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The White Parade

I did not write this story. The real writer is located here.
I am posting this because I think every MCR fan should read this.
Please do not take this as your own.
  1. I. The Patient(s).
    It doesn’t matter who you’re talking to, or who is talking to you; say “The Patient” with the right amount of inflection and people automatically know. It doesn’t matter how they know--they just do.
  2. II. Perfect
    With the light from outside, the features of his face are all the more enhanced. The shadows and highlights add a strange...sharpness that makes him look proud, defiant. Like a prince refusing to accept defeat, I guess.
  3. III. The White Parade.
    Everything is moving too slow; everyone seems to be frozen in place, ignoring the panicked art-school student in black racing through the calm white sterility of the hospital.
  4. IV. 3AM
    He doesn’t move…he doesn’t react at all. The Patient is not here; his mind is currently drifting freely, floating along the river Valium for as long as it takes to run its course.
  5. V. Four Weeks
    It’s almost funny to watch him be this shy young man when in the hospital he’s always been so…forward, so confident--so sure of who he was in relation to everyone else.
  6. VI. And on the Sixth Day…
    His lips press gently to my forehead, to my lips. There’s nothing romantic in the kiss; it’s just simple, bittersweet…something shared between close friends. A parting gift. A final goodbye.