Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Woke Up Screaming Through a Slit Throat
Bone Marrow Wind Chimes
[FRERARD] Secrets are a deadly thing to toy around with Frankie, especially when you have a hitman tearing the world down to get you. One, Two, Three... he's coming...
?Blocked
Frank's P.O.V.
"I'll find you darling, you can't just keep running away forever, no matter where you go I'll eventually find you. You're never safe kitten, not till your brain's splattered on the pavement" his melting voice crooned, almost pulling me in it's very direction. Why did this situation have to be so inevitable, why couldn’t this be one of those situations in which I was vindicated and innocent, just a mere man with the ripening age of twenty beginning to settle into my pours, it just wasn’t right, being forced to live a life like this. I never meant what I did, it’s not something I wanted to do, in fact at this point I question if it was ever even an option at all. Never was it anything personal yet it continues to be a matter that is executed as if it were… and the consequences of my actions have eaten five years of my pathetic life. The worse thing however must be that this isn’t even the intended punishment for my crime… running, seems like a lucky fate compared to the one that is planned for me… but it’s not, this torture is far worse than any death could be, it’s slowly suffocating me.
My shivering body lie frozen, wedged tightly within the uncomfortably small crevice between the icy dumpster and the wall. I hugged my knees tightly against my body, staring down at my busted up red converse that' I've been having to wear for three years, since I was only the young and pathetic age of 15, when everything started. Because of that simple, yet immensely large mistake, the last five years of my teenage life have been spent running, wearing down the souls of my shoes and collecting dirt and grime on my torn and tarnished clothes. A home is something I haven’t had in three years, no shelter, no warmth, nothing. All I’ve had was the uncomforting rumble of the pavement in which I found myself curled against every night practically begging, marauding on sleep but catching it very sparingly.
One might think that I'd become immune to this tingling sense of fear now, seeing as this has been consuming my every moment, enveloping every second every day for three years now, But the feeling never becomes a routine expectation. Every time my body still lurks into panic attack mode, the adrenaline still consumes my blood vessels until that's all I am anymore; Just a shell full of adrenaline and fearful loathing.
Every time I hear his hauntingly smooth voice the spasms of fear still contort my sore body, still prickle down my spine, turning them into bone marrow wind chimes. My eyes still fly tightly shut against my will at the sound of his steel toed boots slapping against the cold, wet pavement. And the same thing that gets me found out every single fucking time, the minute he loads his gun, my whimper shatters the atmosphere and cracks my carefully glued together disguise. Then it all starts over again, this vicious, sickening game of Hunter and Prey.
This systematic horror in which I, and alone/ I] am the only focus. I just wish this never happened, I just wish I never performed the act that I did five years ago, maybe this wouldn't be happening right now, maybe I would still be at home, visiting my mom and dad... I haven't seen them in five years, I can't see them, there's just no way. Even if I ran, ran as hard and as fast as I could, somehow using a mastermind of thought to hide all traces of my trail, he would still find me there. He wouldn't kill me...[/but my family. And I could never jeopardize their lives just for the pleasure of bringing a sharp second of happiness back into my life. I'd much rather suffer.
Why is it that the way I was forced to live my life, the things I was held at gun point for, these are the things that have landed me in the situation. It’s not like I wanted what I had been so unwillingly shoved into, why in the world would I intentionally put myself through hell and suffering? Day’s in which I would collect a gallery of contusions and lacerations, rips, tears and multiple injuries, just to satisfy one’s sickening needs, why would I ever do that by choice? Why would anyone?
All of this, every single bit of this traumatizing chase all started because of one, single mistake. One single mistake that I don't even dare let echo in my thoughts in fear of some outside force actually hearing. It sounds psychotic, but it's more logical than anyone in the world could ever even attempt to imagine. When you've been somehow able to escape the clutches of a ravenous assassin a countless number of times, the only thing you ever doubt is for the hunt to come to an end. Because there is just one little problem with that notion... when this hunt comes to an end... I will have to be dead.
When I realized that about a year ago, everything occurred to me, there is only one escape, there is only one direct route away from the situation, and that's a route I always said I would never take. The thing is however, is saving myself every time really helping me any? When I know all I will be doing for the remainder of my years is running until I grow to weak and fragile and he finally catches me. It's a one-way road... and he's shadowing the end...
"I'll find you darling, you can't just keep running away forever, no matter where you go I'll eventually find you. You're never safe kitten, not till your brain's splattered on the pavement" his melting voice crooned, almost pulling me in it's very direction. Why did this situation have to be so inevitable, why couldn’t this be one of those situations in which I was vindicated and innocent, just a mere man with the ripening age of twenty beginning to settle into my pours, it just wasn’t right, being forced to live a life like this. I never meant what I did, it’s not something I wanted to do, in fact at this point I question if it was ever even an option at all. Never was it anything personal yet it continues to be a matter that is executed as if it were… and the consequences of my actions have eaten five years of my pathetic life. The worse thing however must be that this isn’t even the intended punishment for my crime… running, seems like a lucky fate compared to the one that is planned for me… but it’s not, this torture is far worse than any death could be, it’s slowly suffocating me.
My shivering body lie frozen, wedged tightly within the uncomfortably small crevice between the icy dumpster and the wall. I hugged my knees tightly against my body, staring down at my busted up red converse that' I've been having to wear for three years, since I was only the young and pathetic age of 15, when everything started. Because of that simple, yet immensely large mistake, the last five years of my teenage life have been spent running, wearing down the souls of my shoes and collecting dirt and grime on my torn and tarnished clothes. A home is something I haven’t had in three years, no shelter, no warmth, nothing. All I’ve had was the uncomforting rumble of the pavement in which I found myself curled against every night practically begging, marauding on sleep but catching it very sparingly.
One might think that I'd become immune to this tingling sense of fear now, seeing as this has been consuming my every moment, enveloping every second every day for three years now, But the feeling never becomes a routine expectation. Every time my body still lurks into panic attack mode, the adrenaline still consumes my blood vessels until that's all I am anymore; Just a shell full of adrenaline and fearful loathing.
Every time I hear his hauntingly smooth voice the spasms of fear still contort my sore body, still prickle down my spine, turning them into bone marrow wind chimes. My eyes still fly tightly shut against my will at the sound of his steel toed boots slapping against the cold, wet pavement. And the same thing that gets me found out every single fucking time, the minute he loads his gun, my whimper shatters the atmosphere and cracks my carefully glued together disguise. Then it all starts over again, this vicious, sickening game of Hunter and Prey.
This systematic horror in which I, and alone/ I] am the only focus. I just wish this never happened, I just wish I never performed the act that I did five years ago, maybe this wouldn't be happening right now, maybe I would still be at home, visiting my mom and dad... I haven't seen them in five years, I can't see them, there's just no way. Even if I ran, ran as hard and as fast as I could, somehow using a mastermind of thought to hide all traces of my trail, he would still find me there. He wouldn't kill me...[/but my family. And I could never jeopardize their lives just for the pleasure of bringing a sharp second of happiness back into my life. I'd much rather suffer.
Why is it that the way I was forced to live my life, the things I was held at gun point for, these are the things that have landed me in the situation. It’s not like I wanted what I had been so unwillingly shoved into, why in the world would I intentionally put myself through hell and suffering? Day’s in which I would collect a gallery of contusions and lacerations, rips, tears and multiple injuries, just to satisfy one’s sickening needs, why would I ever do that by choice? Why would anyone?
All of this, every single bit of this traumatizing chase all started because of one, single mistake. One single mistake that I don't even dare let echo in my thoughts in fear of some outside force actually hearing. It sounds psychotic, but it's more logical than anyone in the world could ever even attempt to imagine. When you've been somehow able to escape the clutches of a ravenous assassin a countless number of times, the only thing you ever doubt is for the hunt to come to an end. Because there is just one little problem with that notion... when this hunt comes to an end... I will have to be dead.
When I realized that about a year ago, everything occurred to me, there is only one escape, there is only one direct route away from the situation, and that's a route I always said I would never take. The thing is however, is saving myself every time really helping me any? When I know all I will be doing for the remainder of my years is running until I grow to weak and fragile and he finally catches me. It's a one-way road... and he's shadowing the end...
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