Keep the Faith
Creator
The thumb tack blue, cement walls and the tiled floor were supposed to offer some sort of discipline, but he only saw dictatorship. That brainwashing was hidden by the illusions given off from the childish posters splattered with obnoxious colors. Four rows of pale wooden desks sat in an orderly fashion, their occupants chattering noisily about the newest Pokémon video game or the feature movie that was set to play on the Disney Channel that night.
All but one had turned in their seat to talk with their peers. The curled-at-the-ends mop of chocolate brown hair and wide hazel eyes that had been set fixedly on the paper in front of him, pencil moving in an expert manner. His creations almost danced across the page with the detail that he painstakingly poured into each and every one of them. His back was but a hunch as his nose neared the sheet of white almost subconsciously; it was as though the boy’s face was magnetized to his drawings.
The tall, lanky woman who had been sitting at her own, industrial gray, metal desk stood and walked to the front of the room. She clapped her skeletal hands together, rectangular spectacles reflecting the fluorescent lights above, and grinned toothily as the classroom fell silent. The students – all but one – closed their mouths and looked attentively at their teacher.
“Class, today we’re going to talk about our futures.” Her voice seemed to ricochet of the walls and the windows, falling both gracefully and forcefully into the heads of the children in front of her. “Who wants to tell me what they want to be when they grow up?”
An ocean of hands appeared, and within a fraction of a second, she had picked a volunteer.
“I wanna be a cop like my dad, Ms. Faulkner, and then I’ll beat all the bad guys that wanna do bad stuff to people!” said a small boy with curly, blonde hair and a large grin.
“I bet you’ll do that too, Paul,” Ms. Faulkner smiled warmly back at him, “Anyone else?” She looked around the classroom; her blue eyes ignored the children’s hands and stopped on the only student whose eyes were not on her. “Gerard, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
The boy in question started as he felt every gaze in the room on him. He placed his pencil upon the wooden surface in front of him and looked up, bangs slightly covering his eyes and front teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly before finally mustering up the courage to speak, but his voice only came out as a mumble.
“Excuse me? Please speak up, Gerard.”
Quiet snickers sounded around him and Gerard crept inwardly into himself, trying to hide. If he did as told, he would only be made fun of again. His imaginary world would be destroyed and his superheroes would only exist on that paper again. He couldn’t kill them that easily; he would never become the villain.
They were the villains. They wanted to massacre his masterpieces.
“Gerard, please answer my question.”
Could he trust his art to protect him again? After all, they couldn’t break through the pure, colorless barrier separating reality from the fairy tale land he had created. His escape seemed completely broken off now that he was faced with such a hard inquiry to respond to.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Think, think, think.
“Gerard Way!” Ms. Faulkner’s hands were on her hips now, fingers dancing along the fabric of her dress angrily. “Answer my question, please.”
The boy nodded timidly before replying. “I… I want to create things. I want to create things, not destroy them… like others do.”
Ms. Faulkner’s arms fell to her sides as if the bones had become Jell-O. The woman’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at what her pupil had to say. It was so different from other kids’ who wanted to be doctors or pop idols or police officers. But he was different; Gerard was a special boy. She had been able to see that from his first day of the fourth grade.
“You’ll definitely be able to do that, Gerard.” She strolled over to the boy and kneeled down so she would be at his eye level. “I know you will.”
Gerard smiled shyly and felt the familiar sensation of his wooden pencil on his hand. He glanced down and saw that the wood-and-granite tool had rolled over to him, as if beckoning him to keep creating. Gerard scooped it up and his smile became wider still. Looking around him he noticed something new; something he’d never seen before.
The classroom, though it did have an air of that of a controlled experiment, had become peaceful and inviting. The real world and his imaginary one had become parallel universes. He was safe again.
The pencil glided back to the paper and he drew.
All but one had turned in their seat to talk with their peers. The curled-at-the-ends mop of chocolate brown hair and wide hazel eyes that had been set fixedly on the paper in front of him, pencil moving in an expert manner. His creations almost danced across the page with the detail that he painstakingly poured into each and every one of them. His back was but a hunch as his nose neared the sheet of white almost subconsciously; it was as though the boy’s face was magnetized to his drawings.
The tall, lanky woman who had been sitting at her own, industrial gray, metal desk stood and walked to the front of the room. She clapped her skeletal hands together, rectangular spectacles reflecting the fluorescent lights above, and grinned toothily as the classroom fell silent. The students – all but one – closed their mouths and looked attentively at their teacher.
“Class, today we’re going to talk about our futures.” Her voice seemed to ricochet of the walls and the windows, falling both gracefully and forcefully into the heads of the children in front of her. “Who wants to tell me what they want to be when they grow up?”
An ocean of hands appeared, and within a fraction of a second, she had picked a volunteer.
“I wanna be a cop like my dad, Ms. Faulkner, and then I’ll beat all the bad guys that wanna do bad stuff to people!” said a small boy with curly, blonde hair and a large grin.
“I bet you’ll do that too, Paul,” Ms. Faulkner smiled warmly back at him, “Anyone else?” She looked around the classroom; her blue eyes ignored the children’s hands and stopped on the only student whose eyes were not on her. “Gerard, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
The boy in question started as he felt every gaze in the room on him. He placed his pencil upon the wooden surface in front of him and looked up, bangs slightly covering his eyes and front teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly before finally mustering up the courage to speak, but his voice only came out as a mumble.
“Excuse me? Please speak up, Gerard.”
Quiet snickers sounded around him and Gerard crept inwardly into himself, trying to hide. If he did as told, he would only be made fun of again. His imaginary world would be destroyed and his superheroes would only exist on that paper again. He couldn’t kill them that easily; he would never become the villain.
They were the villains. They wanted to massacre his masterpieces.
“Gerard, please answer my question.”
Could he trust his art to protect him again? After all, they couldn’t break through the pure, colorless barrier separating reality from the fairy tale land he had created. His escape seemed completely broken off now that he was faced with such a hard inquiry to respond to.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Think, think, think.
“Gerard Way!” Ms. Faulkner’s hands were on her hips now, fingers dancing along the fabric of her dress angrily. “Answer my question, please.”
The boy nodded timidly before replying. “I… I want to create things. I want to create things, not destroy them… like others do.”
Ms. Faulkner’s arms fell to her sides as if the bones had become Jell-O. The woman’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at what her pupil had to say. It was so different from other kids’ who wanted to be doctors or pop idols or police officers. But he was different; Gerard was a special boy. She had been able to see that from his first day of the fourth grade.
“You’ll definitely be able to do that, Gerard.” She strolled over to the boy and kneeled down so she would be at his eye level. “I know you will.”
Gerard smiled shyly and felt the familiar sensation of his wooden pencil on his hand. He glanced down and saw that the wood-and-granite tool had rolled over to him, as if beckoning him to keep creating. Gerard scooped it up and his smile became wider still. Looking around him he noticed something new; something he’d never seen before.
The classroom, though it did have an air of that of a controlled experiment, had become peaceful and inviting. The real world and his imaginary one had become parallel universes. He was safe again.
The pencil glided back to the paper and he drew.