Keep the Faith

He could hear them.

He could hear all of them. Loud and clear. He could hear them talking all at once, he couldn't take it. He dropped down to his knees, clutching his ears pleading, ”Please, stop. I… I don't want to hear this… I don't need to…”

But of course he did. He needed to hear what his so-called army thought about him. His soldiers crowded around him, constantly throwing hateful words at his direction.

”No… I'm not all of those things you think I am,” he mourned, his heart thudding loudly in his chest as his salty tears streamed down his face, ”This wasn't how it was supposed to be! I was supposed to save you…”

”LIAR!” they all shouted at once, making him cower once more. He heaved for breath, he couldn't breath. Like someone was gripping his throat, squeezing.

By then then tears have stopped falling, replacing it was new determination. He faced the crowd of people. Sometimes he would see someone smiling at him, cowering in the angry mob. He tried to smile at them, ”Have faith in me,” he begged, ”Don't listen to them, you know I'm not like that…”

But the screams drowned out his cries, ”You should be sorry for your self!” They raged, pointing accusing fingers at him. The grip around his throat getting tighter and tighter.

”Please,” he cried out to the ones with the sad smiles, “Help me…”

They only shook their heads and whispered, ”You can do it, we have faith in you.”

And just like that, he could breathe normally again. He stood up and faced all of the face that were twisted up in hatred. He shook his head, “No… I did nothing to you people. All I did was help and –“

”We’ve lost faith in you!” they bellowed, the power of their voices pushing him back to the ground. He fell with a thud. Tight, invisible hands wrapped itself around his throat again.

He shook his head, ”I’m not sorry for what I did, ‘cause I don’t feel bad about it!” he barked, once again choking back tears. He looked back at the outcasts of the group; they had tears similar to his rolling down their faces.

”Don’t cry for me,” he tried to comfort them, and they wiped their tears away. ”Come to me,” he begged. They smiled, walking to him, reaching for him as they reached out for him, anxious to get out of the angry syndicate. ”Come to me,” he said once more, but it came out less than a whisper.

A few out of the thousands surrounded him in a small circle with nothing more than loving eyes. ”Mr. Way, I’m scared,” one trembled.

He only smiled, ”What? Well, why?”

”We don’t know what to believe anymore,” they replied, anger instantly flaring in their eyes.

Being under their stares. Though, theirs weren’t judging like all the others. They were so filled with love, it was almost awing. ”Believe in me,” he insisted.

But they only shook their heads, ”We don’t know who that is!” they thundered.

He simply shrugged and smiled back at them and said, It’s called blind faith, kid,” he smirked a bit, ”I’ll see you guys at the show…”

Gerard Way shook away from his silly day dream with a content smile. Always, he needed to constantly remind himself what he was doing here. And every time he remembered, he’d whisper to himself, “It’s worth it…” He shook his head, a glee smile on his face. Chuckling, he said to himself, “Oh, Gerard… You’re loosing it…”

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder, “It’s time to go out there and show ‘em what we’ve got,” his brother mused, gripping his shoulder tighter.

The five of them walked onto the stage. And just like every single show, their hearts started to beat faster and faster. Both scared and excited, they held their instruments, looking back at the crowd. Amazement swimming in their eyes, they sighed happily.

Gerard took his place in front of the stage, gripping the microphone stand nervously as he faced the multitude, his breath taken away. A satisfied smile stretched itself across his pale face.

It was at shows like this is when the whole band realized the they have changed. Maybe not in the way that they wanted to, but they all learned to accept it. Every morning, Gerard would look at himself in the mirror, telling himself, “This is what I am,” shortly before saying, “You’re still one uncool bastard, though.”

And he could only hope that these people in front of him could accept that too. It was hard for him to be what everybody else wanted him to be; a hero. Someone that gave them hope and inspiration and he was more than happy to give those to them. But he did have limits. After all, he was just a man, not a hero.