Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Innocence Eternal
` Disclaimer- Everything recognizable isn't mine, but everything else is; this never happened.
A/N- See first chapter for important author's notes and warnings. Okay, so after this chapter, we will move onto the actual plot. I hope this isn't too slow-moving for you guys, but I actually like how the plot builds slowly...eh, whatever. Enjoy...
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Brendon cried himself to sleep every night.
He still didn't understand what /exactly /had happened, but he did know his mommy was gone forever. But why? Why was life so /unfair/?
It really wouldn't be that awful, Brendon kept telling himself, but that beast of a woman, his biological father's mother, Missy, sent him to school when he turned six. With complete disregard of every people problem Brendon had, she /sent him to school/.
Oh, God, that was horrific. Brendon had learned special breathing techniques to stop hyperventilation after that first attack, and luckily, Brendon put them to use. But the other children were terrible! They picked on Brendon mercilessly, and he ended up going home in tears that first day.
He didn't understand why they hated him to much. He'd done nothing to them, but him knowing more than them even though they'd been in school longer just made the other kids angry. They called him a freak; a weirdo. And that wasn't all that bad. So they threw sand in his eyes and shoved him off the swing-set. Who cares? They were just kids, and whenever they went far enough to make his knee or elbow bleed, they'd get in trouble. It was just elementary school.
Now, middle school. That was a different story. The kids couldn't hurt him on a playground anymore. They just punched him straight in the stomach or pushed him down the stairs, all the while calling him names and mocking him. And the thing was; it hurt. Badly. To the point where he'd cry, and get picked on worse.
It would have been easier if Brendon had friends to help him through the tough times. But he didn't, simply because he was the pure and true outcast. Not one person reached out to him. Sure, a few girls pitied him and broke up the circle of boys around him, throwing shit at him, or they spoke out against picking on him, but none of them would actually talk to him.
It wasn't like he tried. He tried to be happy, but it was near-impossible to smile. And his fear of people kept him from even trying to reach out.
After awhile, Brendon stopped caring. He just.../stopped. /
He still worked at school and got fabulous grades, and amazed his band teachers and his choir teachers. He just stopped caring about the other kids. He /let /them attack him, and didn't defend himself. He had bruises covering his body, and once, they broke his arm when they pushed him down the stairs.
He allegedly "tripped".
And when he got home, his verbally abusive "mother" (which he refused to call her, calling her "Missy" or sometimes, when he gained the courage, "Fattie") actually screamed at him for breaking his arm. She didn't take him to the hospital. No. She made him wait until the next day to get his arm treated.
The poor boy was dizzy with pain by then.
But Fattie never laid a hand on Brendon. Her abuse was of a more sophisticated kind, as she liked to say. Her abuse could never be proven, and she'd never get caught, she liked to declare proudly.
Brendon's actual father was still away in prison, not to get out for another few years. He'd get out when Brendon turned sixteen. Brendon was just hoping that he'd get shanked or something before he could be released.
Brendon's life basically sucked.
He was alone, scared, confused, and abused verbally at home, and physically at school. He was hated by everyone he came across, and he was so sure that he deserved it that he basically hated himself. His mommy was dead. He had no outlet for his genius, either. And he couldn't share his music with anyone because no one would listen.
High school was middle school, times twenty. When in middle school, Brendon would get punched, high school he'd get his head slammed into a locker. He was beaten into unconsciousness weekly, and none of his teachers showed an interest. In fact, his history teacher cheered on the football captain as he kicked Brendon hard enough to break his ribs.
And the loneliness was even more noticeable as time went on. He sat at the outcast table, but the funny thing was, even the other outcasts didn't talk to him.
He was just this weird artistic kid who wore eyeliner and tight jeans, who didn't talk and was just plain weird.
He was alone.
Little did he know that a new student from New Jersey would change his entire life...
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A/N- Thanks for reading...please review! Oh, and buy the new The Used CD. It's made of awesome. Thanks!
A/N- See first chapter for important author's notes and warnings. Okay, so after this chapter, we will move onto the actual plot. I hope this isn't too slow-moving for you guys, but I actually like how the plot builds slowly...eh, whatever. Enjoy...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brendon cried himself to sleep every night.
He still didn't understand what /exactly /had happened, but he did know his mommy was gone forever. But why? Why was life so /unfair/?
It really wouldn't be that awful, Brendon kept telling himself, but that beast of a woman, his biological father's mother, Missy, sent him to school when he turned six. With complete disregard of every people problem Brendon had, she /sent him to school/.
Oh, God, that was horrific. Brendon had learned special breathing techniques to stop hyperventilation after that first attack, and luckily, Brendon put them to use. But the other children were terrible! They picked on Brendon mercilessly, and he ended up going home in tears that first day.
He didn't understand why they hated him to much. He'd done nothing to them, but him knowing more than them even though they'd been in school longer just made the other kids angry. They called him a freak; a weirdo. And that wasn't all that bad. So they threw sand in his eyes and shoved him off the swing-set. Who cares? They were just kids, and whenever they went far enough to make his knee or elbow bleed, they'd get in trouble. It was just elementary school.
Now, middle school. That was a different story. The kids couldn't hurt him on a playground anymore. They just punched him straight in the stomach or pushed him down the stairs, all the while calling him names and mocking him. And the thing was; it hurt. Badly. To the point where he'd cry, and get picked on worse.
It would have been easier if Brendon had friends to help him through the tough times. But he didn't, simply because he was the pure and true outcast. Not one person reached out to him. Sure, a few girls pitied him and broke up the circle of boys around him, throwing shit at him, or they spoke out against picking on him, but none of them would actually talk to him.
It wasn't like he tried. He tried to be happy, but it was near-impossible to smile. And his fear of people kept him from even trying to reach out.
After awhile, Brendon stopped caring. He just.../stopped. /
He still worked at school and got fabulous grades, and amazed his band teachers and his choir teachers. He just stopped caring about the other kids. He /let /them attack him, and didn't defend himself. He had bruises covering his body, and once, they broke his arm when they pushed him down the stairs.
He allegedly "tripped".
And when he got home, his verbally abusive "mother" (which he refused to call her, calling her "Missy" or sometimes, when he gained the courage, "Fattie") actually screamed at him for breaking his arm. She didn't take him to the hospital. No. She made him wait until the next day to get his arm treated.
The poor boy was dizzy with pain by then.
But Fattie never laid a hand on Brendon. Her abuse was of a more sophisticated kind, as she liked to say. Her abuse could never be proven, and she'd never get caught, she liked to declare proudly.
Brendon's actual father was still away in prison, not to get out for another few years. He'd get out when Brendon turned sixteen. Brendon was just hoping that he'd get shanked or something before he could be released.
Brendon's life basically sucked.
He was alone, scared, confused, and abused verbally at home, and physically at school. He was hated by everyone he came across, and he was so sure that he deserved it that he basically hated himself. His mommy was dead. He had no outlet for his genius, either. And he couldn't share his music with anyone because no one would listen.
High school was middle school, times twenty. When in middle school, Brendon would get punched, high school he'd get his head slammed into a locker. He was beaten into unconsciousness weekly, and none of his teachers showed an interest. In fact, his history teacher cheered on the football captain as he kicked Brendon hard enough to break his ribs.
And the loneliness was even more noticeable as time went on. He sat at the outcast table, but the funny thing was, even the other outcasts didn't talk to him.
He was just this weird artistic kid who wore eyeliner and tight jeans, who didn't talk and was just plain weird.
He was alone.
Little did he know that a new student from New Jersey would change his entire life...
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A/N- Thanks for reading...please review! Oh, and buy the new The Used CD. It's made of awesome. Thanks!
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