‹ Prequel: Mike's Determination
Joey's Depression
Joey's Depression (the sequel to Mike's Determinat
Michelle slowly got out of her bed, put her dressing gown on and headed for the toilets.
When she got in there, she heard people talking from the other side of the wall- it was Billie Joe and Joey.
"Maybe I should go in there and let Joey know that I'm okay," She thought.
Michelle slowly crept out of the female toilets and rushed into the male ones. There she saw Billie Joe, pissing into one of the troffs, and Joey on the ground.
"Oh, excuse me," She said to Billie Joe, completely embarrassed. She turned away from him and sat down next to Joey.
"Michelle! You're okay!" He smiled. Michelle nodded. He looked down into his lap as Michelle grabbed hold of his bloodied hands. She squeezed them tight.
"Don't ever do this again, Joey," She advised him.
He blushed slightly, as Billie Joe looked on, still thinking about Mike- and Tre. Just then, Tre and Jason burst through the door.
"Err... hey Jason. Hey Tre," Billie Joe said awkwardly.
"Hey Billie. Tre here needs to break some faeces. Just here to make sure he doesn't walk into the female toilets or stumble out the front entrance and accidentally hitch a ride to the foreign strip club and end up sleeping with a few male Czech Slovakians and end up talking refuge on a diseased part of St Vincent and the Grenadines or something like that. Y'know, something Tre would do," Jason sighed, as Tre waked into the toilet cubicle.
He gave Michelle a weird look, obviously because she wasn't meant to be in this room of the hospital.
Just then, all 4 of them heard Tre cry out in pain.
"OH HOLY CRAP!!!" They heard him scream.
"What??" Billie Joe called back.
"My doovalickey! It's... sorta... lodged in the white stuff ejector!" Tre explained.
"I think he means his penis is caught in the toilet paper dispenser... Oh, my GOD!" Jason guessed.
***
"Oh my God," He repeated over and over in his mind as he opened his eyes, "Oh, my God am I alive?"
When his eyes had opened fully, he saw a dark silhouette. He waited patiently as his eyes adjusted to suit the scenery- he almost hit the roof when he saw who it was.
"Okay, am I in hell? I must be, I mean... Oh, my freaking gosh, I knew it! Releasing American Idiot wasn't the right thing to do!!! I knew I'd go to hell! Damn you politics damn you!"
Mike was awake. As little as he knew it, he was alive.
"Hiya Mikey, you not in hell, you alive!" Bush said in his typical voice, waving his arms around like mad, like a kindergartner.
"Help me," Mike muttered, "Oh dear God, help me."
***
"Hey lil bro, you home?!" Damien, Sam's older brother by 3 years called. When there was no reply, he tried again, "Sam?! You okay?"
Damien came to the door of Sam's bedroom, where the words, 'DO NOT ENTER' were violently carved into it.
"Sam! Don't make me come in there!!" He attempted, but still no reply returned, obviously because of the fact that Sam was dead. But how was Damien supposed to know?
Just like Sam, Damien had messy chestnut brown hair, only Damien had blonde streaks, deep brown eyes and they were both short but thin. They were also about the same height, despite the age difference. It was basically impossible to tell the two apart until Damien got his streaks.
"Dude, I'm about to come in," He yelled, as he turned the door knob slightly. When he opened the door, he saw nothing but Sam, the gun and blood.
"Oh crap," Damien thought. He didn't say it aloud, but he mouthed it repetitively.
"D... dad!!!" He cried, sticking his head out of Sam's bedroom door.
He ran out to the kitchen to reach the phone, and on the way, came across a small note on the kitchen counter. It read:
Gone shopping.
Be back in about an hour and a half.
Take care of Sam for me.
Love, Dad.
"Damn you and your groceries, dad," Damien mumbled, scrunching up the note and throwing it over his left shoulder.
He glanced over at the other side of the pale, cream-coloured counter, to see his father's car keys laid out near the cupboard. He paused, then bent down to recover the note. He un scrunched it, and studied it one last time.
"Hey, that's not dad's handwriting!" Damien then discovered.
"It's a fake. Someone's taken him... or he's busted his wrist. Either one, he didn't write this note," He gasped.
He slammed his fist on the counter.
"Someone took my dad. Someone or something killed my little brother. And I'm gonna find out who or what did," Damien hissed.
When she got in there, she heard people talking from the other side of the wall- it was Billie Joe and Joey.
"Maybe I should go in there and let Joey know that I'm okay," She thought.
Michelle slowly crept out of the female toilets and rushed into the male ones. There she saw Billie Joe, pissing into one of the troffs, and Joey on the ground.
"Oh, excuse me," She said to Billie Joe, completely embarrassed. She turned away from him and sat down next to Joey.
"Michelle! You're okay!" He smiled. Michelle nodded. He looked down into his lap as Michelle grabbed hold of his bloodied hands. She squeezed them tight.
"Don't ever do this again, Joey," She advised him.
He blushed slightly, as Billie Joe looked on, still thinking about Mike- and Tre. Just then, Tre and Jason burst through the door.
"Err... hey Jason. Hey Tre," Billie Joe said awkwardly.
"Hey Billie. Tre here needs to break some faeces. Just here to make sure he doesn't walk into the female toilets or stumble out the front entrance and accidentally hitch a ride to the foreign strip club and end up sleeping with a few male Czech Slovakians and end up talking refuge on a diseased part of St Vincent and the Grenadines or something like that. Y'know, something Tre would do," Jason sighed, as Tre waked into the toilet cubicle.
He gave Michelle a weird look, obviously because she wasn't meant to be in this room of the hospital.
Just then, all 4 of them heard Tre cry out in pain.
"OH HOLY CRAP!!!" They heard him scream.
"What??" Billie Joe called back.
"My doovalickey! It's... sorta... lodged in the white stuff ejector!" Tre explained.
"I think he means his penis is caught in the toilet paper dispenser... Oh, my GOD!" Jason guessed.
***
"Oh my God," He repeated over and over in his mind as he opened his eyes, "Oh, my God am I alive?"
When his eyes had opened fully, he saw a dark silhouette. He waited patiently as his eyes adjusted to suit the scenery- he almost hit the roof when he saw who it was.
"Okay, am I in hell? I must be, I mean... Oh, my freaking gosh, I knew it! Releasing American Idiot wasn't the right thing to do!!! I knew I'd go to hell! Damn you politics damn you!"
Mike was awake. As little as he knew it, he was alive.
"Hiya Mikey, you not in hell, you alive!" Bush said in his typical voice, waving his arms around like mad, like a kindergartner.
"Help me," Mike muttered, "Oh dear God, help me."
***
"Hey lil bro, you home?!" Damien, Sam's older brother by 3 years called. When there was no reply, he tried again, "Sam?! You okay?"
Damien came to the door of Sam's bedroom, where the words, 'DO NOT ENTER' were violently carved into it.
"Sam! Don't make me come in there!!" He attempted, but still no reply returned, obviously because of the fact that Sam was dead. But how was Damien supposed to know?
Just like Sam, Damien had messy chestnut brown hair, only Damien had blonde streaks, deep brown eyes and they were both short but thin. They were also about the same height, despite the age difference. It was basically impossible to tell the two apart until Damien got his streaks.
"Dude, I'm about to come in," He yelled, as he turned the door knob slightly. When he opened the door, he saw nothing but Sam, the gun and blood.
"Oh crap," Damien thought. He didn't say it aloud, but he mouthed it repetitively.
"D... dad!!!" He cried, sticking his head out of Sam's bedroom door.
He ran out to the kitchen to reach the phone, and on the way, came across a small note on the kitchen counter. It read:
Gone shopping.
Be back in about an hour and a half.
Take care of Sam for me.
Love, Dad.
"Damn you and your groceries, dad," Damien mumbled, scrunching up the note and throwing it over his left shoulder.
He glanced over at the other side of the pale, cream-coloured counter, to see his father's car keys laid out near the cupboard. He paused, then bent down to recover the note. He un scrunched it, and studied it one last time.
"Hey, that's not dad's handwriting!" Damien then discovered.
"It's a fake. Someone's taken him... or he's busted his wrist. Either one, he didn't write this note," He gasped.
He slammed his fist on the counter.
"Someone took my dad. Someone or something killed my little brother. And I'm gonna find out who or what did," Damien hissed.