THE TRAGIC TALE OF THE BLACK PARADE 1. The Beginning of The End
Published: 2007/03/11 - Updated: 2007/03/11 - 408 words by horsie890 (http://www.ficwad.com/author/33488)
Black. Everything was black.
He could see no one else around. In fact, he could see nothing. For all he knew, there was nothing. There was only still silence.
Then he heard someone.
A lone voice sang slowly into the stifling darkness as if to bring life to it. There was no music. There were no others to join him. There were only the words.
"Now come one, come all to this tragic affair, wipe off that makeup, what sin is despair? So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot. You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not." He began to shuffle slowly toward the voice. It seemed familiar, but at the same time strange. Who was it?
"If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, you can find out firsthand what it's like to be me...Oh, hello there." The singing stopped. The man stopped.
"You surprised me." He still couldn't see anything. The world was dark.
"I've been waiting for you." The man tried to open his mouth to speak, but he could not. He felt frozen, and cold, very cold.
"Oh, hold on one second. Let me help you."
There was a bright flash of light, blinding, glorious light, and he could see. He gasped for air, not even realizing he had stopped breathing. He could move again.
"There, that's much better, isn't it? It's impossible to do anything with the spell of Death still over you."
"Where am I?" he whispered. His voice sounded strange, even to him. He heard no trace of the disease that had robbed him of true life. It was as if he had never felt the pain of the treatments, as if he were healed. As if none of it had ever existed.
Something clicked in his head. He knew he recognized that voice. "You're-"
"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We must go back before we can go forward." The pale-haired man began to walk away, back into the bleak darkness.
"Where are we going?"
"It is as I said. We are going back. Back to the beginning of your life." He followed.
2. A Razor’s Edge
Published: 2007/03/12 - Updated: 2007/03/12 - 892 words By horsie890 (http://www.ficwad.com/author/33488) At http://www.ficwad.com/story/51901.htm
They kept walking. With each step, the world lightened, eventually becoming a solid steel
gray. The perfect balance between the blinding white and murderous darkness. As they
walked, the patient realized how different the two of them were. He still wore his white
hospital gown, a distant contrast to the classy black uniform of the man he followed. He
himself was the spirit of weakness, of those lost in the most distant wasteland. The man in
front of him embodied pure power, as if he were the general presiding over an army. It was
strange. They did not belong anywhere near each other.
It was deathly silent, enough to drive the patient mad. He could think of nothing to say to the
one he followed, however, making it all the more difficult.
"You dislike this," said the pale-haired man walking in front of him.
"Just...this silence." He nodded.
"I could sing, if you like."
"Anything would be better than silence." A marble white door appeared in front of the
uniformed man. He halted next to it.
"It matters not. We have reached our first destination." He opened the door, and it led to pure
darkness. He took a slight bow and motioned for the patient to go inside first. He slowly
walked through the doorway. The uniformed man smirked slightly as he passed and followed
him through, closing the door with a soft click.
familiar sound, but this was no man and no singer. It was synthesized and false. It signified
both life and death, depending. For him it was the latter.
It was the constant beep of a heart monitor. Behind it was the sound of an air pump helping
its victim breathe.
"You were quite young. I believed it to be unfair," the other man began. The patient stood
next to him, able to see his features clearly. The man's face darkened. "...But in the end, it
may be considered...reasonable." The patient was shocked, and the heart monitor began to
speed up in response. He tried to breath deeper to calm down, and the air pump shuddered.
"R-reasonable?"
"I am risking much by doing this for you. You must prove to me that you deserve the world I
will offer you."
"What kind of world is it?" the patient asked hopefully, curiosity sparkling in his dark eyes.
The man shook his head.
"I've told you already, you must wait. You will learn in time, and do not worry. I will do what
I can to help you." The patient was worried. This mysterious man clearly had the power to
either help or condemn him. Hopefully he would end up making the right decision.
"Watch." The darkness began to ebb away, leading to a world of white. The glow was
intense, but details soon began to etch their way into the light and form the outlines of a
room. It was a hospital room,
the
hospital room. The one where he had died.
"Am I to assume you recognize this place?" The patient nodded.
"Good. Then we may continue."
"But why would you bring me back here?" the patient asked as he recalled his former
suffering.
"Because I need to know exactly what you remember," the uniformed man said plainly.
"Of course I would remember something like this!"
"You don't understand," the man said with a sigh. "The moment I begin to assume your
memories is the moment everything falls apart. A technical formality, if you will, but an
important one nonetheless."
But at the same time, the patient had to wonder why this was so. This man was clearly not in
charge of the final decision; that much was evident from his words. And even if he would be
the one to decide and was cleverly disguising his status, he was not heartless, or he would
have condemned the patient long ago. Either that or he was a cruel man who loved to see his
victims suffer, like a deranged murderer. Who did he have to answer to? And what would
happen if he strayed from these bizarre rules?
"No doubt this troubles you. I am sorry that I cannot explain everything to you immediately,
but I will say this." As he spoke, his militaristic uniform was replaced with a doctor's lab
coat. He had to blend in. "I sympathize with you. And I will do everything I can to ensure
you go to the proper place."
The patient almost smiled. He
almost
smiled because he almost missed the other meaning of
the man's words. There was a high chance he would end up where he wanted, in whatever
world this man offered him. But the possibility of death and darkness loomed over him like
storm clouds brimming with rain. He knew he would have to be very careful about what he
said from now on. He would have to learn the rules of this game soon, for if he didn't, there
was no way to know what awaited him.
3. Childlike Memories
Published: 2007/03/12 - Updated: 2007/03/12 - 935 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/51924.htm
"So, you need to know what I remember?" the patient asked thoughtfully. The band-leader-turned-doctor nodded once in agreement. The patient's face fell.
"Well, now that you mention it...I can't seem to remember much at all." The man sighed inwardly. This was going to be more difficult than he had originally thought. He was waiting carefully for one word, one single world, that would help him carry through with this task. "What do you remember?" The patient thought. He ran through every scattered memory in his mind. Every two-second clip to the very few that lasted entire days. He thought. He remembered. His mind pieced everything together in one single, flowing motion.
He was left with one memory. A memory that, once thought to be lost with time, resurfaced and flitted about his thoughts.
"The parade." He whispered it so softly and slowly that at first the leader thought he had imagined it. But as soon as he heard the soft words, a chord struck in his mind and rang out harmoniously. He felt the electricity of a plan building up in his fingertips. This was the beginning of something entirely new, something powerful. He could feel it.
"But it's not very clear. I'm afraid I don't know exactly what happened." The man waved one hand in an elaborate swirl, and another door appeared in the middle of the hospital room, this time a lead gray. The room itself began to melt away and drip into oblivion, much like the rain. The patient stood.
"This will help." A thick cloud of black smoke surrounded the man for a second, transforming his attire back into the uniform he had become accustomed to. He opened the door with a leather-gloved hand, this time leading the patient inside.
And the darkness enveloped them once again.
-Son...
The voice seemed to echo, it was so far away. The word itself was lost within its own sound, and the meaning quickly followed it. He kept his eyes closed.
Son...wake up... The tone seemed lost as though it traveled through a pool of water. It seemed so distant, so detached from this world...
The patient's eyes flew open. When had he even fallen asleep?
"Where am I?" he asked, marveling at the sound of his own voice. He sounded so much younger, so much stronger.
"We're almost there, son; I know it's been a long trip, but it'll be worth it. You'll see." He yawned and stretched, noting how short his arms and legs were. Then it occurred to him. He couldn't be more than eight years old.
The car door next to him opened, and a man helped him out of the car. He looked into the man's face with wide-eyed shock. It was his father. His father who had died just months earlier of heart failure. What was going on here?
"Well, let's go." The elder man's time-worn hand took his own, the one belonging to a child with a man's heart, and they began to walk. He soon realized how much smaller his steps were as he leapt to keep up with his father. The man slowed his steps in response.
light like nighttime stars. He heard the music not long after, a cheerful march that well suited the atmosphere. The band grew nearer and nearer, eventually halting right in front of him and his father. The music stopped with their footsteps. He saw the face of the band's leader. It was him again. The uniformed man smiled and waved at the crowd, hazel eyes coming to rest on the boy atop his father's shoulders. It was just as he remembered the scene from all those years ago. The patient saw that the leader's uniform was different from that of the others, more formal. There were four other people he could see with the same uniform. One of them held a gleaming trumpet, curly hair piled atop his head. One stood further back, at the end of the line closest to him, a trombone player. He saw another one in the midst of the low brass players, holding a tuba. He wore a longer navy coat with a glittering gold medal pinned to it.
"See that one? He's actually fought in a war. That's a purple heart," his father explained. The patient could not respond. His awe was too great. They saw the last one as part of the drumline. Apart from the leader, he was the only one of the five with blond hair.
The leader turned on the heels of his shined black shoes to face the band and raised both arms, one white-gloved hand holding a thin baton. He raised his hands slightly, and the atmosphere surrounding the band tensed. They all watched. They all waited.
And then the music came. 4. Recognition
Published: 2007/03/16 - Updated: 2007/03/16 - 1076 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/52621.htm
It was clearly a march, albeit one in a strange minor key. The band followed their leader
flawlessly. He was in complete control of the music; it seemed to change with everything he
did, from every motion of his arms to the slightest change in his facial expression. He had
absolute power.
As the patient listened to the song and watched its conductor, he began to forget. He forgot
that he was dead and only on a temporary visit. He forgot just how important his actions
would be.
had been one of his better ideas. Of course, those ending a parade would need to have a
spectacular finale by nature.
It ended all too quickly. At the leader's cue, they all saluted at once, eventually dispersing to
the edges of the street to speak to the crowd. The leader met up with the tuba player, the one
who wore the medal, and gave him a one-armed hug. They approached the patient and his
father. As the father lowered his son to the ground, he saw the family resemblance between
the two musicians. They were definitely brothers.
The leader shook hands with several people nearby, thanking them for attending. He knelt to
the patient's eye level and smiled, taking the young boy's hand in his own. That was the
moment that it all disappeared.
-"Did you enjoy revisiting your memory?" the leader asked, clad in his uniform of familiar
black. The patient could only stare at him in awe. "At any rate, we must continue. Do you
remember anything else?" Another memory came to him. It had happened many years after
the parade.
He nodded.
"I was older." That was all the leader needed. He opened the next door for the patient, eager
to visit the next memory. It would undoubtedly be an important one.
-He slowly opened his eyes once again. Slowly sitting up, he glanced around the room. His
eyes widened. This was not good.
"No talking during the test," said the teacher. He remembered this very well, and he knew
what was coming next. A thinly folded piece of paper landed on his desk. He picked it up
with shaking hands. It was from the person sitting next to him.
Someone tackled him from behind and pinned him to the floor a second before a bullet shot
through the glass of the window. Just as it had happened that day.
"Are you okay?" the person asked him. "I didn't want to hurt you, but it was better than the
alternative." Tears began to fall from the patient's eyes as students began to flood the hallway,
all wondering what had happened. He could have stopped it... he could have told
someone.../he should have stayed/...
The other person clasped his hand and helped him to his feet, and he immediately tried to
enter the classroom. He quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle against the flood of
people rushing out of the other rooms as he was pushed further and further away from his
destination. This was going to be impossible.
Someone took his hand and carefully wove a path around the people. He struggled to see
who it was, remembering that he had never found out. The person had left and gone on their
way before he could thank them. He didn't want to make that mistake again.
They reached the classroom within a few more seconds. The person released his hand and
continued down the hallway at a slow, methodical pace.
"Hey, wait!" he called, starting to run after the other teenager. The boy was clothed in black,
not unlike himself, with black hair covering half of his face. His pace did not change as he
headed for the door. The patient began to jog after him; he heard the footsteps and quickened
his pace. He couldn't be caught.
The patient began to run. The boy looked back and took off in a sprint, but his pursuer was
not about to let him get away. He soon found himself face to face with the floor, a dull pain
quickly intensifying in his head.
"Now, are you going to tell me who you are?" the patient asked him. The boy shoved him off
and stood, brushing off his black sweatshirt nonchalantly. He turned and looked at the patient
with a smirk.
"You," said the patient, the frustration gone from his tone.
"Big mistake."
5. Clash
Published: 2007/03/24 - Updated: 2007/03/24 - 747 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/53954.htm
"I shouldn't be here, I confess, but I've chosen to help you. So you need to make it worth my time." "What are you talking about?" the patient asked with wonderment in his voice.
"Maybe we should talk somewhere else." He snapped his fingers once, and the scene around them melted and morphed into the classroom. The patient tried to ignore the fresh blood spattering the walls.
"Ah, much better. Now, before I give you my proposal, perhaps I should ask you a few questions. Do you remember what really happened?" The mysterious man was now clothed in a black uniform with horizontal white stripes on the arms. A small cross adorned his left arm. He moved closer to the boy lying on the floor, looking between him and the patient. The latter of which gulped nervously. "You did not chase after the one who saved you. You came back here and made a promise." The patient nodded slowly.
"I went back inside. I tried to save him...but-"
"But you could not. It is not your fault; he was doomed from the beginning. But what you did for him was more important than only saving his life. You saved his soul."
"That doesn't make any sense." The man laughed.
"You do not understand. Go on, take his hand. You can relive your true memory, and perhaps you will make the right decision." He motioned toward the dead boy lying on the floor, gun in hand. The patient knelt by him and tentatively touched his now-cold left hand. His eyes flew open. "It's you," he said breathlessly. He forced a smile. "I knew you'd come back." Tears came to the patient's eyes as he nodded and smiled.
"Can...can you promise...me something?" he asked, voice quickly growing raspy. "For-Forgive me. I'm sorry about this."
"Don't worry. It's okay. I forgive you." His friend managed a faint smile before closing his eyes completely. The patient's eyes began to fill with tears. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and abruptly turned around. The man was standing there behind him.
"Do you see now? He was able to die in peace." He glanced around warily, as if hoping no one else would show up. "I could keep this quiet from our leader, though it would cost me. But what can I say? My opinions of you are slightly more positive than his. Your main worry should be that his opinion is the only one that matters."
"You've said too much, my friend. It is time for you to go." The first man shook his head. "I cannot. He ended up making the right decision, and unless I am sorely mistaken, that is the sole purpose of this."
"You have interfered too much and affected the outcome. The fact remains."
"You abuse your power," the first man said with a glare. The other one glared back. "And you do not?" he questioned. The first man let out a low growl. "You do not have a choice in the matter. Now leave before I am forced to call him." The first man glanced back at the patient with a look of sympathy in his dark eyes before disappearing into black smoke. The pale-faced man glanced at the patient with disdain in his eyes, cleverly masking the emotion on his face. "I am sorry you had to hear that. However, it was my turn to take over. He will thank me later." The patient was still shocked. More than anything, he wanted to get out of the memory as soon as possible. It was becoming more painful for him by the second.
"You wish to leave?" He nodded, and the man snapped his fingers. The room disappeared, being replaced with a field of gray. He heard rain falling as if it was all around him, but he could not see or feel it. It was like an illusion.
"We must continue on," the man said simply. "I warn you now: It will not be pleasant." The patient shook his head.
"It couldn't be much worse than that." 6. A lifeless love, a loveless life
Published: 2007/04/18 - Updated: 2007/04/18 - 1575 words
At http://www.ficwad.com/story/58293.htm
He was still a teenager in the next memory, same black outfit and everything. There was one thing he noticed that was different, though. He was staring into his girlfriend's face.
"You okay?" she asked, smiling sweetly. He nodded numbly, though he had hardly even heard her words. She embraced him, but he remained still and silent as a statue.
"I'm sorry about your friend. It's a real shame."
"No." But there was. She persisted.
"Tell me." Again he refused. He hadn't even figured out what it was yet. "Fine," she said with a pout. He felt guilty, but that was it.
It clicked in his mind. He knew what was wrong.
"I don't love you." She looked at him with horrified eyes. "You...you what?" He was more determined now.
"I don't love you," he repeated. She frowned suddenly, then stood and walked away from him. And he knew she would never come back.
"I think I've seen enough." The man's voice entered his mind as the world darkened to black once again. Even though the patient felt like he blended in with the deeper shade, he was getting sick of this. He wanted to know what was going on.
"She truly cared for you, you know," the man said as he appeared before the patient. "You couldn't even come up with a good reason for leaving her."
"It wouldn't have been fair to her...I didn't love her..."
"No, you didn't try to love her. There's a difference. You were so wrapped up in your own problems that you locked yourself away from the world around you. You ignored your friends, your family, your whole life. All because you couldn't accept-"
"My best friend committed suicide!" the patient suddenly shouted, not wanting to hear another word. "What was I supposed to do? Forget about it?" The man shook his head calmly. "Forget, no. Forgive, yes. You may have said you forgave him. But you didn't. You refused to believe he was gone." The patient glared at him, upper lip curling into a snarl.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to lose someone you care about?" he asked venomously. "Someone you love like a brother?"
"I've already lost my brother," he shot back. He suddenly closed his eyes and breathed deeply, regaining control. That had been foolish. "And I'm doing everything I can to get him back. I don't even know why we're bothering to help someone so thankless." They locked eyes and glared at each other for a moment.
white light blinded the patient, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that accursed hospital room staring him in the face. He tried to move, but his strength had been drained entirely. He noted the IV in his arm and began to breathe more deeply, hearing his own heart monitor increase ever so slightly.
"I'm glad you're awake," said a sweet voice nearby. He slowly glanced to his left and saw the girl sitting in a chair, looking at him with a soft smile. He tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. Why was she here? He had said to her face that he didn't love her.
"I was starting to get worried. You were asleep for a long time." He inhaled as deeply as possible and licked his lips before attempting to speak again.
"Why are you here?" he asked slowly. It took all of strength just to try and speak. She gently took his cold hand in hers.
"I wanted to see you. I heard what happened, and I knew that even though we weren't together anymore, I felt like I still owed it to you. We were friends for a long time, you know." He nodded with a weak smile, though in his mind his heart had fallen. She really did deserve someone better than him. Someone who would really respect and care for her, not disown her by being wrapped up in his own problems.
"Thanks." He felt whatever strength he had left begin to fade. The chemo was really taking it out of him. He knew he couldn't last much longer. A few days maybe.
She really should leave him. He deserved it. As long as she meant it, more so than he had, then he would be content. But he knew she would never leave him. She really did love him. "Do you see, now, what I meant?" It was that man's voice again, speaking in his mind. The patient groaned inwardly, trying not to let it show on his face. "She cares for you deeply. And you have finally realized what it means. But she was not the only one you left." The girl vanished, to be replaced with an older woman standing by the window. The patient felt old memories begin to resurface in his mind. He felt like a little kid all over again.
"Mama?"
-How did you get here?
The words formed in his mind with no sound as he stared at the black abyss before him. He spoke, but heard nothing.
Think.
'My heart. I had cancer and there was a complication with it.' Yes.
She slowly turned around, hopefully so he could see her face, but there was some kind of mask covering it. No wonder she wasn't speaking.
'Who are you?' the patient thought.
I am Mother War. I come to those with tortured hearts when they pass on. You are special. The patient blinked in surprise. Why was he so different?
'Me?' The woman nodded.
You did not die in peace. That is why you are truly here. Come, let me show you. You will remember in time. She turned again and took slow steps away from him, and he followed.
-He stuffed his last pair of black jeans into the backpack, making sure to be as silent as possible. -He slid his wallet into one pocket and hauled the bag onto his shoulders. He cautiously stepped down the stairs and grabbed his car keys from the counter, preparing to walk out the front door. "Where are you going?" The voice startled him. He wasn't sure what to say.
"I'm leaving."
"You can't leave," his mother's voice said firmly.
"I can, and I am," he returned just as firmly, trying not to glare at her. "Fine. Go to hell." His eyes narrowed.
"We all go to hell. I just want to get there faster." He walked through the door and never looked back.
The world before him turned black once again. Mother War was standing there with her arms crossed. He suddenly felt extremely guilty.
You gave everyone quite a shock when you left. Though she may not have shown it at the time, your mother was the one most worried about you. She waited every day for you to come back. The patient looked down at his feet, though he could not see them. He felt even worse now. Do not fear, young one. If all goes well, you will get a chance to make amends. I will do all I can to aid you. Now, if I am not mistaken, they wish to see you again. She faded into the darkness. A sound suddenly began to echo in the space around him. It seemed familiar.
"You have to break out of this," said his brother's voice. The worry was evident in his words. The leader only continued to sing quietly to himself, as if ignoring the world around him. The patient could see them now. The leader was pacing back and forth restlessly with his eyes locked on the ground. His younger brother was standing nearby with a pleading look in his eyes. He glanced over at the patient, and his eyes suddenly narrowed.
"You...Do you see what you've done to him?" he said accusingly. "He's completely out of his mind worrying about you." The patient was taken aback. He hadn't done anything.
"I'll take it from here," said a new voice. The patient looked to his right just as the man appeared. He had wild, dark curly hair that fell to chin length, and his skin was pale like the others'. He looked concerned.
"Please do," said the leader's brother, a look of relief crossing his face. The other man nodded and looked at the patient.
"Come with me. I think you're going to like this," he said with a slight smirk, motioning for the patient to follow him. The black-clad teenager sighed inwardly and walked after him, feeling the repetition begin to set in. It was like being in school all over again.
7. The Escape Artist
Published: 2007/04/20 - Updated: 2007/04/20 - 1968 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/58483.htm
Red light penetrated his vision. He held up one hand to block it out so he could look around. It was a definitely a high-class place, with tables and chairs set up. There was a bar in the back with dark figures gathered around it, all carefully scrutinizing him. Trying to ignore their stares, he followed the curly-haired man to a booth on one wall and sat down, noting the red tones of the leather and décor.
The man snapped two fingers together, and one of the figures approached them. The patient was apprehensive, but said nothing as the uniformed man next to him ordered drinks for them. As it was, he was still a teenager, but no one said anything and he wasn't complaining. The almost black figure nodded once and walked away.
"Where are we?" asked the patient. The black-clad man gestured at the room around them with a sweeping motion.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked suspiciously, sitting completely still and only moving his eyes to look around. The curly-haired man shrugged.
"I think we all need a distraction. Obviously those two weren't doing so well; I couldn't even imagine how you were feeling." The patient almost managed a smile. Finally it seemed like someone cared about him.
No sooner did this thought enter his mind than the uniformed man stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I must leave for a moment. But I can promise you'll see me very soon." He walked away while trying to hide a smirk on his face. The patient stared after him, mouth slightly agape, all the time wondering why this place was so strange. In a split second his best friend could become his worst enemy.
"You might want to watch the stage," said a gruff voice close to him. He twisted around suddenly to see one of the dark figures sitting at a table nearby and staring it him menacingly. He nodded toward the stage at the opposite end of the room, and the patient obligingly turned and looked at it. It had been dark and out of sight before, but now it was lit with a single white spotlight. There was a blood red curtain concealing the stage itself. The already low house lights dimmed even further, eventually plunging everything into total darkness. The patient kept his eyes locked on the white circle of light as if expecting something to happen. Finally something did.
The wall of red velvet was interrupted by a black figure stepping through it. The sense of anticipation seemed to heighten in the room with his presence. All eyes were riveted on his black uniform and snow-white hair. His hazel eyes, normally clear and sharp, were slightly glazed and clouded. They were the only thing out of place about his appearance. The patient noticed it; he wondered if anyone else did.
"Hello again, everyone. Sorry I've been gone for so long, but I've had some business to attend to," he said, eyes falling on the patient. The teen gulped nervously, and his breathing almost stopped. He had thought for sure that he was invisible in this darkness.
"Now, I wrote this just recently. For a...friend of mine." He stood still as the curtain was swept off to both sides of the stage, revealing complete darkness around him. He took a few steps backwards into the darkness, and the stage was suddenly lit up with red lights. The patient saw the other black-uniformed men around him, all holding instruments. The room was silent, as if holding its breath in expectation.
almost salty taste on his tongue. He slid it away from himself and held his stomach as though he felt sick. These people really were sick. He desperately tried to ignore it and listen to the song. "I know a thing about contrition, because I got enough to spare, and I'll be granting your permission 'cause you haven't got a prayer." His eyes widened as he realized the song had to be about him. Had he heard correctly? He didn't have a prayer? This was serious.
The patient studied the lead singer thoughtfully. The white spotlight still focused on him, while everything else in the room was bathed in red. His white hair made him seem like an angel. An angel among devils. An angel with a death wish.
The song continued, all the while growing darker. When the band reached the chorus, the patient's fear escalated. His thoughts of the singer seemed to take form in the song. "Say what I wanna say. Tell me I'm an angel. Take this to my grave," came the words. The space had become unbearably hot, and the patient wondered if it was the lights' electricity or the song's raw power. He felt like he was burning up, that he would be nothing but a pile of ash by the time it was all over. He had to leave. He had to get out of there.
A strange calming sensation suddenly came over him, though it lasted only a second before vanishing. He blinked a few times, feeling normal in that second. He could see no explanation until his eyes fell on the nearly full glass before him.
'It'll help calm your nerves, he says,' the patient thought to himself as he eyed it carefully. 'Maybe he was actually right...' He tentatively picked up the glass and closed his eyes, drinking about a third of it all at once. He forced himself to ignore the taste, but that quickly became the least of his worries as he felt sharp pains throughout his stomach. He wasn't used to it yet. He hoped he never would be.
The calming sensation overcame him again, and he immediately relaxed. He continued to listen to the song, still aware that there were many watching him. Despite this he propped his feet up on the red leather seat and leaned back against the wall.
Something warm suddenly dropped onto the back of his hand, almost like water. It was some color he couldn't identify, but at the moment it was unimportant. He lazily glanced up to see what it was, letting the drink-induced euphoria overtake him.
Liquid was running down the walls at an alarming rate. It looked like water, but in the strange colored lights and darkness the patient couldn't be certain.
alley, 'cause they're never gonna find you a home! And as the blood runs down the walls-" The patient's eyes shot open. Blood? That's what it was? Oh no. He had to get out of here. He jumped to his feet and tried to run, but stumbled helplessly and collapsed to the floor in a heap. The dark figures quickly gathered around him, and he was able to more readily see what they looked like. They weren't human at all. All had long, drawn faces covered in dark hair, with gleaming eyes of different colors, gold and red among them. Their ears were long and triangular, and at the moment swiveled towards the patient. He was terrified at their presence and wanted to get away, but the drink had numbed his senses completely. He couldn't even begin to stand.
One of the creatures gave a low growl. It easily overpowered the music at such close range. The patient closed his eyes. Maybe they wouldn't attack him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. Maybe someone would notice his plight. Or maybe not.
The music continued on as if no one had noticed his absence. It pounded in his ears and mind, bringing fear along with it. He could feel the creatures getting closer, and he wondered what was staying their actions. He wondered why they hadn't attacked yet.
I'll get you out of here.
There was the sound of a single clap, and the patient's world went silent. He felt cold suddenly, but much better than he had previously. At least he was away from those things. He cautiously opened his eyes, but saw nothing. He sighed deeply in relief and stood.
"Who are you?" he asked the empty air. He could feel another presence nearby, but couldn't see what it was.
"I am the Escape Artist," said the flamboyant voice. The patient smiled. Whoever it was, he was certainly proud of his title. A white-masked figure suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Well?" he said expectantly. "Aren't you going to thank me?" The patient nodded. "I can't thank you enough. I didn't think I would make it out of there alive." The man nodded animatedly.
"Normally I'm not supposed to do anything, because it makes him mad, but I couldn't help it. I never get to have any fun!" The patient could almost hear the pout in his voice. He frowned. "I didn't consider that to be fun."
"I'm afraid you can't stay here for very long, though," he said after a while. "I have to send you back." The patient's face went whiter than usual. He couldn't go back. He would be ripped to shreds by those creatures, those wolves! He slowly shook his head.
"Nothing's going to happen to you." A sandy-haired man suddenly appeared before him. The patient felt his fear increase yet again upon seeing his black, militaristic uniform.
"You'll have to trust me," he said almost kindly. The patient glanced at the Escape Artist, who took a flourished bow before vanishing, then back at the man's offered hand. He knew he had no choice. 8. Three thousand Cheers
Published: 2007/04/23 - Updated: 2007/04/23 - 1588 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/58937.htm
"I'm sorry about all of this. Nothing was supposed to go wrong," the sandy-haired man said when they reappeared at the House of Wolves. The patient was shaken from the journey, but overall he felt fine. He was relieved to see that none of the creatures were there. It was completely silent and empty. He followed the man up a set of stairs next to the stage and back behind it, where a shocking scene greeted him. The leader appeared to have fainted. He was surrounded by his fellow band members, as well as the wolves, who were ignoring the patient's presence completely. "It happened again," said the leader's brother as he approached them. His eyes were clouded over with worry, and he was unable to meet their gazes.
"The other took over?" the blond-haired man asked in horror. The other man nodded grimly. "I am not certain if he will recover from it this time."
"What's going on?" the patient asked. He was beginning to worry as well. "It will take a long time to explain," said the black-haired man.
"I've got time," the patient responded, though he was not entirely sure of his own statement. The leader's brother sighed.
"It is not that simple- wait," he said suddenly, holding a hand to his forehead. "What is it?" the patient asked.
"This is impossible...he wants to tell you himself..." The black-haired man frowned. He murmured several syllables to himself. He nodded suddenly.
to the man with the sand-colored hair. The patient nodded and followed the other man off the stage and away from the wolves crowded around the leader. He hoped the creatures would not harm the pale-haired man.
-He stared at the full bottle of water listlessly. It was as if the object was mocking him. -He lacked the energy to lift it to his lips and drink it, though he knew he desperately needed it. His strength was waning quickly.
"You have cancer," the doctor said plainly. The patient closed his eyes. He had suspected something like this. "We can begin chemotherapy treatments as soon as we have your consent." The patient felt unable to move. He wanted to respond, he really did, but his weakness was too great. "Maybe you should get some sleep," said the doctor. "Then you can tell me what you think." He stood and left the room, all the time out of the patient's field of vision. He cast a solemn glance at the weak, almost pathetic person as he left the room.
'Why must they continue to bring me here?' the patient thought mournfully. 'Surely they must realize how painful it is for me.' He sighed. It felt like he was exhaling all his strength. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep. He was tired from his journey, but was afraid to sleep for fear of what he might see when he awoke. Would the wolves be surrounding him, or would he witness yet another painful memory?
Sleep came to him anyway. His body was crying out for energy.
In his dreams, he pictured his family and friends. His mother...his girlfriend...his best friend... They all looked at him solemnly, as if he were already dead and they had just returned from his funeral. Bright orange flames appeared suddenly. The patient gasped when he realized he could actually feel the heat coming from them. He began hyperventilating, trying desperately to breathe in fresh air but only inhaling smoke. His mind was reeling. He couldn't ignore the screams of his loved ones. He wanted it all to stop.
"'Sleep,' he says," came the leader's voice, entering his mind. The man appeared before him. The other faces in the patient's mind vanished, but the intense flames remained. "That's a laugh." "Please...why..." The patient couldn't find the words to express his pain. The leader looked at him with a smirk.
"Sleep doesn't do you much good if you have nightmares, does it?" The fire seemed to burn within the black-clad man's eyes. He looked insane.
forward with his hands flat on the unseen ground. He needed sleep, or at least water. He needed something, /anything/, to make him feel stronger.
"I know this is hard. But there is not much left, if you can only hang on a little longer," the leader said quietly as if trying to reassure him. Tears were flowing down the patient's pale face more steadily as he stood up. It was a wonder he had the energy to do so. "This entire journey has been for you," the leader said, regaining his commanding tone of voice and looking the patient in the eye. "You've visited several of your memories now. Do you feel any different?" He nodded. "I shouldn't be here," he said sadly. "All I ever did in my life was cause other people pain." The leader placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"This is why I chose to help you. Against my better judgment, I confess. I believed that if given more time you could have made things right. But at the same time, I know how humans think. I understand their nature." He let concern creep into his voice. "If I relied on human nature, you would not be here."
The patient's tears had since slowed down. He felt his heart begin to relax and return to its normal rate. The man's presence was strangely calming.
"You said...this whole thing's been about me," he choked out. The man nodded once. "What about you?" The leader was a little surprised by the question. He hadn't been expecting something like that.
"What about me?" he asked in confusion. He wasn't sure what the patient was asking. "Your brother said you wanted to tell me your story. I don't know if he was telling the truth because you were unconscious..."
"My brother and I share a strong bond. He can often hear my thoughts," he said plainly, as if this explained everything. "Whether I'm conscious or not."
"So are you going to tell me?" the patient asked hopefully. The man paused for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes. I think I will." He waved one hand in an arc, and the entire scene changed. The darkness disappeared, to be replaced with bright lights that blinded them temporarily. The man's eyes were accustomed to it and adjusted within a few seconds, while the patient held up one hand. The glow was too bright. He heard screams somewhere close, but they were different. They weren't screams of terror or fear. These people were...happy.
He glanced at the leader. The glazed look had overtaken his eyes again, and he was smiling. He looked completely different, with midnight black hair going halfway to his shoulders and a raccoon-like black mask of makeup over his eyes. His face was almost white. He wore a black shirt with a red tie, a stark contrast to his usual marching band uniform.
intensified. "You might want to move, however. I'm not going to be standing here and rotting in place the whole time." The patient's eyes had adjusted to the strange lighting. He took a sweeping glance over the crowd. It seemed to be dark and endless, dotted with flashing lights like the night sky. The screaming never seemed to cease. It was overwhelming, as if they weren't even shouting any words. It was all just noise.
The patient realized what was going on. This was a concert. He took several steps away from the man, realizing he was walking through everything on the stage. He was some kind of ghost to everyone there. He retreated to the far left side of the stage to quietly observe the scene. The other four were there, also dressed completely different. The patient noticed that all of them wore strange black bands around their arms. He was standing almost right next to the one with the crazy hair, and could just see what his armband looked like. There was a circle of small white shapes that looked like guns, with one colored blood red. There were three white letters in the center - MCR - and all of it was on a black background. The patient frowned slightly. What did it mean? "We are My Chemical Romance, and we hail from New Jersey!"
Oh. That's what it meant.
"Things were very different then," said a low voice next to him. He jumped slightly and looked to his right. The leader was standing there as if he had returned to his original state, platinum hair and everything. Most of his face remained in shadow, only half-illuminated by the stage's bright lights. His dark voice overpowered all other noise, seeming to block out all other sound in the patient's ears. At this point, though, the younger man was not surprised.
"Sometimes I look back on this memory and I swear I'm insane." "Why?" The man shrugged and motioned at the stage.
"Watch, and you'll soon see." 9. ….For Sweet Revenge
Published: 2007/04/23 - Updated: 2007/04/23 - 757 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/58939.htm
He smirked as the band reached a quieter section of their first song.
"When the song comes back in, I want you all to jump!" screeched the lead singer into the microphone. His voice deepened as he spoke, sounding demonic and inhuman, but the crowd didn't seem to care. They joined him on every word.
"What are you talking about?" the patient asked in disbelief. "Of course you have power." The man laughed darkly as he watched his younger counterpart jump around onstage.
"Not this kind of power. Here everyone loved it. We were one mass of ecstatic people singing along to each other. The feeling was...infectious.../electrifying/, even..." Nostalgia filled his eyes for a moment before the corners of his mouth turned down.
"But now...now all I seem to do is cause people pain." He glanced sideways at the patient. "You, for instance," he added listlessly, turning back to watch the stage as the next song began. His younger self was screaming the words without using a melody at all. The other band members seemed to be infected with the dark energy as well, acting as insane as their leader.
"Why are you crying?" the patient asked quietly. The black-clad man briskly brushed away the tears. Now was not the time.
"This is painful for me, but I know I must do it," he responded, almost speaking to himself. "As I said before, you will soon see why." His voice quavered with the words. The patient had a difficult time believing the sight was real. A man of seemingly limitless power stood next to him, trying to quell his own sobs of unending pain. The leader who had once been in complete control was now at the mercy of his own emotions and memories.
The patient felt something then. A heat was beginning to fill his heart, and an evil feeling came with it. He had felt like this during most, if not all, of this journey through the furthest recesses of his mind. There were several times he had wondered what it would be like for the leader to experience the same kind of pain.
"Now you know how I feel," he muttered to himself. He hadn't meant to speak his mind. "What?" the leader asked in horror, not even trying to stop his tears now. He looked at the patient, who was studying the performance carefully.
"I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"No," came the firm voice. "Do not speak to me. Watch." He spoke through gritted teeth. The patient obediently went silent, internally chiding himself for his actions. That could have cost him his future. He kept his eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.
"This song is about the hardest drive we've ever had to take!" the singer cried as the drummer laid out the beat for the next song. He sang with every ounce of pain in his heart, and the crowd loved it.
crowd with suddenly soulless eyes as red blood blossomed through his black shirt, though none could see it. He dropped the microphone to the stage and collapsed forward onto his knees. For a moment he wanted to speak, to tell them everything they needed to hear, but his energy flickered out like a candle. He fell flat, head turned sideways to look at his older counterpart with hazel eyes frozen in shock and fear. There was but a split second more of silence before the mad rush came. His younger brother nearly threw his guitar to the ground as he ran to the singer's aid. The crowd flooded past the barriers meant to keep the band safe and crawled on top of each other to get onto the stage, all screaming and crying at once. But his life had ended, and he knew it. "Are you happy now?" the leader asked the patient with closed eyes. His tone was bitter. The patient could not respond. He felt as though he had died all over again.
"You've gotten your sweet revenge." 10. Unforeseen Circumstances
Published: 2007/04/24 - Updated: 2007/04/24 - 989 words
At http://www.ficwad.com/story/59086.htm
The scene began to melt away. The only sound either of them could hear was that of the leader's soft tears, and even that faded after a few seconds. Silence filled the air with thick tension. "Well I was there on the day they sold the cause for the queen, and when the lights all went out, we watched our lives on the screen. I hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene," the leader sang softly, trying to console himself. Normally he wouldn't indulge in such self-pity, but now was different. He had spent so much time trying to help the patient...but apparently all he had done was for nothing. The man really was ungrateful. The leader realized his brother had been correct in trying to convince him that their aid was useless. This only made him feel worse. As if to comfort him, a guitar joined in as he sang the next few lines.
"It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing. It was a lie when they smiled and said you won't feel a thing, and as we ran from the cops, we laughed so hard it would sting..." "That's a nice song," the patient said softly. The leader acted as if he had said nothing. "If I'm so wrong, how can you listen all night long? Now will it matter after I'm gone?" he continued. He felt his tears start to return. "Because you never learned a god damned thing..." A second guitar began to play, along with a heavy bass line and drums. "You're just a sad song with nothing to say, about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay. Well if you think that I'm wrong, this never meant nothing to you..."
The patient watched as the leader stopped walking, and the other members of the band finally became visible around him. They were all watching the patient with menacing glares, and he felt the guilt resting on his shoulders. He listened carefully to the lead singer's voice. It sounded like he was crying the words instead of singing them.
"So go...go away...Just go...run away...But where did you run to, and where did you hide? Go find another way, price you pay..." He sang along with the instruments for several lines, all the time sounding more and more depressed. The patient thought about the leader's words so far. He was singing his heart out, saying how he truly felt about the situation. He had given up everything just to help the patient.
Why hadn't he seen it sooner?
"You're just a sad song with nothing to say about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay, and if you think that I'm wrong, this never meant nothing to you...At all..." The drummer and bass player stopped, as did one guitarist. Only one continued to play notes into the fast-returning silence. "...at all..." The singer's voice was quieter that time. Grief was quickly overcoming him. He fell to his knees.
"...at all...at all..." He barely managed a whisper, and the guitarist finished the song with a few more notes and a rolled chord. Tears began to roll down the leader's face as his friends and brother melted into the darkness. The silence surrounded him and the patient as if it had never left. "I hope you realize how much this world means to me," the leader said in a quavering voice. He was leaning forward, hands flat on the ground, wanting it all to stop. Just as the patient had been not long ago. "And whether you deserve it or not...I am going to offer it to you." "But why?" the patient asked in spite of himself. Though it was what he had wanted to hear the entire time, something didn't seem right.
The leader managed to stand.
"Because." It was a simple answer. "I think it would be a wise choice...compared to the alternative..." "What alternative?" the patient persisted. He was tired of being kept in the dark, so to speak. "...There is...something else I can do for you. I wasn't going to say anything..." The leader shook his head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. This was quickly becoming much more difficult than originally planned. "But you do need to make a decision."
The patient took a deep breath in anticipation. The leader clasped his hands behind his back, regaining his formal, militaristic look.
been right; it was foolish to sacrifice everything the way he had. He could have foreseen that the patient would choose to live again.
He felt a numbing cloud begin to overtake his mind.
'Let me speak to him,' the familiar voice said. 'He will see how wrong his decision is.' 'No,' the leader thought. 'It's not your place. It's not even my place. You're going to destroy everything this has been about.' He fought back against the fog quickly filling his thoughts. This couldn't happen. Not now.
'Too late, my friend.'
He opened his eyes. His gaze fell upon the patient looking up at him pleadingly, and he smirked. It was good to be back.
11. Asleep or Dead?
Published: 2007/04/24 - Updated: 2007/04/24 - 1139 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/59128.htm
"Something's different about you," the patient said warily. The leader nodded.
"You could say that." His voice was different. Much younger, but also slightly raspy, as if worn out. He seemed breathless. "You could even say I'm a completely different person. And you wouldn't be entirely wrong." He began to walk in aimless circles and hummed absentmindedly to himself. The patient wasn't sure what to make of his behavior.
"What if I were to say you're a completely different person?" He stopped walking. "You'd be wrong." The patient watched him in confusion. "I'm still the same person." "That's not possible." The man suddenly broke into laughter.
"Fine. Maybe this'll explain it better," he said with a smile, snapping his fingers. The patient watched as a cloud of black smoke surrounded him, vanishing after only a few seconds. When it cleared he was shocked at what he saw.
"I thought you were-"
you will. I live inside his mind most of the time, except for now. And that time he sang my favorite song. I could take over all the time if I wanted to."
"Then why don't you?" The man smiled knowingly at the patient.
"It wouldn't be as meaningful if I were in control all the time. Besides, it wouldn't be fair." He resumed his slow steps. "Do you have a clue why I'm here?" The patient shook his head. "I already know what I'm going to do. I want to live again." The man nodded sarcastically. "Of course you do. Looks like he was right after all. You haven't learned a thing."
"Like I said before, that's not true," the patient said hurriedly. The man's face darkened considerably, accentuated by the black bar over his eyes.
"Really. Look, I know I can't make you stay here. But where does your heart lie?" The patient shook his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about. But you're not changing my mind, if that's what you're after."
"Obviously nothing I say is going to convince you. Let me try this a different way." The band appeared behind him. He acknowledged their presence and began to sing.
The patient listened to the words. At first the man pretty much repeated their conversation, but then everything suddenly intensified. He was nearly screaming the words. Flames lit up the world around them and danced across his face.
"So many bright lights they cast a shadow, but can I speak? Is it hard understanding I'm incomplete? A life that's so demanding," he sang, glaring directly into the patient's eyes. "I get so weak. A love that's so demanding, I can't speak."
The patient had had enough. He was done letting these people make decisions for him. He glared back, feeling a strange sensation overtake him. And he suddenly had the urge to sing. "I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone." He didn't even know where the words were coming from. But at this point, he really didn't care. The man was shocked at his actions, but never let the song miss a beat. He began to improvise.
"If you stay, I'll be forgiven."
"Nothing you can say can stop me going home." The band slammed the next few chords as hard as possible in frustration. None of them liked where this was going. The lead singer decided to try and regain control of the situation.
I'm incomplete?" he looked at the patient almost accusingly. Surely it had to be obvious to him by now. "A love that's so demanding, I get weak."
They went at it again, trading words and angry glares throughout what should have been the chorus. This happened twice before the band took over. This was getting out of hand. Someone had to take control before they lost it entirely. The leader sang on the very edge of his voice, trying desperately to hold on to the melody while still making a point.
"Awake and unafraid, asleep, or dead?" the man sang, almost musing to himself. The patient was getting angrier with each line of words. He had suffered through one of the worst diseases. He had died because of it. And they were mocking him. They played the same lines again and again, each time increasing in volume. The heat from the flames was almost unbearable. It was driving them all insane.
When they finally got to the chorus, the leader did something to surprise the patient: He sang every word. At first the younger man wasn't sure what to do, but his uncertainty quickly turned to rage, and their trivial competition turned into an all-out war for control. Whoever won would have the final say in the patient's future, fair or otherwise. They both knew it and silently agreed to it. "I am not afraid to keep on living. I am not afraid to walk this world alone," they nearly shouted at each other. All three of the guitarists stopped playing, allowing their previous few notes to hang in the air. The drummer stopped as well.
"Nothing you can say can stop me going home!"
The world was completely silent. The band members vanished, all but the lead singer, who glared at the patient in silent anger.
The patient had never felt that powerful before. For the first time since his life had taken a turn for the worst, he had felt like he was in control of something. He had been in charge of the outcome. And he would do anything to keep from losing that power.
"I hope you're happy," the man said through gritted teeth. "He's sacrificed everything for you, including his own sanity!" He suddenly held a hand to his forehead, feeling dizzy. He fell to his knees, and then to the floor. The patient watched as the smoke overtook him once again. When it cleared, the platinum-haired man was lying on the floor in his place, unmoving, eyes closed. It looked like he wasn't breathing.
12. An Angel with A Death Wish
Published: 2007/04/24 - Updated: 2007/04/24 - 1794 words At http://www.ficwad.com/story/59243.htm
"I have some good news for you," the sandy-haired man said, holding up a clipboard and flipping through several sheets of paper. The patient noticed he was wearing a white lab coat, like a doctor. "The cancer went into complete remission. It's like it was never there."
"That's...impossible," the patient said slowly. "They said I was going to die from it." The doctor smiled and shrugged slightly.
"Maybe you've got an angel watching over you." He stood and left the room. The patient simply stared at the wall. He couldn't believe it. He was alive. He hadn't died of cancer.
"But...why?" he asked the empty air. It had to be much more than an angel that had saved his life.
-An hour later, the former patient stood just outside his room, looking at the door thoughtfully. Most of the doctors and nurses walked right past him without a second thought.
'Well...here goes.' He sighed and turned around to leave, finding his way through the bleached hallways with ease. Just as he was about to walk through the double doors leading outside, they swung open and nearly hit him in the face. He managed to sidestep the team of doctors rolling a stretcher by him, rushing off to the emergency room. He turned to go through the doors once again, but he almost ran into someone else. Their eyes met for a second before the other man excused himself and sprinted down the hallway.
He stood there in shock, then suddenly took off after the dark-haired man. This was getting stranger by the second. He found the room where the doctors were frantically trying to revive their latest patient. As they hooked up the breathing machine and heart monitor, a doctor with extremely curly hair came outside to speak to the dark-haired man that had followed them.
"Can you explain what happened?" the doctor asked, holding a clipboard and pen. The man's words were shaky.
No. It couldn't be.
"He smokes a lot," the dark-haired man said to the doctor, who had just returned. "But that's it. One second he was fine, and the next..." He couldn't continue speaking. It was too much. He broke down in tears, holding his face in his hands. The doctor glanced up from the clipboard as a man with tattoo-covered arms entered the room and sat in one of the chairs as well, claiming to be the victim's best friend. The doctor nodded and left them.
"I don't understand it," the man said tearfully as he explained the events to his friend. "Why did this have to happen to him?"
"So it wouldn't happen to me," he muttered to himself as he studied the new patient's face. He was a sickly pale color, with eyes closed completely. His hair was short and almost snow-white, a stark contrast to the black clothes he wore. He didn't move at all, save for the slight rising and falling of his chest. It was only because of the machine breathing for him.
The heart monitor let out a single unending tone, and the doctors rushed to restart his heart. By now both of his friends were crying hysterically outside, while the other man continued to watch solemnly. He was beginning to understand.
-Life support. The pale-haired man had been on it for a few hours now; they were waiting until his parents could arrive from the other side of the country. Hopefully it wouldn't be much longer. "Why did you stay?" asked a quiet voice. He glanced at the red-eyed man sitting next to him, wondering how to answer. "I know you were released today. Why are you still here?" "Because." It was a simple answer. "It's better than the alternative." It suddenly dawned on him that he didn't have anywhere to go. But that was currently the least of his worries.
The man gently tapped him on the shoulder, offering one white earphone to him. He placed it in one ear and listened to the soft, slow tones of the song. Before he knew it he had fallen asleep.
-Well they encourage your complete cooperation...
The room was dark, not even partially illuminated by the lighting on the ceiling. It was completely cold and desolate, as if all life had receded long ago. Whatever had been keeping this world alive was gone.
He walked up to the stage. Fine gray dust had settled in layers upon everything, like ice crystals. Death had been here. He shivered.
I can't control myself because I don't know how, and they love me for it; honestly, I'll be here for a while...
He climbed onto the stage and turned so he was facing the would-be audience. He could sense that something was behind him, but he ignored it. Right now he only wanted to stand here and look out at the world.
"So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff. Give them all that they can drink, and it will never be enough. I give them blood, blood, blood...Grab a glass because there's going to be a blood!" He turned slowly upon hearing the words and the piano being played. The pale-haired man was sitting at a large, ebony grand piano, singing the insane song as if no one else was there. There was a wild gleam in his eyes that made the other man suspect someone else had taken over his mind. "A celebrated man amongst the gurney, they can fix me proper with a bit of luck," he continued. The other man frowned slightly. He didn't like where this was going. "The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so, but it's really quite alarming..." He suddenly stopped playing and looked up from the keys, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," the other man said calmly. The pale-haired man trailed one finger over the keys thoughtfully.
"I was merely saying farewell." He began to play the rest of the song very slowly, but did not sing. "I will be leaving soon, to face Fear and Regret." He finished the song, staring into the distance listlessly. "The Black Parade will come for me. No longer to welcome a leader, but to take another to march."
"What's the Black Parade?" He laughed lightly.
"The Black Parade. A link between my world and yours. I can't remember how long I've been a part of it..." He sighed longingly. "I never thought I would be one to march."
gray, cloud-filled sky and a lone road lined with debris. The remains of war were scattered everywhere. The city's skyline was crisp against the clouds; the buildings themselves seemed dead. He watched as the people appeared, most wearing black and all masked. Mother War. The Escape Artist. The Wolves. All of them were there, along with countless others. Two twin girls stepped out of the crowd, both wearing black uniforms similar to the ones the band members once wore. One held a terrifying air about her. He looked away from her and at the other one, immediately regretting it. But even as he looked away from her, too, the feeling of regret remained. It bothered him. "Fear. Regret," the pale-haired man said slowly, nodding at each of them as he spoke. They bowed to him simultaneously, but he shook his head. "That is not necessary. I am here to march." Their black-rimmed eyes remained stoic. They knew.
"The Black Parade welcomes you," they said simultaneously in metallic, unfeeling voices. He turned to face the other man, but cast his eyes to the ground sadly.
"This is where I depart. But before I do, promise me one thing."" He nodded. "Don't waste the life I've given you." Their eyes locked for a second before he turned and walked away, Fear and Regret surrounding him. The other man nodded in agreement. As he, too, turned to leave, he heard the rhythm of a thousand footsteps marching in unison, and soft piano melody being played into the solemn sky.
-"I'm sorry to say this, but your brother has passed away." The dark-haired man looked away. He had known this was coming.
"You may see him, if you wish,"" the nurse said softly. He nodded and stood, dropping his MP3 player to the chair as he did so. His friend waited outside, crying softly.
The man opened his eyes and yawned slightly. The heaviness hit his heart immediately as he realized that none of it had been a dream. It was all still real. The heartrending pain was still there. He took the earphone out of his ear and delicately placed it next to its counterpart, then stood and looked through the window into the room. The platinum-haired man stared up at the ceiling, as weak and pathetic as he had once been. He suddenly realized that this man wouldn't get another chance to live. He would never get to say goodbye to his brother who knelt next to him now, cradling one cold hand. He would forever be part of the Black Parade.
He left without another word. There were some things he needed to take care of for a certain angel. 13. Epilogue: One Life to Live
"What are you doing here?" the girl asked in amazement. "It's been a long time. I thought you were in the hospital." The man suddenly embraced her.
"I was. But I've been given a second chance."
"What does that mean?" she asked with a frown, pulling away from him. He smiled at her. "It means this." He gently kissed her, something that had not happened in quite some time. It felt right.
"...I was going to go visit my friend's grave...I think I owe it to him," he finally said. "It's been too long." His girlfriend nodded. She hugged him, placing her chin on his shoulder. "Yes, it has."
-He stared at the numbers filling the cell phone's screen. There they were, dialed and ready. All he had to do now was press the call button...
"I can't do it," he said finally, closing the phone. His girlfriend glanced at him from the driver's seat of the car.
"You have to. Don't make me do it for you," she said in a tone of warning. He sighed and opened the phone. The number was still there, almost mocking him.
"She hates me."
"She doesn't hate you. Give me that," she said suddenly, stealing the phone and pressing the call button, then holding the object up to his ear. "Talk." He rolled his eyes and held the phone, feeling his hand start to tremble. How long had it been? Five years?
"Hello?" His voice caught in his throat. He couldn't speak.
"Talk," his girlfriend said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath. "...Hi mom..."
"Why are you calling me?" His breathing shuddered.
"...I'm out of the hospital..." Now it was her turn to be silent. "The cancer's completely gone."
impossible.
Don't waste the life I've given you. He had made a promise.
"Hey, mom? I'm sorry. For everything. I never should have left."
"I'm glad you're okay," she said softly. She sounded like she was on the edge of tears.
"I can come by later...if that's okay," he added hurriedly. He wasn't even sure he would be welcome in his own home.
"That would be nice." He smiled and hung up. His girlfriend looked at him expectantly. "Well?"
"Okay, okay, you were right. That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he said in mock defeat, unable to hide the smile. He hadn't really felt this happy in a long time.
"Told you."
-The car's tires crunched on the loose gravel. He looked out the window nervously, not wanting to go outside just yet. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"We're here." The girl's voice broke the silence.
"I know," he said softly, almost to himself. He heard the car's other door open and close, then sighed and exited the car as well. It was cloudy outside. The green, too-perfect grass contrasted with the silver sky. He suddenly realized he didn't know where he was going.
"Hey...do you know where he is?" he asked his girlfriend, who stood nearby waiting for him. She nodded and took his hand, leading him down a path in the center of the cemetery. She took a left turn and stopped after a few steps. He knelt next to the rounded stone and sighed deeply. "I can leave you alone, If you want," the girl said quietly. He nodded once, and she walked away. He ran one finger over the words etched into the stone, not really reading them. 'You were only sixteen,' he thought to himself. 'You had your whole life ahead of you.'
He looked up. No one was there, but the words continued to appear in his mind without a voice. For a while I thought you weren't going to come.
'I was...busy.' He thought back on his journey. He wondered if his friend was in the Black Parade. I know. I've been watching you for some time. I would have said something, but we are not allowed much freedom in the Black Parade. Though with the leader gone, things may soon change.
'If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be gone.'
If it weren't for him, you would be gone. He wants you to remember that. 'I know.' He sighed deeply. 'But
