Think of the Angels
We'll Mirror Insanity
“No...No…I don’t know you! Stay away from me!”
“But Frank…don’t you remember me?” My voice was insistent. Pleading.
“No…NO! Go away!” The younger man tumbled out of bed in frenzy, flailing his arms wildly in front of his face, fending away unseen enemies. “GO AWAY!”
“But –”
Frank was on his feet in an instant, panting heavily, eyes crazed and gleaming with the fire of madness. “I told you to leave,” His breath came out – low, threatening. The voice of a madman.
“No, Frank, I –”
“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!” His once peaceful, calm face contorted with rage as he pinned me against the unnervingly white wall. Baring his teeth, Frank leant in closer, whispering into my ear. The voice of someone pushed to the edge, and willing to do anything to get out.
“Leave. I don’t know you.”
I raised my head – painstakingly so – to glare in a final defiance, straight into his green eyes. Frank flinched as they made contact, taking a surprised step back.
“Who are you?” He whispered softly, demeanor making a complete turnabout. Seconds ago, he had seemed so ready to rip my throat out with his lengthened fingernails, cracked and dirty from neglect.
A single tear slid down my cheek as I took a hesitant step forward. No, not Frank. My eyes pleaded with his own, searching his gaunt and sunken face for the final shred of sanity I knew was still buried deep under his crazed state of mind.
“Frank?” I asked the man before me, my voice a croak as I tried but in vain to swallow the lump rising in my throat.
Frank’s eyes swept over me in a whirl of confusion, his hands groping and fumbling with everything behind his retreating self, guiding his body away from me, shrinking into a corner.
“How did you know my name?”
My heart sank as my rational thinking finally forced me to accept this harsh reality. Frank didn’t recognize me anymore.
“I’m Gee. Gerard Way. Don’t you remember me anymore?” I repeated my question once, reaching out a hand, brushing ever-so-slightly against Frank’s matted black hair.
Frank shivered at my touch, then let out a choked sob, tears staining his face as he buried it into his own skinny arms, huddling into the corner, shying further away, shrinking back.
“No. NO! Go away. Just leave. Please,” He whimpered, voice coming out strained and muffled from within his own embrace.
No. It wasn’t possible. Frank, Frankie, Frank Anthony Iero didn’t remember me. Me of all people. Me, Gerard Way.
No.
I shook my head, regret slicing my heart into two perfect halves. “No.”
This was Frank. Skittle-lover, hyperactive, eccentric rhythm guitarist of out long forgotten band – My Chemical Romance. Frank Iero, the little kid, the one who had never failed to plaster a smile on everyone’s faces no matter how difficult and frustrating the current situation was.
Frank Anthony Iero, once a bursting fount of energy, now diminished and smaller in more ways than one, the fire and spark of his soul extinguished at last.
It was my fault.
My fault.
I’d been the one who caused the band to split up at long last. I was the one who didn’t stay with Frank long enough to walk him safely home, instead choosing to run back to my own residence.
“Please, leave,” The person whom I no longer recognized gave an audible sob that broke my already shattered heart. “Stop doing this to me. Leave. They’re coming.”
Who?
I didn’t even dare voice my doubts.
“The Black Parade. They’re coming,” Frank repeated, letting out a sudden gasp, snapping his head upright, his eyes crazed.
“They’re here,” He rasped.
“No, Frank. What –“
He jerked away from me, movements erratic.
“They’re here,” he repeated another time, spittle flying from his mouth in all directions.
How he had changed.
Frank was lost.
Forever.
I could have broken down. Cried. Bawled my eyes out. Frank Iero was lost, lost to the world. Tears welled up in my eyes as painful memories of times long past were brought back.
Frank, beating me up over Skittles.
Frank, leaping around stage and playing the guitar with every fiber of his being.
Gerard! Return my Skittles! Please? Pretty please, Gee baby?
Frank Anthony Iero.
Frankie.
He was lost. Gone for good. His humanity no longer existed in this insane shell I saw before me.
Turning away, I bit my lip, hiding the tears now trickling, warm, down my pallid cheeks. The Frank I once knew would never be coming back.
A wave of heat washed over me, a sickening pain. My heart was bleeding, breaking within me.
A single drop of sweat caressed my brow before falling down to meet with the harsh impact of the cold, white-tiled floor.
Shutting my eyes, I let the tears flow freely for the first time since the whole tragedy began.
Drip. He was as good as dead.
Drip. He didn’t remember me anymore.
Drip. He was here because I condemned him to this fate.
Drip. I turned him into this.
Drip. Crazed. Insane. Unstable.
Lost.
I turned and ran.
“But Frank…don’t you remember me?” My voice was insistent. Pleading.
“No…NO! Go away!” The younger man tumbled out of bed in frenzy, flailing his arms wildly in front of his face, fending away unseen enemies. “GO AWAY!”
“But –”
Frank was on his feet in an instant, panting heavily, eyes crazed and gleaming with the fire of madness. “I told you to leave,” His breath came out – low, threatening. The voice of a madman.
“No, Frank, I –”
“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!” His once peaceful, calm face contorted with rage as he pinned me against the unnervingly white wall. Baring his teeth, Frank leant in closer, whispering into my ear. The voice of someone pushed to the edge, and willing to do anything to get out.
“Leave. I don’t know you.”
I raised my head – painstakingly so – to glare in a final defiance, straight into his green eyes. Frank flinched as they made contact, taking a surprised step back.
“Who are you?” He whispered softly, demeanor making a complete turnabout. Seconds ago, he had seemed so ready to rip my throat out with his lengthened fingernails, cracked and dirty from neglect.
A single tear slid down my cheek as I took a hesitant step forward. No, not Frank. My eyes pleaded with his own, searching his gaunt and sunken face for the final shred of sanity I knew was still buried deep under his crazed state of mind.
“Frank?” I asked the man before me, my voice a croak as I tried but in vain to swallow the lump rising in my throat.
Frank’s eyes swept over me in a whirl of confusion, his hands groping and fumbling with everything behind his retreating self, guiding his body away from me, shrinking into a corner.
“How did you know my name?”
My heart sank as my rational thinking finally forced me to accept this harsh reality. Frank didn’t recognize me anymore.
“I’m Gee. Gerard Way. Don’t you remember me anymore?” I repeated my question once, reaching out a hand, brushing ever-so-slightly against Frank’s matted black hair.
Frank shivered at my touch, then let out a choked sob, tears staining his face as he buried it into his own skinny arms, huddling into the corner, shying further away, shrinking back.
“No. NO! Go away. Just leave. Please,” He whimpered, voice coming out strained and muffled from within his own embrace.
No. It wasn’t possible. Frank, Frankie, Frank Anthony Iero didn’t remember me. Me of all people. Me, Gerard Way.
No.
I shook my head, regret slicing my heart into two perfect halves. “No.”
This was Frank. Skittle-lover, hyperactive, eccentric rhythm guitarist of out long forgotten band – My Chemical Romance. Frank Iero, the little kid, the one who had never failed to plaster a smile on everyone’s faces no matter how difficult and frustrating the current situation was.
Frank Anthony Iero, once a bursting fount of energy, now diminished and smaller in more ways than one, the fire and spark of his soul extinguished at last.
It was my fault.
My fault.
I’d been the one who caused the band to split up at long last. I was the one who didn’t stay with Frank long enough to walk him safely home, instead choosing to run back to my own residence.
“Please, leave,” The person whom I no longer recognized gave an audible sob that broke my already shattered heart. “Stop doing this to me. Leave. They’re coming.”
Who?
I didn’t even dare voice my doubts.
“The Black Parade. They’re coming,” Frank repeated, letting out a sudden gasp, snapping his head upright, his eyes crazed.
“They’re here,” He rasped.
“No, Frank. What –“
He jerked away from me, movements erratic.
“They’re here,” he repeated another time, spittle flying from his mouth in all directions.
How he had changed.
Frank was lost.
Forever.
I could have broken down. Cried. Bawled my eyes out. Frank Iero was lost, lost to the world. Tears welled up in my eyes as painful memories of times long past were brought back.
Frank, beating me up over Skittles.
Frank, leaping around stage and playing the guitar with every fiber of his being.
Gerard! Return my Skittles! Please? Pretty please, Gee baby?
Frank Anthony Iero.
Frankie.
He was lost. Gone for good. His humanity no longer existed in this insane shell I saw before me.
Turning away, I bit my lip, hiding the tears now trickling, warm, down my pallid cheeks. The Frank I once knew would never be coming back.
A wave of heat washed over me, a sickening pain. My heart was bleeding, breaking within me.
A single drop of sweat caressed my brow before falling down to meet with the harsh impact of the cold, white-tiled floor.
Shutting my eyes, I let the tears flow freely for the first time since the whole tragedy began.
Drip. He was as good as dead.
Drip. He didn’t remember me anymore.
Drip. He was here because I condemned him to this fate.
Drip. I turned him into this.
Drip. Crazed. Insane. Unstable.
Lost.
I turned and ran.