Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Early Sunsets
Solitude - VIII
0 reviewsThe contact was whisked away as suddenly as it had come, cold and pointed and digging into the softest points in his body.
0Unrated
Gerard limped quickly from the subway as well, when the man had scrambled his way back up to the surface and gotten a good distance away. He clenched his teeth and tried to stop the bleeding from his chest as he walked.
“Gerard, wait!”
Gerard turned around. The dusty streets were empty and desert-like. Dirt sprayed in little tornados around the bases of old telephone poles and parking meters overtaken by weeds. The voice bounced off the buildings, echoing and bringing back memories in Gerard’s mind of fur tents, campfires, and people talking in wooden lodges. Living like Pilgrims or Native Americans in 2010.
Homesickness whirred in Gerard’s mind, but he brushed it off and kept going, persistent as ever.
“You remember me…”
Gerard spun around toward the voice and was pushed to the ground; weight thudded onto his back like someone was kneeling on his spine, warmth the size of handprints on his shoulders. Gerard remembered that feeling. When a particular person would greet him every afternoon by jumping on his back and sometimes knocking him over.
The hands on his shoulders tightened and the knees in his back were removed as he felt himself being pulled up from the dirt. The person brushed off his back and Gerard went rigid as arms slipped around his waist, hooking into the front belt loops of his jeans. Because he knew that feeling.
The person stayed there for a moment, breathing against Gerard’s ear. Gerard inhaled shakily, that familiar musky vanilla scent. Sharp and reassuring. Something to hold onto and know you could always be safe when it was around. If not safe, complete.
Gerard looked back and the contact was whisked away as suddenly as it had come, cold and pointed and digging into the softest points in his body.
Gerard shivered and glanced around. He was as alone as he had been for almost a millennium. He continued down the block.
“You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re dead,” Gerard muttered, turning a corner into an alley. He stopped at a cellar and pulled the heavy metal door off its hinges. Bright red splattered onto the surface as he threw it aside, stepping down into the dark. He grunted in annoyance as he felt his muscle cramp, buzzing up his veins.
He felt around in the dark and his fingers gripped around a worn rubber handlebar, then another. He tightened his grip and pulled the object out from the cellar.
He put the previous event behind him and got on the bike, starting the engine and taking a last glance at the ghost town he used to live in.
“Whatever,” Gerard muttered. He booted the kickstand and left the alley, dust spraying from the dirty tires.
“Gerard, wait!”
Gerard turned around. The dusty streets were empty and desert-like. Dirt sprayed in little tornados around the bases of old telephone poles and parking meters overtaken by weeds. The voice bounced off the buildings, echoing and bringing back memories in Gerard’s mind of fur tents, campfires, and people talking in wooden lodges. Living like Pilgrims or Native Americans in 2010.
Homesickness whirred in Gerard’s mind, but he brushed it off and kept going, persistent as ever.
“You remember me…”
Gerard spun around toward the voice and was pushed to the ground; weight thudded onto his back like someone was kneeling on his spine, warmth the size of handprints on his shoulders. Gerard remembered that feeling. When a particular person would greet him every afternoon by jumping on his back and sometimes knocking him over.
The hands on his shoulders tightened and the knees in his back were removed as he felt himself being pulled up from the dirt. The person brushed off his back and Gerard went rigid as arms slipped around his waist, hooking into the front belt loops of his jeans. Because he knew that feeling.
The person stayed there for a moment, breathing against Gerard’s ear. Gerard inhaled shakily, that familiar musky vanilla scent. Sharp and reassuring. Something to hold onto and know you could always be safe when it was around. If not safe, complete.
Gerard looked back and the contact was whisked away as suddenly as it had come, cold and pointed and digging into the softest points in his body.
Gerard shivered and glanced around. He was as alone as he had been for almost a millennium. He continued down the block.
“You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re dead,” Gerard muttered, turning a corner into an alley. He stopped at a cellar and pulled the heavy metal door off its hinges. Bright red splattered onto the surface as he threw it aside, stepping down into the dark. He grunted in annoyance as he felt his muscle cramp, buzzing up his veins.
He felt around in the dark and his fingers gripped around a worn rubber handlebar, then another. He tightened his grip and pulled the object out from the cellar.
He put the previous event behind him and got on the bike, starting the engine and taking a last glance at the ghost town he used to live in.
“Whatever,” Gerard muttered. He booted the kickstand and left the alley, dust spraying from the dirty tires.
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