Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Classified: Need Of Help
Gerard stared gormlessly out of his window as the rain started to descend from the heavy grey clouds above his head. They bore a great burden, along with his presence. That's how he felt, anyway.
As the thunder rolled in, he rested his cold, pale hands on the white windowsill and closed his eyes. Today was just like every other day; cold, grey, and blurring into one. Gerard felt, in many occurances, that a beautiful world of colour had been taken away from him when he was tied up in white and shoved in this so-called room for extreme paranoia and schizophrenia.
Gerard felt sick today. He'd taken his medication, he'd thought about number sequences, he'd arranged every single thing in his room to be exactly how he wanted; in some sort of order. Everything was tidy and how it should be, and he'd been able to get four hours sleep the night before. Things were going well, he thought to himself.
The voices in his pretty blonde head weren't back yet, and he knew secretly in his mind that he missed them. They'd be back before long, and it had been them damn pills fault anyway. Why did they have to spoil his fun? Maybe he had enjoyed it when Jeremy, the main voice, had been telling him to poison people and make their lives a misery, because he'd felt sort of -- home, but unfamiliar. He couldn't place it.
Resentment began to worm its way into his endless boredom. Gerard sat in the corner of the perfectly square room, avoiding going even close to his bed because it had been laid so perfectly. He had put his ruler against it, and for once had managed to get it straight first time.
He began to rock, back and forth, to try and ride out the emotions and thoughts that were beginning to enclose him. He thought, that maybe if he kept moving,
they would finally get bored and go away.
He sat there for over 6 hours, staring into space. Still moving, never giving up, still moving, not letting them get the better of him, still moving... the next thing he felt was the familiar dragging downwards of his eyelids that had grown heavy.
The next thing that Gerard heard was a man. The man was not talking, or walking like any "normal" person would. He thought of that word in the loosest sense he could, because in everybody's opinion, even he didn't fit the term. The man in question was kicking, and he was screaming. Loud.
When the screaming began to grow louder and louder, Gerard made a flee for the window at the other side of the room. As it grew louder and louder, almost inhuman sounds of torture ran through his ears, and he slammed his hand against the window. There would be no use in trying to open it, the windows at this god awful place were shatter resistant, would not open and were not even made of glass.
Giving up on everything else when the screaming grew louder still, Gerard began to cry and curled himself up in a ball on the floor. Locked inside a shell of fear, he began to scream along with this dreadful man. He scratched his soft voicebox raw as his room filled with shrieks of terror. It was dark in here, and who knew what could get you in the dark? Your head, is the answer.
He was so busy trapped inside a box of his own personal Hell to notice that the light had come on in his small room, and that a heavily tattooed man of around his mid-twenties had been forced in by two strong and surly-looking men.
One of them tried to contain the wriggling man from escaping, whilst the other managed to try and deal with the latter by rushing to his side and pulling him up so that he was no longer in the foetal position on the white carpet around his room.
"Come on, Gerard, I think it's safest for you to stay in room 336 tonight. We have a spare bed there."
As promising as it sounded to get away from this strange invader of his perfectly patterned privacy, Gerard was having none of it. He carried on and continued to scream blue murder.
After being thrown directly into a foreign room with a dirty windowsill and no familiar little markings on the walls, Gerard went insane.
His voice grew hoarse, he punched the pristine white walls until his knuckles glowed red. He slammed his head onto the wooden pine desk in the corner of the rectangular room -- this was something Gerard could not stand. Rectangles.
About an hour later, the calm after the storm finally began to settle in, and Gerard just about managed to pick up the peices of what he had left of his sanity. He was thrust into a world of wonder. Who was this new stranger, and why was he put in a room to share with Gerard? Why was he here in the first place? Why hadn't Jeremy paid a visit tonight?
And why, Gerard wondered, had he felt for a fraction of a second what he had not felt in a long time?
It was empathy.
As the thunder rolled in, he rested his cold, pale hands on the white windowsill and closed his eyes. Today was just like every other day; cold, grey, and blurring into one. Gerard felt, in many occurances, that a beautiful world of colour had been taken away from him when he was tied up in white and shoved in this so-called room for extreme paranoia and schizophrenia.
Gerard felt sick today. He'd taken his medication, he'd thought about number sequences, he'd arranged every single thing in his room to be exactly how he wanted; in some sort of order. Everything was tidy and how it should be, and he'd been able to get four hours sleep the night before. Things were going well, he thought to himself.
The voices in his pretty blonde head weren't back yet, and he knew secretly in his mind that he missed them. They'd be back before long, and it had been them damn pills fault anyway. Why did they have to spoil his fun? Maybe he had enjoyed it when Jeremy, the main voice, had been telling him to poison people and make their lives a misery, because he'd felt sort of -- home, but unfamiliar. He couldn't place it.
Resentment began to worm its way into his endless boredom. Gerard sat in the corner of the perfectly square room, avoiding going even close to his bed because it had been laid so perfectly. He had put his ruler against it, and for once had managed to get it straight first time.
He began to rock, back and forth, to try and ride out the emotions and thoughts that were beginning to enclose him. He thought, that maybe if he kept moving,
they would finally get bored and go away.
He sat there for over 6 hours, staring into space. Still moving, never giving up, still moving, not letting them get the better of him, still moving... the next thing he felt was the familiar dragging downwards of his eyelids that had grown heavy.
The next thing that Gerard heard was a man. The man was not talking, or walking like any "normal" person would. He thought of that word in the loosest sense he could, because in everybody's opinion, even he didn't fit the term. The man in question was kicking, and he was screaming. Loud.
When the screaming began to grow louder and louder, Gerard made a flee for the window at the other side of the room. As it grew louder and louder, almost inhuman sounds of torture ran through his ears, and he slammed his hand against the window. There would be no use in trying to open it, the windows at this god awful place were shatter resistant, would not open and were not even made of glass.
Giving up on everything else when the screaming grew louder still, Gerard began to cry and curled himself up in a ball on the floor. Locked inside a shell of fear, he began to scream along with this dreadful man. He scratched his soft voicebox raw as his room filled with shrieks of terror. It was dark in here, and who knew what could get you in the dark? Your head, is the answer.
He was so busy trapped inside a box of his own personal Hell to notice that the light had come on in his small room, and that a heavily tattooed man of around his mid-twenties had been forced in by two strong and surly-looking men.
One of them tried to contain the wriggling man from escaping, whilst the other managed to try and deal with the latter by rushing to his side and pulling him up so that he was no longer in the foetal position on the white carpet around his room.
"Come on, Gerard, I think it's safest for you to stay in room 336 tonight. We have a spare bed there."
As promising as it sounded to get away from this strange invader of his perfectly patterned privacy, Gerard was having none of it. He carried on and continued to scream blue murder.
After being thrown directly into a foreign room with a dirty windowsill and no familiar little markings on the walls, Gerard went insane.
His voice grew hoarse, he punched the pristine white walls until his knuckles glowed red. He slammed his head onto the wooden pine desk in the corner of the rectangular room -- this was something Gerard could not stand. Rectangles.
About an hour later, the calm after the storm finally began to settle in, and Gerard just about managed to pick up the peices of what he had left of his sanity. He was thrust into a world of wonder. Who was this new stranger, and why was he put in a room to share with Gerard? Why was he here in the first place? Why hadn't Jeremy paid a visit tonight?
And why, Gerard wondered, had he felt for a fraction of a second what he had not felt in a long time?
It was empathy.
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