The Black Parade

GERARD'S P.O.V.

A week passed as quickly as I had expected, and doomsday was finally here. I had to talk to the woman that I had thought was forever until she was taken away from me. I was still pondering over the last words she had said, "even if you come back to Earth, this is still goodbye, forever."

They echoed in my mind like the shouts of a dying man, reflecting harmlessly off of the walls of a formation such as a sandstone cave, but far more like a tomb. This echo is far from harmless, though; it is encroaching on my very sanity, my sagacity fading to weary nothingness, from lack of sleep. I had finally halted my cowardice and decided to forget her, but I saw her, I saw her in the drug store, and such a minor thing as this has made me feel as if the world's weight is upon my shoulders.

If her parents had never beaten her, if the Elders hadn't taken us from our earthly homes in the first place, would we have ever met? If there was a chance to reverse what tortures were inflicted upon her, would she have ever needed me? So many "if's" came into the equation of this complicated affair, but the gist is that the world of the dead brought us together, the Elders tore us apart, could the world of the living bring us back together? Or were her famous last words truly the last she ever spoke to me.

ABIGAIL'S P.O.V.

My unwarranted anxiety about the coming interview had reached it's height, fifteen minutes before said interview. I hadn't a clue why I was so nervous anyway, Lisa still hadn't told me the name of the band, Brian had never mentioned it, and the timing was completely different to that of My Chemical Romance, I was being stupid. That's all it is, pure idiocy heightened by lack of sleep. My insomnia wasn't due to any emotional change, I had just finished the sixth long chapter of what was now proving to be a decent book, or novel, perhaps something in between, I didn't really know yet.

I was now entirely ready to face whatever came at me, or so I thought, so I proceeded to walk to the Coffee Pot. What I saw there caught me entirely by surprise...

Another empty table, just like last time.

I set my stuff down at the same table and set up my recorder and a notepad, I than grabbed my laptop and started on the seventh chapter.

The haunting figure stared at me, as I worked futilely to release myself from the grip of its two minions. I felt a rough hand gently brush my jaw bone, peeling skin off with razor-like scales, I still didn't feel it, and I just barely recognized that blood was flowing freely down my neck. The creature made a harsh clicking sound, and then let out a quiet wail like that of nails grinding painfully on a chalkboard as I mentally attacked it's strong barriers, but a needle forced it's way into my arm and my vision was blocked, as was my power.

I stayed still and silent as hot breath pervaded closer to my mouth, the horrendous stench making bile rise furiously from the scarred back of my throat. I began choking on my own blood; the tuberculosis was still raging through my feverish body. I continued to remain statue-like in movement; the demon finally spoke in words of humans, still barely forming sentences:

"You've been a very bad girl,

As soon as those words found their way out of my hands and throat the medium of my keyboard, I slammed my laptop shut, placing a hand over my mouth, trying to prevent the inevitable tears from pouring out of my eyes, at the memory of the first time I heard Gerard speak.

I heard a stifled, "Oh god..." behind me and I turned to see who dared to hover over my shoulder.

Gerard Way was standing behind me, reading the words as they flew out of my fingers, watching me. My Chemical Romance was back from the dead.