Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > No More Metaphors

More Confusing Than A Four Sided Triangle

by moocow 5 reviews

Misery's misery. It's short, but hey. It's something, right? MOOCOW IS IN THE MOTHERFICCYING HOUSE

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Sci-fi - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2008-05-08 - Updated: 2008-05-08 - 941 words

The house was quiet. Pete had obviously gotten used to never-ending silence, but ever since Misery had been occupying his house, silence was a rarity. The past month had been relatively calm and without much chaos coming from the hand of her, and honestly, Pete was relieved. There wasn’t much he could do about Misery and her ways except hope that she would eventually go away.

Though, Pete still found the silence disturbing to him. The entire morning had been spent as if it was a normal day and that Misery was in fact not in his residence any longer. He knew that, of course, to be a lie. A heavy sigh left his lips as he gazed down the hallway for the tenth time that hour. Misery’s door remained closed without any light leaking out from the bottom.
Pete shifted on the couch and hesitantly flipped through the channels, not finding anything too amazing on TV. His mind was elsewhere; it was on Misery. He wondered if, even though she was dead, she still had emotions and was just having a bad day. He had to admit, she acted like a normal person; after all, she ate, drank and even slept.

“She has to have emotion.” He mumbled to himself.

Hemmingway rolled over onto his back suddenly and tilted his head back to stare at Pete. Pete simply placed the remote down and stood up, pushing some of his hair out of his face as he slowly paced down the hallway. Upon meeting the guest bedroom door, his heart beat picked up and suddenly, he felt nervous. However, it wasn’t the kind of nerves that made him scared of Misery or anything she did, but the kind of nerves that had him questioning their emotional relationship. She was a part of him.

“Misery?” he questioned, his hand now turning the knob of the door.

The room was dark, matter of fact it was pitch dark; even though the afternoon sun was pouring through the window. It was as if Misery’s emotions had poured over everything in the room with ominous paint. Her body was the only color in the room. Misery lay atop of the now black sheets in a red dress that met her knees, and because she was on her stomach, face down; Pete could see the tie in the back. Her arms were stone and lay parallel to her body, though her hands seemed to be blackened as well.

“Misery.” Pete called her name again.

She didn’t respond, but in the blink of an eye, Pete found himself lying in the bed as well, and discovered his inability to move. It was the most drastic thing Misery had done all week.

“Don’t speak.” Misery said, though her voice was muffled by the pillow her face was in. “Today is a day of mourning.” She explained.

Pete poised his lips open and began to speak, but found his voice inaudible. Misery turned her face smiled at Pete’s confused face.

“I told you not to speak.” She whispered.

Pete frowned and forcefully slid his arms up so they were bent near his head. Misery observed the way he broke momentarily out of her grip of dominance.

“I’ll tell you though.” She announced.

Pete licked his lips and found his voice returning as he spoke again.

“What happened?” he asked. “Why today?”

Misery bent her arms up as well, and suddenly, her hands were back to a normal shade of milky tan.

“I died today.” She spoke.

Pete felt his heart flutter in surprise. He didn’t expect Misery to be open about her death, let alone share with him the date of when she did die. He decided, for once, to keep his lips tightly together.

Misery took a deep breath in, even though she honestly did not need it to survive. She smirked to herself at this.

“Two years ago, today, I was successful.”

Pete’s eyes widened and his throat closed only momentarily.

“You killed yourself?” he asked, the speed of his voice rushed.

Misery’s eyes reflected guilt. She nodded once and did not further the explanation of her death. Pete gulped at the silence between them but did not dare shift his eyes away from her gaze. Misery finally moved her hand over the distance to his and slid her fingers through the spaces his relaxed hand created.

“Do you feel me Peter?” she asked.

Pete lowered his eyes to her hand on his and felt his bottom lip fall from his top one in amazement. It had been a long time since anybody had shown him physical emotion, and for the first time, he felt no warmth or comfort. He only felt the coldness of death itself. He twitched his thumb and watched as it slipped through flesh as if she was a… spirit. Misery hated being referred to as a ghost. He internally shook his head but raised his eyes to Misery’s either way and nodded.

“I do.” He insisted.

Misery shook her head.

“What you feel Peter is not me.” She paused to push her hand into his, Misery’s hand literally possessing his and the two hands becoming one. Peter shivered, instantly feeling the freeze of her eternal hell. He watched as her eyes closed and actually felt the eternal grip she had on his life tighten as his heart sank for the innocent girl that had intruded on his life. Misery’s eyes slit open and she locked eyes with Pete again before speaking.

“It’s misery.” She simply said. “Misery.”
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