The Black Parade

“Gerard…” I trailed off, looking at him through the clear and tempered glass of the phone-system in the county jail. I looked at him, waiting for the words to find me, waiting for him to speak into the telephone receiver and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that all my imprisonment was… was a brief stint, like in the Grey City, where we were dead, where we were happy. It was so ironic that death was the only thing that had brought us together, his skills for helping people, and my murderous deeds. Now we were brought back together, yet again, by the misnomers that I had perpetrated. I wished that I could find the words to speak so that the awkward silence that filled our small section of the large florescent-filled room.

“Don’t say anything. This is just like the City, another step on the path to redemption, you’ll live through this. Plus, you know what’s waiting if you get the death penalty.” He crossed his arms on the low-priced vinyl desk in between the both of us, looking straight at me through the thick glass, his eyes clouded by cool contemplation and some form of hatred.

“I’ve never killed anywhere that had the death penalty… but thanks for the lovely support.” I said, letting avid sarcasm swathe over the fear that kept me from saying the words that I wanted so badly to utter aloud. I played it in my head, I replayed it again, but I could not seem to say it… Gee, I love you, so I’m going to confess, to everything, no matter what the cost.

Yeah, like that would blow over well.

After what I’d done, I doubt he would even accept me as a friend.

I sighed into the receiver, unwittingly shattering the confined and uncomfortable silence. He looked back at me with no remorse shown in his hazel eyes, I tried to follow suit, and I tried to look him in the eyes… But I couldn’t. I turned away, tears outlining my eyes in crystalline fluidity, building like the storm in the ocean, but eventually spilling out, without my control. I looked away, attempting to disguise the obvious tear-stained cheeks, only wishing that it would be like it used to be… that he could wipe away my tears.

I looked him in the eyes again, no longer afraid of what he thought of me, whether he thought me coward or childish, I would face up to his scorn. I looked him in the eyes and I saw the pure emotion that I had missed so dearly.

“I loved you.”

I hung up the phone after hearing his words, too tired of empty words and moral feelings that couldn’t help me mend the terrible mess I was in. True, I did deserve this, but it wasn’t a crying-over-spilled-milk deal, it was crying over spilled blood. Is that tear-worthy enough?

Only then did I realize, as I walked away angrily, that he used past-tense.

GERARD’S P.O.V.

I finally summed up the strength to tell her exactly what I was feeling: not love not hate, just aloof and callous acknowledgement of a past love that we shared. I tried to ignore the fact that I was crying when I left, I tried to ignore the fact that I wasn’t going to come to her trial. I tried to ignore the fact that she had no one to vouch for her and would most likely be sentenced to a life in prison. I knew that she wasn’t cut out for that life, you know what they do to guys like us in prison.

If she didn’t already know, I supposed that she would find out.

ABBEY’S P.O.V.

After Gerard left I spent yet another day in the temporary holding cell, waiting for the day of the trial to come. Waiting to reveal my story to everyone, apparently, my trial was going to be televised, due to the sheer amount of people I’d murdered. Fun.

“It’s time, kid.” Said the gruff prison guard that was assigned to my row of cells, I stood up, letting the familiar handcuffs berate my wrists again, letting the orange jumpsuit ride up again when I sat in the repulsive police car, behind the repulsive policeman himself. He smiled in what was supposed to be either a sultry or seductive way, but it only made me want to gag out my innards. When I made a sour face he laughed and started the car, making sure to go over all of the bumps in the road to exact his meek revenge. He obviously didn’t know the meaning of revenge.

We reached the courthouse and I was assaulted by the pleading whines of reporters just like I used to be, working for an annoying editor, in a shitty office. Well, except for the people from CSPAN, BBC, and other major broadcasting networks that is. We finally sailed past the sea of devils with much hassle, and opened the glass doors, for my feet and eyes to be met with marble hallways and majestic ceilings: tax dollars wasted, in other words. I was taken by the police man in the brown suit, the one you always see on the television, to the confines of the cherry-maple courtroom that smelt of sweaty people in sweaty and expensive suits. Lauren Lobotomy stood at the opposite side of me, my sheepish lawyer, which was appointed to me by the country, stood next to me. On the other side of the courtroom, people practically lined up to sit in the offense, against me: the defense. My rows were exceptionally empty, sans the creepy police officer, who attempted, once again, to catch my eye. Not gonna happen, bozo.

I sighed and let the boring people with their boring little minds got through the comfortable preemptive ritual before a proper trial was to be held. I nearly fell asleep.

Eventually, I was called to the oaken stand to confess or to deny.

“Do you swear on the Holy Bible to—“ I interrupted the judge, my lawyer winced noticeably.

“I’m not Christian.” I said, lifting my chin high, letting the ignorant putz stare at me in hatred. I smirked.

“Do you swear to tell the complete truth and only the complete truth?” He retorted, his shock deforming back into a statue-like stature.

“Yes, I do swear.” I briefly hard my lawyer sigh a gasp of relief, I smiled.

“Did you kill all of the people on the list in front of you?” Asked the offense, I looked at the thirteen page long list in my hand, recognizing too many of the names for my liking.

“How many people are on this list?” I asked, he sighed, thinking that he was asking the questions, but responded anyways.

“1,040.”

“I confess to killing all of these people.” Camera flashes went off, and people began talking, I silenced them all with my forthcoming speech:

“I doubt any of you, with your comfortable lives and hard working wives could understand me. You live like tomorrow’s just another day, more ceaseless monotony. I lived that, once, so very long ago. Every day was just another beating, another rape, another test of my will. I succeeded, I lived eighteen harsh years, and then I got out. Two years later I came right back, with my scars still fresh, to exact revenge. I killed them and I’ve killed many who have done much wrong in this world. The world is ugly, it’s time to get over that and face your own demons. I did. I found redemption in the Grey City, with… oh, shit!” During my televised spiel I let anything and everything slip off of my loosened tongue. This could not bode well.

GERARD’S P.O.V.

I stood outside of the courthouse, on the balls of my feet, nervous beyond belief. I looked at the cigarette in my hand and nervously took a drag. I thought about how wrong it was that I continued to stand out here, chilled to the bone, while she was probably in pain in that courthouse…

Suddenly I looked up from my cigarette and I was no longer outside of the courthouse. I was in the old room that I had shared withAbbey my Mary Jane. I was looking out of the balcony, and the rest of the band was on the cobbled grey street in front of the building, looking confusedly at their dramatically changed surroundings. I was in my uniform, as were the rest of the band. I looked next to me to find Mary there, looking at the hand cuffs and orange jumpsuit that still adorned her figure in disbelief. I listened to my surroundings; a familiar rush met my pounding ears: The Black Parade was assembling.