Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tragic Tale of The Black Parade
The patient opened his eyes to see the band's drummer staring him in the face. He glanced around the hospital room and groaned, quickly shutting his eyes to block the sight of the blank walls. Why were they doing this to him?
"I have some good news for you," the sandy-haired man said, holding up a clipboard and flipping through several sheets of paper. The patient noticed he was wearing a white lab coat, like a doctor.
"The cancer went into complete remission. It's like it was never there."
"That's...impossible," the patient said slowly. "They said I was going to die from it." The doctor smiled and shrugged slightly.
"Maybe you've got an angel watching over you." He stood and left the room. The patient simply stared at the wall. He couldn't believe it. He was alive. He hadn't died of cancer.
"But...why?" he asked the empty air. It had to be much more than an angel that had saved his life.
-
An hour later, the former patient stood just outside his room, looking at the door thoughtfully. Most of the doctors and nurses walked right past him without a second thought.
'Well...here goes.' He sighed and turned around to leave, finding his way through the bleached hallways with ease. Just as he was about to walk through the double doors leading outside, they swung open and nearly hit him in the face. He managed to sidestep the team of doctors rolling a stretcher by him, rushing off to the emergency room. He turned to go through the doors once again, but he almost ran into someone else. Their eyes met for a second before the other man excused himself and sprinted down the hallway.
He stood there in shock, then suddenly took off after the dark-haired man. This was getting stranger by the second. He found the room where the doctors were frantically trying to revive their latest patient. As they hooked up the breathing machine and heart monitor, a doctor with extremely curly hair came outside to speak to the dark-haired man that had followed them.
"Can you explain what happened?" the doctor asked, holding a clipboard and pen. The man's words were shaky.
"I- I don't know; he just collapsed for no reason..." He sat down in a chair, hands trembling violently. Tears began to form in his eyes as shuddering sobs took control of him. The doctor nodded and went to begin a new report on their latest patient. The other man looked inside the room, trying to get a look at the victim's face. If his theory was correct, something extraordinary had just happened.
"Do I know you?" the dark-haired man asked suddenly, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. The other man thought about speaking, but decided against it and sadly shook his head. Perhaps now it would be better to simply observe. One of the doctors moved out of his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of the patient's face.
No. It couldn't be.
"He smokes a lot," the dark-haired man said to the doctor, who had just returned. "But that's it. One second he was fine, and the next..." He couldn't continue speaking. It was too much. He broke down in tears, holding his face in his hands. The doctor glanced up from the clipboard as a man with tattoo-covered arms entered the room and sat in one of the chairs as well, claiming to be the victim's best friend. The doctor nodded and left them.
"I don't understand it," the man said tearfully as he explained the events to his friend. "Why did this have to happen to him?"
"So it wouldn't happen to me," he muttered to himself as he studied the new patient's face. He was a sickly pale color, with eyes closed completely. His hair was short and almost snow-white, a stark contrast to the black clothes he wore. He didn't move at all, save for the slight rising and falling of his chest. It was only because of the machine breathing for him.
The heart monitor let out a single unending tone, and the doctors rushed to restart his heart. By now both of his friends were crying hysterically outside, while the other man continued to watch solemnly. He was beginning to understand.
-
Life support. The pale-haired man had been on it for a few hours now; they were waiting until his parents could arrive from the other side of the country. Hopefully it wouldn't be much longer.
"Why did you stay?" asked a quiet voice. He glanced at the red-eyed man sitting next to him, wondering how to answer. "I know you were released today. Why are you still here?"
"Because." It was a simple answer. "It's better than the alternative." It suddenly dawned on him that he didn't have anywhere to go. But that was currently the least of his worries.
The man gently tapped him on the shoulder, offering one white earphone to him. He placed it in one ear and listened to the soft, slow tones of the song. Before he knew it he had fallen asleep.
-
Well they encourage your complete cooperation...
The room was dark, not even partially illuminated by the lighting on the ceiling. It was completely cold and desolate, as if all life had receded long ago. Whatever had been keeping this world alive was gone.
...send you roses when they think you need to smile...
He walked up to the stage. Fine gray dust had settled in layers upon everything, like ice crystals. Death had been here. He shivered.
I can't control myself because I don't know how, and they love me for it; honestly, I'll be here for a while...
He climbed onto the stage and turned so he was facing the would-be audience. He could sense that something was behind him, but he ignored it. Right now he only wanted to stand here and look out at the world.
"So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff. Give them all that they can drink, and it will never be enough. I give them blood, blood, blood...Grab a glass because there's going to be a blood!" He turned slowly upon hearing the words and the piano being played. The pale-haired man was sitting at a large, ebony grand piano, singing the insane song as if no one else was there. There was a wild gleam in his eyes that made the other man suspect someone else had taken over his mind.
"A celebrated man amongst the gurney, they can fix me proper with a bit of luck," he continued. The other man frowned slightly. He didn't like where this was going. "The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so, but it's really quite alarming..." He suddenly stopped playing and looked up from the keys, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," the other man said calmly. The pale-haired man trailed one finger over the keys thoughtfully.
"I was merely saying farewell." He began to play the rest of the song very slowly, but did not sing. "I will be leaving soon, to face Fear and Regret." He finished the song, staring into the distance listlessly. "The Black Parade will come for me. No longer to welcome a leader, but to take another to march."
"What's the Black Parade?" He laughed lightly.
"The Black Parade. A link between my world and yours. I can't remember how long I've been a part of it..." He sighed longingly. "I never thought I would be one to march."
"...Thank you for everything," the other man said softly. He nodded in acknowledgment.
"You're welcome. As I said before," he said with a smile, standing from his place at the piano. "I will do everything I can to ensure you go to the proper place." He began to play a slow, single-note melody on the piano. It continued on even as everything around them vanished, replaced with a gray, cloud-filled sky and a lone road lined with debris. The remains of war were scattered everywhere. The city's skyline was crisp against the clouds; the buildings themselves seemed dead.
He watched as the people appeared, most wearing black and all masked. Mother War. The Escape Artist. The Wolves. All of them were there, along with countless others. Two twin girls stepped out of the crowd, both wearing black uniforms similar to the ones the band members once wore. One held a terrifying air about her. He looked away from her and at the other one, immediately regretting it. But even as he looked away from her, too, the feeling of regret remained. It bothered him.
"Fear. Regret," the pale-haired man said slowly, nodding at each of them as he spoke. They bowed to him simultaneously, but he shook his head. "That is not necessary. I am here to march." Their black-rimmed eyes remained stoic. They knew.
"The Black Parade welcomes you," they said simultaneously in metallic, unfeeling voices. He turned to face the other man, but cast his eyes to the ground sadly.
"This is where I depart. But before I do, promise me one thing."" He nodded. "Don't waste the life I've given you." Their eyes locked for a second before he turned and walked away, Fear and Regret surrounding him. The other man nodded in agreement. As he, too, turned to leave, he heard the rhythm of a thousand footsteps marching in unison, and soft piano melody being played into the solemn sky.
-
"I'm sorry to say this, but your brother has passed away." The dark-haired man looked away. He had known this was coming.
"You may see him, if you wish,"" the nurse said softly. He nodded and stood, dropping his MP3 player to the chair as he did so. His friend waited outside, crying softly.
The man opened his eyes and yawned slightly. The heaviness hit his heart immediately as he realized that none of it had been a dream. It was all still real. The heartrending pain was still there.
He took the earphone out of his ear and delicately placed it next to its counterpart, then stood and looked through the window into the room. The platinum-haired man stared up at the ceiling, as weak and pathetic as he had once been. He suddenly realized that this man wouldn't get another chance to live. He would never get to say goodbye to his brother who knelt next to him now, cradling one cold hand. He would forever be part of the Black Parade.
He left without another word. There were some things he needed to take care of for a certain angel.
"I have some good news for you," the sandy-haired man said, holding up a clipboard and flipping through several sheets of paper. The patient noticed he was wearing a white lab coat, like a doctor.
"The cancer went into complete remission. It's like it was never there."
"That's...impossible," the patient said slowly. "They said I was going to die from it." The doctor smiled and shrugged slightly.
"Maybe you've got an angel watching over you." He stood and left the room. The patient simply stared at the wall. He couldn't believe it. He was alive. He hadn't died of cancer.
"But...why?" he asked the empty air. It had to be much more than an angel that had saved his life.
-
An hour later, the former patient stood just outside his room, looking at the door thoughtfully. Most of the doctors and nurses walked right past him without a second thought.
'Well...here goes.' He sighed and turned around to leave, finding his way through the bleached hallways with ease. Just as he was about to walk through the double doors leading outside, they swung open and nearly hit him in the face. He managed to sidestep the team of doctors rolling a stretcher by him, rushing off to the emergency room. He turned to go through the doors once again, but he almost ran into someone else. Their eyes met for a second before the other man excused himself and sprinted down the hallway.
He stood there in shock, then suddenly took off after the dark-haired man. This was getting stranger by the second. He found the room where the doctors were frantically trying to revive their latest patient. As they hooked up the breathing machine and heart monitor, a doctor with extremely curly hair came outside to speak to the dark-haired man that had followed them.
"Can you explain what happened?" the doctor asked, holding a clipboard and pen. The man's words were shaky.
"I- I don't know; he just collapsed for no reason..." He sat down in a chair, hands trembling violently. Tears began to form in his eyes as shuddering sobs took control of him. The doctor nodded and went to begin a new report on their latest patient. The other man looked inside the room, trying to get a look at the victim's face. If his theory was correct, something extraordinary had just happened.
"Do I know you?" the dark-haired man asked suddenly, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. The other man thought about speaking, but decided against it and sadly shook his head. Perhaps now it would be better to simply observe. One of the doctors moved out of his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of the patient's face.
No. It couldn't be.
"He smokes a lot," the dark-haired man said to the doctor, who had just returned. "But that's it. One second he was fine, and the next..." He couldn't continue speaking. It was too much. He broke down in tears, holding his face in his hands. The doctor glanced up from the clipboard as a man with tattoo-covered arms entered the room and sat in one of the chairs as well, claiming to be the victim's best friend. The doctor nodded and left them.
"I don't understand it," the man said tearfully as he explained the events to his friend. "Why did this have to happen to him?"
"So it wouldn't happen to me," he muttered to himself as he studied the new patient's face. He was a sickly pale color, with eyes closed completely. His hair was short and almost snow-white, a stark contrast to the black clothes he wore. He didn't move at all, save for the slight rising and falling of his chest. It was only because of the machine breathing for him.
The heart monitor let out a single unending tone, and the doctors rushed to restart his heart. By now both of his friends were crying hysterically outside, while the other man continued to watch solemnly. He was beginning to understand.
-
Life support. The pale-haired man had been on it for a few hours now; they were waiting until his parents could arrive from the other side of the country. Hopefully it wouldn't be much longer.
"Why did you stay?" asked a quiet voice. He glanced at the red-eyed man sitting next to him, wondering how to answer. "I know you were released today. Why are you still here?"
"Because." It was a simple answer. "It's better than the alternative." It suddenly dawned on him that he didn't have anywhere to go. But that was currently the least of his worries.
The man gently tapped him on the shoulder, offering one white earphone to him. He placed it in one ear and listened to the soft, slow tones of the song. Before he knew it he had fallen asleep.
-
Well they encourage your complete cooperation...
The room was dark, not even partially illuminated by the lighting on the ceiling. It was completely cold and desolate, as if all life had receded long ago. Whatever had been keeping this world alive was gone.
...send you roses when they think you need to smile...
He walked up to the stage. Fine gray dust had settled in layers upon everything, like ice crystals. Death had been here. He shivered.
I can't control myself because I don't know how, and they love me for it; honestly, I'll be here for a while...
He climbed onto the stage and turned so he was facing the would-be audience. He could sense that something was behind him, but he ignored it. Right now he only wanted to stand here and look out at the world.
"So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff. Give them all that they can drink, and it will never be enough. I give them blood, blood, blood...Grab a glass because there's going to be a blood!" He turned slowly upon hearing the words and the piano being played. The pale-haired man was sitting at a large, ebony grand piano, singing the insane song as if no one else was there. There was a wild gleam in his eyes that made the other man suspect someone else had taken over his mind.
"A celebrated man amongst the gurney, they can fix me proper with a bit of luck," he continued. The other man frowned slightly. He didn't like where this was going. "The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so, but it's really quite alarming..." He suddenly stopped playing and looked up from the keys, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," the other man said calmly. The pale-haired man trailed one finger over the keys thoughtfully.
"I was merely saying farewell." He began to play the rest of the song very slowly, but did not sing. "I will be leaving soon, to face Fear and Regret." He finished the song, staring into the distance listlessly. "The Black Parade will come for me. No longer to welcome a leader, but to take another to march."
"What's the Black Parade?" He laughed lightly.
"The Black Parade. A link between my world and yours. I can't remember how long I've been a part of it..." He sighed longingly. "I never thought I would be one to march."
"...Thank you for everything," the other man said softly. He nodded in acknowledgment.
"You're welcome. As I said before," he said with a smile, standing from his place at the piano. "I will do everything I can to ensure you go to the proper place." He began to play a slow, single-note melody on the piano. It continued on even as everything around them vanished, replaced with a gray, cloud-filled sky and a lone road lined with debris. The remains of war were scattered everywhere. The city's skyline was crisp against the clouds; the buildings themselves seemed dead.
He watched as the people appeared, most wearing black and all masked. Mother War. The Escape Artist. The Wolves. All of them were there, along with countless others. Two twin girls stepped out of the crowd, both wearing black uniforms similar to the ones the band members once wore. One held a terrifying air about her. He looked away from her and at the other one, immediately regretting it. But even as he looked away from her, too, the feeling of regret remained. It bothered him.
"Fear. Regret," the pale-haired man said slowly, nodding at each of them as he spoke. They bowed to him simultaneously, but he shook his head. "That is not necessary. I am here to march." Their black-rimmed eyes remained stoic. They knew.
"The Black Parade welcomes you," they said simultaneously in metallic, unfeeling voices. He turned to face the other man, but cast his eyes to the ground sadly.
"This is where I depart. But before I do, promise me one thing."" He nodded. "Don't waste the life I've given you." Their eyes locked for a second before he turned and walked away, Fear and Regret surrounding him. The other man nodded in agreement. As he, too, turned to leave, he heard the rhythm of a thousand footsteps marching in unison, and soft piano melody being played into the solemn sky.
-
"I'm sorry to say this, but your brother has passed away." The dark-haired man looked away. He had known this was coming.
"You may see him, if you wish,"" the nurse said softly. He nodded and stood, dropping his MP3 player to the chair as he did so. His friend waited outside, crying softly.
The man opened his eyes and yawned slightly. The heaviness hit his heart immediately as he realized that none of it had been a dream. It was all still real. The heartrending pain was still there.
He took the earphone out of his ear and delicately placed it next to its counterpart, then stood and looked through the window into the room. The platinum-haired man stared up at the ceiling, as weak and pathetic as he had once been. He suddenly realized that this man wouldn't get another chance to live. He would never get to say goodbye to his brother who knelt next to him now, cradling one cold hand. He would forever be part of the Black Parade.
He left without another word. There were some things he needed to take care of for a certain angel.
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