stopped with their footsteps. He saw the face of the band's leader. It was him again. The uniformed man smiled and waved at the crowd, hazel eyes coming to rest on the boy atop his father's shoulders. It was just as he remembered the scene from all those years ago.
The patient saw that the leader's uniform was different from that of the others, more formal. There were four other people he could see with the same uniform. One of them held a gleaming trumpet, curly hair piled atop his head. One stood further back, at the end of the line closest to him, a trombone player. He saw another one in the midst of the low brass players, holding a tuba. He wore a longer navy coat with a glittering gold medal pinned to it.
"See that one? He's actually fought in a war. That's a purple heart," his father explained. The patient could not respond. His awe was too great. They saw the last one as part of the drumline. Apart from the leader, he was the only one of the five with blond hair.
The leader turned on the heels of his shined black shoes to face the band and raised both arms, one white-gloved hand holding a thin baton. He raised his hands slightly, and the atmosphere surrounding the band tensed. They all watched. They all waited.
And then the music came.
"Well, now that you mention it...I can't seem to remember much at all." The man sighed inwardly. This was going to be more difficult than he had originally thought. He was waiting carefully for one word, one single world, that would help him carry through with this task.
"What do you remember?" The patient thought. He ran through every scattered memory in his mind. Every two-second clip to the very few that lasted entire days. He thought. He remembered. His mind pieced everything together in one single, flowing motion.
He was left with one memory. A memory that, once thought to be lost with time, resurfaced and flitted about his thoughts.
"The parade." He whispered it so softly and slowly that at first the leader thought he had imagined it. But as soon as he heard the soft words, a chord struck in his mind and rang out harmoniously. He felt the electricity of a plan building up in his fingertips. This was the beginning of something entirely new, something powerful. He could feel it.
Suddenly the patient shook his head.
"But it's not very clear. I'm afraid I don't know exactly what happened." The man waved one hand in an elaborate swirl, and another door appeared in the middle of the hospital room, this time a lead gray. The room itself began to melt away and drip into oblivion, much like the rain. The patient stood.
"This will help." A thick cloud of black smoke surrounded the man for a second, transforming his attire back into the uniform he had become accustomed to. He opened the door with a leather-gloved hand, this time leading the patient inside.
And the darkness enveloped them once again.
-
Son...
The voice seemed to echo, it was so far away. The word itself was lost within its own sound, and the meaning quickly followed it. He kept his eyes closed.
Son...wake up... The tone seemed lost as though it traveled through a pool of water. It seemed so distant, so detached from this world...
The patient's eyes flew open. When had he even fallen asleep?
"Where am I?" he asked, marveling at the sound of his own voice. He sounded so much younger, so much stronger.
"We're almost there, son; I know it's been a long trip, but it'll be worth it. You'll see." He yawned and stretched, noting how short his arms and legs were. Then it occurred to him. He couldn't be more than eight years old.
The car door next to him opened, and a man helped him out of the car. He looked into the man's face with wide-eyed shock. It was his father. His father who had died just months earlier of heart failure. What was going on here?
"Well, let's go." The elder man's time-worn hand took his own, the one belonging to a child with a man's heart, and they began to walk. He soon realized how much smaller his steps were as he leapt to keep up with his father. The man slowed his steps in response.
They came to a large crowd of smiling faces. The sun shone down upon the mass of people, revealing the bright colors of a celebration. The man's grip tightened on his son's hand as he wove a path through the crowd and finally was able to come to the edge of the street. They both sat on the curb and waited. The large, colorful floats came not long after, bringing shouts of laughter and bursts of applause. There was synthesized, recorded music, but nothing truly real. Until the band appeared.
The patient's father stood and hoisted him onto his shoulders to get a better view. He looked down the street and saw, amongst the clouds of streamers and confetti, a field of deep azure with glints of light like nighttime stars. He heard the music not long after, a cheerful march that well suited the atmosphere. The band grew nearer and nearer, eventually halting right in front of him and his father. The music stopped with their footsteps. He saw the face of the band's leader. It was him again. The uniformed man smiled and waved at the crowd, hazel eyes coming to rest on the boy atop his father's shoulders. It was just as he remembered the scene from all those years ago.
The patient saw that the leader's uniform was different from that of the others, more formal. There were four other people he could see with the same uniform. One of them held a gleaming trumpet, curly hair piled atop his head. One stood further back, at the end of the line closest to him, a trombone player. He saw another one in the midst of the low brass players, holding a tuba. He wore a longer navy coat with a glittering gold medal pinned to it.
"See that one? He's actually fought in a war. That's a purple heart," his father explained. The patient could not respond. His awe was too great. They saw the last one as part of the drumline. Apart from the leader, he was the only one of the five with blond hair.
The leader turned on the heels of his shined black shoes to face the band and raised both arms, one white-gloved hand holding a thin baton. He raised his hands slightly, and the atmosphere surrounding the band tensed. They all watched. They all waited.
And then the music came.
Sign up to rate and review this story