Outlaws
Demolition Lovers
(Author's Note: Continue Flaskback)
Gerard held the door open as we walked blindly into the incandescent 7-11, our eyes not adapted to the light. Gerard met eyes with the middle-aged cashier, who menacingly stared back at him. After, Gerard and I intentionally kept our eyes on the floor as we hastily gathered our food, not wanting to feel the uncomfortable sensation that you were already disliked for no apparent reason. We ended up buying a variety of small things since we were both vegetarians; two bananas, a beherront bag of chips, four granola bars, and two Diet Cokes. Although unsettled, we paid as he eyed us, anxious to restore the place to it's usual tranquility for this time in the morning.
Gerard in the lead, we walked a steady pace home while we ate, heads in the clouds until I broke the silence.
"What if they noticed we were gone?"
"Whatever happens happens," he said dreamily. I left it at that.
In the end, we arrived right before they awoke. I was still assisting Gerard through the window when we heard footsteps from downstairs, where our parents slept. Luckily, I had told him in case of an emergency to act as though we where up all night writing songs. In this scene, we were coming out of the closet, ending our session, so it looked so natural. I grabbed the already open notebook where a few lines were pre-written and sat on the carpet of the closet. The door opened and our father stepped in, taking measure of every aspect of the room. I immediately stood up, closing the notebook automatically, and said groggily, "Hello. What do you want?"
It took a few seconds for his eyes to stop scanning and process the question. "Oh, I thought I heard a bang and wanted to make sure you okay," he said unsurely and then added a fake smile for show.
"Oh, alright, well- we're fine," Gerard convinced him with his well-rehearsed yawn.
"Okay", he said suspiciously. With that, he closed the door slowly.
I beamed at Gerard, sensing his warming glee too. And not too long after that, our mother awoke and we convinced her that we wanted to learn how to be responsible young adults by learning how to cook for ourselves. Your usual teenage convicts had just robbed a bank of trickery. (Author's Note: End Flashback)
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I heard screaming. I heard screaming, and I didn't know where it came from. My senses dulled, I only realized it was coming from my own mouth until a firey whaft of pain came from my shredded vocal chords. I immediately stopped. It was a lost cause, though the agony of my stab wound was momentarily forgotten. Vision came frame by frame as I mustered all the strength I had and supported my torso with my trembling arms. The all-too-familiar aroma of blood filled my head as a pool began to form on the foreign room. My arms gave out and in feeble effort to catch myself, my legs stirred and the knife tilted slightly to the left. I didn't care about my vocal chords now, I scream in order to distract myself. Blood seeps out like a waterfall and I'm shaking uncontrollably, like a naked person stuck in an artic wind storm. I try to yell, but I'm paralyzed. I feel a foreign sense of desperation. When will this end? I hear something- a word.
"Plead!" I can feel the fear of it's voice.
"Police!" Maybe...
"Please!" It grows louder, altogether hushed.
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"Mikey!"
Gerard shook me by the shoulders and I snapped back into...reality? He eyes showed deep concern with a mix of relief. I tried to slow down my rapid breathing and grimaced slighty as my throat burned slightly in protest.
"You were screaming and writhing" admitted Gerard, "although not too loud. But I guess any screaming at all is considered too much."
"Where are we again?", I asked hazily.
Memory flooded back into my brain. We had spent a few hours walking numbly, not knowing or caring, for that matter, where we were going. We walked well into the night, avoiding the glares of curious and perhaps frightened (judging by their expressions and how quick they were to shut their window from high above apartments) people by staring at the ground.
Gerard unsuccessfully looked around for a street sign. I took in our surroundings; an empty and dark alleyway with the exception of two women and a man. The two skipily clothed women glanced back and forth from Gerard, who was standing above me; me, who just a moment ago was was screaming bloody murder (literally); and the man, wore a smug grin on his face and stared at the womens' low cut tank tops.
"Come on sugars, lets see what you can do."
"Sick fuck", I mumbled.
Gerard stepped aside with a grave look on his face. As they turned to go, Gerard gave the women a look of sympathy. The world's sick, maybe even more than what people think of us.
Gerard held the door open as we walked blindly into the incandescent 7-11, our eyes not adapted to the light. Gerard met eyes with the middle-aged cashier, who menacingly stared back at him. After, Gerard and I intentionally kept our eyes on the floor as we hastily gathered our food, not wanting to feel the uncomfortable sensation that you were already disliked for no apparent reason. We ended up buying a variety of small things since we were both vegetarians; two bananas, a beherront bag of chips, four granola bars, and two Diet Cokes. Although unsettled, we paid as he eyed us, anxious to restore the place to it's usual tranquility for this time in the morning.
Gerard in the lead, we walked a steady pace home while we ate, heads in the clouds until I broke the silence.
"What if they noticed we were gone?"
"Whatever happens happens," he said dreamily. I left it at that.
In the end, we arrived right before they awoke. I was still assisting Gerard through the window when we heard footsteps from downstairs, where our parents slept. Luckily, I had told him in case of an emergency to act as though we where up all night writing songs. In this scene, we were coming out of the closet, ending our session, so it looked so natural. I grabbed the already open notebook where a few lines were pre-written and sat on the carpet of the closet. The door opened and our father stepped in, taking measure of every aspect of the room. I immediately stood up, closing the notebook automatically, and said groggily, "Hello. What do you want?"
It took a few seconds for his eyes to stop scanning and process the question. "Oh, I thought I heard a bang and wanted to make sure you okay," he said unsurely and then added a fake smile for show.
"Oh, alright, well- we're fine," Gerard convinced him with his well-rehearsed yawn.
"Okay", he said suspiciously. With that, he closed the door slowly.
I beamed at Gerard, sensing his warming glee too. And not too long after that, our mother awoke and we convinced her that we wanted to learn how to be responsible young adults by learning how to cook for ourselves. Your usual teenage convicts had just robbed a bank of trickery. (Author's Note: End Flashback)
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I heard screaming. I heard screaming, and I didn't know where it came from. My senses dulled, I only realized it was coming from my own mouth until a firey whaft of pain came from my shredded vocal chords. I immediately stopped. It was a lost cause, though the agony of my stab wound was momentarily forgotten. Vision came frame by frame as I mustered all the strength I had and supported my torso with my trembling arms. The all-too-familiar aroma of blood filled my head as a pool began to form on the foreign room. My arms gave out and in feeble effort to catch myself, my legs stirred and the knife tilted slightly to the left. I didn't care about my vocal chords now, I scream in order to distract myself. Blood seeps out like a waterfall and I'm shaking uncontrollably, like a naked person stuck in an artic wind storm. I try to yell, but I'm paralyzed. I feel a foreign sense of desperation. When will this end? I hear something- a word.
"Plead!" I can feel the fear of it's voice.
"Police!" Maybe...
"Please!" It grows louder, altogether hushed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mikey!"
Gerard shook me by the shoulders and I snapped back into...reality? He eyes showed deep concern with a mix of relief. I tried to slow down my rapid breathing and grimaced slighty as my throat burned slightly in protest.
"You were screaming and writhing" admitted Gerard, "although not too loud. But I guess any screaming at all is considered too much."
"Where are we again?", I asked hazily.
Memory flooded back into my brain. We had spent a few hours walking numbly, not knowing or caring, for that matter, where we were going. We walked well into the night, avoiding the glares of curious and perhaps frightened (judging by their expressions and how quick they were to shut their window from high above apartments) people by staring at the ground.
Gerard unsuccessfully looked around for a street sign. I took in our surroundings; an empty and dark alleyway with the exception of two women and a man. The two skipily clothed women glanced back and forth from Gerard, who was standing above me; me, who just a moment ago was was screaming bloody murder (literally); and the man, wore a smug grin on his face and stared at the womens' low cut tank tops.
"Come on sugars, lets see what you can do."
"Sick fuck", I mumbled.
Gerard stepped aside with a grave look on his face. As they turned to go, Gerard gave the women a look of sympathy. The world's sick, maybe even more than what people think of us.