Status: Worst ending ever. Oh well, it's done.
The Black Parade
I Know You
ABIGAIL'S P.O.V.
I slammed the button on my alarm clock, only to realize that it wasn't on; it was my cell phone ringing, with "Run to the Hills" by Iron Maiden, which meant my boss was calling and that running wouldn't be such a bad idea, I picked up anyway.
"Why are you ringing so early, Lisa?" My British accent that I had picked up over the year here had pervaded my morning incessantly.
"Well, Abbey, it's 9:30 which gives you about fifteen minutes to get ready and another ten to get down there, the Coffee Pot, remember? I knew your alarm wouldn't ring, so I did."
"Yeah, yeah, did you bother to find out the name of the band?"
"No."
"Of course you didn’t."
I hung up rudely and turned to my small closet, quickly picking out a pair of gray slacks and a flattering black turtle neck, I don't like people imagining anything about me or my body. I hopped in the shower, only taking a minute to wash off. I then dried my hair, which was now wavy, no matter what I did, but it looked alright, so I put on my clothes and purple pumps, applying black eyeliner in half a second, and rushed out of my door while grabbing my massive black leather purse.
At 9:55 I made it and sat down at an outside table, it was a warm day, for October. The iron-wrought table was big enough for at least six more people; I took out a pad of paper, pen, and a small sound recorder.
A man with tattoos and a piercing in the middle of his lip and the right side of his nose extended his hand to me, "Brian Shechter." He introduced himself.
"Abbey Walters, Not So Life magazine." He sat down next to me.
"I was repaying your editor for a favor from a few years back, but family members of the band I manage got murdered recently, and they said they were stable enough for an interview, but it turns out they need another week in hiding, you'll understand, of course."
"Well, my parent's were murdered, but they got what was coming, so I don't really understand." That slipped out of my mouth without my knowing, and I covered my mouth, Brian stared at me with uncertainty.
"Did you happen to change your name from your given one?"
"Due to extenuating circumstances, I had no choice." I stuttered out, accidently.
"Were you from an almost entirely Catholic town?" I started backing away, throwing my shit in my bag, and grabbing it, with shaking hands.
"I have to go, call Lisa to reschedule this meeting, nice to meet you."
He grabbed my wrist, "I saw the bruises, Mary Jane Venin, a girl damned to eternal Hell by her classmates, I cared, but after the second day of school you shied away, with burn marks on your arms."
"My name is Abigail Clarice Walters and I don't know you." I said, emotion filling my voice, I tore my wrist from his iron grip and ran to my apartment, not caring what people thought of me as I tore my way down the cobbled street.
I slammed the button on my alarm clock, only to realize that it wasn't on; it was my cell phone ringing, with "Run to the Hills" by Iron Maiden, which meant my boss was calling and that running wouldn't be such a bad idea, I picked up anyway.
"Why are you ringing so early, Lisa?" My British accent that I had picked up over the year here had pervaded my morning incessantly.
"Well, Abbey, it's 9:30 which gives you about fifteen minutes to get ready and another ten to get down there, the Coffee Pot, remember? I knew your alarm wouldn't ring, so I did."
"Yeah, yeah, did you bother to find out the name of the band?"
"No."
"Of course you didn’t."
I hung up rudely and turned to my small closet, quickly picking out a pair of gray slacks and a flattering black turtle neck, I don't like people imagining anything about me or my body. I hopped in the shower, only taking a minute to wash off. I then dried my hair, which was now wavy, no matter what I did, but it looked alright, so I put on my clothes and purple pumps, applying black eyeliner in half a second, and rushed out of my door while grabbing my massive black leather purse.
At 9:55 I made it and sat down at an outside table, it was a warm day, for October. The iron-wrought table was big enough for at least six more people; I took out a pad of paper, pen, and a small sound recorder.
A man with tattoos and a piercing in the middle of his lip and the right side of his nose extended his hand to me, "Brian Shechter." He introduced himself.
"Abbey Walters, Not So Life magazine." He sat down next to me.
"I was repaying your editor for a favor from a few years back, but family members of the band I manage got murdered recently, and they said they were stable enough for an interview, but it turns out they need another week in hiding, you'll understand, of course."
"Well, my parent's were murdered, but they got what was coming, so I don't really understand." That slipped out of my mouth without my knowing, and I covered my mouth, Brian stared at me with uncertainty.
"Did you happen to change your name from your given one?"
"Due to extenuating circumstances, I had no choice." I stuttered out, accidently.
"Were you from an almost entirely Catholic town?" I started backing away, throwing my shit in my bag, and grabbing it, with shaking hands.
"I have to go, call Lisa to reschedule this meeting, nice to meet you."
He grabbed my wrist, "I saw the bruises, Mary Jane Venin, a girl damned to eternal Hell by her classmates, I cared, but after the second day of school you shied away, with burn marks on your arms."
"My name is Abigail Clarice Walters and I don't know you." I said, emotion filling my voice, I tore my wrist from his iron grip and ran to my apartment, not caring what people thought of me as I tore my way down the cobbled street.
♠ ♠ ♠
Title Cred: "Jack The Ripper" by Morrisey (Listen to the origional and the MCR cover, both are awesome)COMMENT AND SUBSCRIBE OR RAY WILL KILL HIMSELF, IN THE STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am evil.
Bonsoir.