(c) Special (PG13)
I am Revolution :: Words :: Stories :: Fanfiction
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(c) Special (PG13)
by zero Wed 17 Sep 2008, 3:25 pm
Frerard.
Not finished.
Teenage MCR. 'Cause I say so.
Chapter One
There was nothing special that day. Just another day in a hospital. I yawned, and the thought of my cold and made bed at home immediately jumped in front of my mind. A frown ceased my face by the thought didn’t last long when I heard noise.
I cringed almost immediately. I was the kind of person that liked to live in silence. No noise, no nothing. I turned my head and saw a scene unfolding in front of my eyes. It was scary, but intriguing at the same time. A teenager being carried into the hospital, he was thrashing around wildly.
My first reaction was to laugh, it wasn’t right for someone his age to act like that. But I stopped once I realized he was crying. “We need help over here!” a nurse shouted. I stood up without think about it twice. Almost automatically, like it was an obligation. I ran to him and understood almost everything.
Everybody was taking hold of his limbs, except for his left leg which was bleeding. A big wound was on it, blood dripping constantly. Disgusting, no wonder nobody wanted to hold it. I didn’t want to hold it, but a doctor told me to. Seriously, who would want to hold a bleeding foot?
He was being carried to a room, thrashing around and whining. I got a good look at him, he was shaking. He was terribly pale and clammy. I took pity on him; he must’ve been so scared. Tears poured from his eyes, looking up to the woman that was holding his hand, telling her to save him and the woman burst into tears.
She was his mother, I noted in my head. I felt sadness for a second; mother never cared like that for me. The thought tore me apart as we got him into a room. He was laid on a bed, and he calmed for a while, eyes shifting from side to side. “Gerard?” his mother said.
“Mama?” he looked in her eyes for a second before they started to move around again.
The older woman took his face in her hands, “Gerard, look at me,” she begged. He didn’t look, his eyes were too busy wandering around the room. “Baby, I love you. Be brave for me, okay?”
“I love you too,” he answered in a monotone, no feeling or affection whatsoever. This was surprising, his mother just told him that she loved him like he was about to die. Any other person would’ve answered the same way. I would’ve, but Gerard didn’t.
Gerard. His name was something I’ve never heard before. I might’ve misheard his name once, I don’t recall. “Here it goes. . .” a doctor mumbles, injection in hand. Gerard caught sight of the sharp object and started panicking again.
“Mikey?” he called out. I heard someone curse from behind, somebody that I’ve guessed was Mikey.
He walked to him, rolled his eyes and said, “What?” The way he said it was so angry. He glared through his wire glasses, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. The doctor got a few steps closer and for once, his eyes never moved away from him. He latched onto the arm closest to him; mine and he whimpered.
“Mikey, a needle,” he whispered, twitching. His tight hold around my limb could’ve been numbing, Mikey might’ve noticed.
Mikey sighed and looked down. He said, “Yes, Gerard, it’s a needle. You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be scared of this kind of shit anymore!”
He was scolded, and I had a feeling that was not the first that happened that day. “Alright, Gerard I need you to calm down, I’m going to make all of the pain go away.” The doctor said in his gentle voice. I scoffed, I know gentle was far from his interests.
Gerard held on tighter, I suddenly felt the urge to hold him too. Mikey groaned, embarrassment swimming in his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Frank.” It was the first time I said my name that day. I was never good with introductions; he must’ve sensed that since he tucked a smug smirk on his face.
“Listen, only you and the other people in this room are going to know about my brother’s fear of needles and his childish acts,” he started. I took on the impression that he was ashamed of his brother. He looked over his shoulder, watching his brother try to back away from the needle.
“Why?” This question was stupid. I needed something to say, some kind of explanation. He didn’t give it to me, though.
Instead, “Frank, let’s be friends.”
Not finished.
Teenage MCR. 'Cause I say so.
Chapter One
There was nothing special that day. Just another day in a hospital. I yawned, and the thought of my cold and made bed at home immediately jumped in front of my mind. A frown ceased my face by the thought didn’t last long when I heard noise.
I cringed almost immediately. I was the kind of person that liked to live in silence. No noise, no nothing. I turned my head and saw a scene unfolding in front of my eyes. It was scary, but intriguing at the same time. A teenager being carried into the hospital, he was thrashing around wildly.
My first reaction was to laugh, it wasn’t right for someone his age to act like that. But I stopped once I realized he was crying. “We need help over here!” a nurse shouted. I stood up without think about it twice. Almost automatically, like it was an obligation. I ran to him and understood almost everything.
Everybody was taking hold of his limbs, except for his left leg which was bleeding. A big wound was on it, blood dripping constantly. Disgusting, no wonder nobody wanted to hold it. I didn’t want to hold it, but a doctor told me to. Seriously, who would want to hold a bleeding foot?
He was being carried to a room, thrashing around and whining. I got a good look at him, he was shaking. He was terribly pale and clammy. I took pity on him; he must’ve been so scared. Tears poured from his eyes, looking up to the woman that was holding his hand, telling her to save him and the woman burst into tears.
She was his mother, I noted in my head. I felt sadness for a second; mother never cared like that for me. The thought tore me apart as we got him into a room. He was laid on a bed, and he calmed for a while, eyes shifting from side to side. “Gerard?” his mother said.
“Mama?” he looked in her eyes for a second before they started to move around again.
The older woman took his face in her hands, “Gerard, look at me,” she begged. He didn’t look, his eyes were too busy wandering around the room. “Baby, I love you. Be brave for me, okay?”
“I love you too,” he answered in a monotone, no feeling or affection whatsoever. This was surprising, his mother just told him that she loved him like he was about to die. Any other person would’ve answered the same way. I would’ve, but Gerard didn’t.
Gerard. His name was something I’ve never heard before. I might’ve misheard his name once, I don’t recall. “Here it goes. . .” a doctor mumbles, injection in hand. Gerard caught sight of the sharp object and started panicking again.
“Mikey?” he called out. I heard someone curse from behind, somebody that I’ve guessed was Mikey.
He walked to him, rolled his eyes and said, “What?” The way he said it was so angry. He glared through his wire glasses, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. The doctor got a few steps closer and for once, his eyes never moved away from him. He latched onto the arm closest to him; mine and he whimpered.
“Mikey, a needle,” he whispered, twitching. His tight hold around my limb could’ve been numbing, Mikey might’ve noticed.
Mikey sighed and looked down. He said, “Yes, Gerard, it’s a needle. You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be scared of this kind of shit anymore!”
He was scolded, and I had a feeling that was not the first that happened that day. “Alright, Gerard I need you to calm down, I’m going to make all of the pain go away.” The doctor said in his gentle voice. I scoffed, I know gentle was far from his interests.
Gerard held on tighter, I suddenly felt the urge to hold him too. Mikey groaned, embarrassment swimming in his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Frank.” It was the first time I said my name that day. I was never good with introductions; he must’ve sensed that since he tucked a smug smirk on his face.
“Listen, only you and the other people in this room are going to know about my brother’s fear of needles and his childish acts,” he started. I took on the impression that he was ashamed of his brother. He looked over his shoulder, watching his brother try to back away from the needle.
“Why?” This question was stupid. I needed something to say, some kind of explanation. He didn’t give it to me, though.
Instead, “Frank, let’s be friends.”
zero- Leading by Example
-
Number of posts : 1813
Age : 28
Location : into unknown
Re: (c) Special (PG13)
by zero Wed 17 Sep 2008, 3:27 pm
Chapter Two
On my first visit in the Way household, I felt some slight intimidation. The house was rather big, but the lights were always dim. The house had two rooms, and a crappy basement. I would compare it to my house, but I’d rather not to avoid sheer embarrassment.
“I have the bigger room,” Mikey had said. “Gerard doesn’t really care where he sleeps.”
The thought of him sleeping on the streets entered my mind and I shuddered.
I learned a lot about their family in the course of ten hours. Especially Gerard, he was the most unique. The ugly duckling of the family, to be blunt. Like whenever we would stay in the kitchen, you’d here whiny sounds from the basement, which how Mikey explained as “Gerard’s singing”.
Childish was how I would describe him, childish and vulnerable. I’d have to say dinner was the highlight of the day. I learned that Donna Way enjoyed cooking, and she was amazing at it. Pasta was for dinner, everybody was seated down on the table. “Grace first, boys.”
I gave Mikey a knowing look before bringing my thumb up to my forehead and making a small cross across my chest before hiding my hands under the table cloth where they should be clasped together. They weren’t, and I knew that Mikey was doing the exact something.
“In the name of the father, to the son, and to the holy spirit. Amen,” someone says.
Across the table, you could hear Gerard praying, and beside me Mikey was snickering. Gerard has his hands on top of the table, unlike us, his palms were pressed together and his eyes were closed and a smile on his face.
He looked like an angel.
After ‘saying grace’ – Mikey snorted when he heard this – we ate the delicious pasta dinner. I pigged out, to be frank. Because that’s my name, Frank. Frank is me. Get it?
“Gerard, this is Frank,” Donna Way smiled, trying to get her son’s attention. “He’s the nice man that helped you last night.” Gerard didn’t look up, instead he lifted his index finger, and dragged it across his palm, like he was writing something. I learned from Mikey that yesterday’s happenings was because of broken glass that caught his foot.
“Frank . . .” I heard him say. His voice was quiet and hoarse. My eyes got a bit watchful then. He ate so properly, not a drop of pasta ever left his plate in its way to his mouth. About two or three times, my glass ran out of water. Whenever Gerard caught sight of an empty glass, he’d walk to the fridge and bring out a pitcher half filled with water and he’d fill the glass. He will fill the glass, even if you didn’t want him to. Gerard did with Mikey; he had to push him away before he even reached Mikey.
“Stupid OCD boy, doesn’t know how to fucking listen to me,” he cursed under his breath. His mother gave him a disapproving look but held her anger in. She wouldn’t want to explode on her child about swearing in front of a guest. Instead, she told him to wash the dishes.
I laughed at him and headed to the backyard. It was cold like every single night in New Jersey, like every single night I went out for a smoke. I lit the white stick, and I heard someone say “Rust . . .”
Gerard was sitting in the ground, flashlight and book in hand. It wasn’t any ordinary book, it was a dictionary. A red, thick and boring dictionary. He was reading it, it was unusual. “Noun . . . Deterioration, as of ability, resulting from inactivity or neglect . . .”
I almost forgot what I was doing there. The cigarette already had ashes falling off and I brought it up to my lips. Inhale. Exhale. “What rhymes with rust? Bust, must . . . tru-“ he started talking again but his hand flew on his face and he started coughing madly.
He picked up his things, the dictionary and flashlight, the tiny bulb still on. And he dashed into the house, not a word escaping his mouth. I could hear his loud steps on the stairs. My eyebrows arched, not knowing what really happened. Shrugging it off, I thought it was normal. A lot of things in the Way household wasn’t really normal, but it was to them. That thought immediately changed when Mikey ran to me and slapped the cigarette out of my hand. “Fuck, dude. You have any idea how much those things cost?!” was my first reaction.
“Frank, let me make one thing clear, you don’t smoke in my house. Especially in front of Gerard, do you know what he’s doing right now?” his voice was angry, and I could tell he was trying not to shout.
I rolled my eyes, “You guys have anything against smokers? That it?”
He glared, shaking his head. “Gerard is raised wrong. Smoke is bad to him, Frank. Very bad.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t.”checked.chester.
On my first visit in the Way household, I felt some slight intimidation. The house was rather big, but the lights were always dim. The house had two rooms, and a crappy basement. I would compare it to my house, but I’d rather not to avoid sheer embarrassment.
“I have the bigger room,” Mikey had said. “Gerard doesn’t really care where he sleeps.”
The thought of him sleeping on the streets entered my mind and I shuddered.
I learned a lot about their family in the course of ten hours. Especially Gerard, he was the most unique. The ugly duckling of the family, to be blunt. Like whenever we would stay in the kitchen, you’d here whiny sounds from the basement, which how Mikey explained as “Gerard’s singing”.
Childish was how I would describe him, childish and vulnerable. I’d have to say dinner was the highlight of the day. I learned that Donna Way enjoyed cooking, and she was amazing at it. Pasta was for dinner, everybody was seated down on the table. “Grace first, boys.”
I gave Mikey a knowing look before bringing my thumb up to my forehead and making a small cross across my chest before hiding my hands under the table cloth where they should be clasped together. They weren’t, and I knew that Mikey was doing the exact something.
“In the name of the father, to the son, and to the holy spirit. Amen,” someone says.
Across the table, you could hear Gerard praying, and beside me Mikey was snickering. Gerard has his hands on top of the table, unlike us, his palms were pressed together and his eyes were closed and a smile on his face.
He looked like an angel.
After ‘saying grace’ – Mikey snorted when he heard this – we ate the delicious pasta dinner. I pigged out, to be frank. Because that’s my name, Frank. Frank is me. Get it?
“Gerard, this is Frank,” Donna Way smiled, trying to get her son’s attention. “He’s the nice man that helped you last night.” Gerard didn’t look up, instead he lifted his index finger, and dragged it across his palm, like he was writing something. I learned from Mikey that yesterday’s happenings was because of broken glass that caught his foot.
“Frank . . .” I heard him say. His voice was quiet and hoarse. My eyes got a bit watchful then. He ate so properly, not a drop of pasta ever left his plate in its way to his mouth. About two or three times, my glass ran out of water. Whenever Gerard caught sight of an empty glass, he’d walk to the fridge and bring out a pitcher half filled with water and he’d fill the glass. He will fill the glass, even if you didn’t want him to. Gerard did with Mikey; he had to push him away before he even reached Mikey.
“Stupid OCD boy, doesn’t know how to fucking listen to me,” he cursed under his breath. His mother gave him a disapproving look but held her anger in. She wouldn’t want to explode on her child about swearing in front of a guest. Instead, she told him to wash the dishes.
I laughed at him and headed to the backyard. It was cold like every single night in New Jersey, like every single night I went out for a smoke. I lit the white stick, and I heard someone say “Rust . . .”
Gerard was sitting in the ground, flashlight and book in hand. It wasn’t any ordinary book, it was a dictionary. A red, thick and boring dictionary. He was reading it, it was unusual. “Noun . . . Deterioration, as of ability, resulting from inactivity or neglect . . .”
I almost forgot what I was doing there. The cigarette already had ashes falling off and I brought it up to my lips. Inhale. Exhale. “What rhymes with rust? Bust, must . . . tru-“ he started talking again but his hand flew on his face and he started coughing madly.
He picked up his things, the dictionary and flashlight, the tiny bulb still on. And he dashed into the house, not a word escaping his mouth. I could hear his loud steps on the stairs. My eyebrows arched, not knowing what really happened. Shrugging it off, I thought it was normal. A lot of things in the Way household wasn’t really normal, but it was to them. That thought immediately changed when Mikey ran to me and slapped the cigarette out of my hand. “Fuck, dude. You have any idea how much those things cost?!” was my first reaction.
“Frank, let me make one thing clear, you don’t smoke in my house. Especially in front of Gerard, do you know what he’s doing right now?” his voice was angry, and I could tell he was trying not to shout.
I rolled my eyes, “You guys have anything against smokers? That it?”
He glared, shaking his head. “Gerard is raised wrong. Smoke is bad to him, Frank. Very bad.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t.”checked.chester.
zero- Leading by Example
-
Number of posts : 1813
Age : 28
Location : into unknown
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I am Revolution :: Words :: Stories :: Fanfiction
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