FicWad

Okay. This is my first My Chemical Romance fic and I would really appreciate some feedback on it. If you read it, I think you should review it. If you don't, it's kind of like piracy and well, as cool as pirates are, you don't want to be one.

This is an Alternate Universe story. I'm going to change things. None of this ever happened in real life. This is not a history novel. It's fiction. Unreal.

With that, enjoy.

The bomb is dropped at the dinner table; we're moving.
This makes the third time in the past two years.
Dad says it's only temporary.
Mom says we'll come back someday.
Gerard says this is the end of his life and stalks off to his room, most likely to text the breaking news to his posse.
Me, I don't say anything. I instead pick at the food on my plate, beef stroganoff, as I recall. My appetite is gone, as usual.
I look up and I see them staring at me.
"What?"
They shake their heads and then they too retreat to their bedroom to talk, most likely about me. I don't see what they don't understand. I sigh and pick up the half eaten dinners on the table, scraping their contents into a bowl and setting the dishes in the sink, where they'll sit for a couple more weeks. I put the bowl out on the doorstep. If the beggars don't get to it first, we'll have some fat squirrels running amuck in our yard. Not that I care. In a couple of days, it'll be someone else's problem. I didn't really even like this house anyway.

I grab my bag from the entryway and drag it to my room. Or rather Gerard's room, he's just kind enough to allow me to shove my bed in there. He gives me a death glare as I enter, his cell phone jammed up against his ear and a finger at his lips. I stick my tongue out at him, but I don't dare say a word. After all this is his room, as he kindly reminds me each day. I admit, I'm afraid of being in my own room. After spending years and years of sharing, the absence of my brother's light snoring is surprisingly missed and the dead silence can drive one mad. I can't imagine what I'm going to do when he goes to college.
Pictures of a high school senior crawling into his parents' room because he's too afraid to sleep alone creep into my mind. Perhaps we'll get a cat. A cat that could bite, shred, or kill any intruder, sociopath, or murderer that happens to drop in while I'm sleeping. A lion sounds nice, or perhaps a tiger.

The clock reads 7:30 and I'm debating whether to sleep or to go for a walk.
Fetching my coat from the hall closet, I decide the latter.
Though I'll probably run into her and she's the last person I want to see right now.
Well, her and the devil.

7:37 PM and I'm strolling down Monroe Avenue and watching the people sitting in front of their televisions. I swear, television was the worst thing invented. News traveled fast enough with radio. We didn't need to add the pictures. Now you've got three year olds who know more about sex and drugs than their parents and less about Sesame Street and Barney. Whatever happened to books and drawings? Imagination?
The song, American Idiot is not quite right, but it's what comes to mind.

7:42 PM and I find myself in the park, sitting on a bench, watching the sun set and the creatures of the night appear. The people near the swingset are smoking joints and drinking merrily. Trashy Tom is laying on the slide, waiting for some overpowering cop to shoo him away. And Bryar and his crew are near the sandbox, looking to stir up some trouble. And with them is her.

And as long as I'm Mikey fucking Way, almighty Gerard's little freak of a brother, she is never going to like me.