They Found You On The Bathroom Floor

The sun glared fiercely over the land, a splatter of red mingled with dark, moody colours. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, casting their bold sillhouette over the hill. And a young man sat admiring this view, leaning casually in his skinny leg jeans, tapping his fingers on the tip of a pencil protuding from his mouth.

Frank Iero flicked his forked fringe out of his eyes, frowning in utter concentration. His pencil moved over the page with an expert flick of his wrist stringing a beautifully phrased line of his story, and reminding him of his guitar. How he longed to hold it, to brush the expertly crafted wooden neck, to feel the friction and the heat of the strings. No. He was here for a break.

"And besides," Frank thought morosely "If they knew I was writing, I'd be chucked out anyway." For his band, The Silence were not into "Daydreaming Crap."

Nobody in the unsigned music world was. So he thought.

Round the corner to Frank, leaves crunched into submission and owls retreated from their trees, avoiding a young man in a leather jacket as he wearily trudged the streets.

Flicking his smooth, silky black hair out of his face, Gerard Way squinted in the sunlight, barely registering its beauty as a loud, racous laugh echoed down the street and he sidetracked down a nearby alleyway.

The bins stank and he could hear the bags twitching and rustling. "Rats" He thought. Almost as soon as this had occured to him, a furry rodent scurried over to his ripped converses and bit his toe. Gerard gritted his teeth, tears welling in his eyes. But he did not yell out. For he had learnt that at college. Crying out gave them strength.

Hearing the loud, sneering cackle again, Gerard crouched behind a sodden box, already tight jeans almost ripping with the pressure. Peering out through the rotten holes, he saw a stout, muscular man round the corner, surrounded by girls.

There was nothing special about the girls other than their numbers. After all, its not often that fifty girls of all shapes and sizes get together for a friendly chat, and the rule didnt change here. The barbie dolls hissed and spat at the loner's, the outcasts.

Gerard may have felt some compassion for them had they not snarled and made rude gestures back. But the boy, head bowed, hooded jacket zipped up seemed oblivious to the entire scene.

The girl nearest to Gerard was chewing gum with such feriouciousness that he was sure her jaw would dislocate,

"He was definitely down here Bobby."

The boy lifted his head to reveal a square jaw with some protruding stubble, Bob Bryar was the toughest guy in college but just couldn't seem to grow a beard. But no - one dared mock him for it. Why would anybody ask for a reservation in hospital?

"I know Britney, love, but he aint here now is he?" The girl blew a bubble and popped it with an extremely ugly look of indignation on her thinned face,

"Its Becky."

"Whatever." Bob growled, shooting her a menacing look, just to confirm his lack of interest. Becky's disgusted look disappeared to form a weak smile. Bob grunted his approval and started making his way down the adjourning street.

Every step struck a heavy blow on the ground and Gerard winced, recalling what had happened to young Toro once he had refused to help Bob in his Latin test.

His fists clenched automatically, wanting to avenge himself and his fellow peers, but in the deepest, sanest depths of his mind, he was aware this was ridiculous. Not only was Bob the size of a mountain, but the girls around him were not fairy princesses.
They spat, scratched and kicked.

"But then again, thats what everyone in this goddam estate has been taught to do" Thought Gerard angrily. Making up his mind, he stood, pulled his trousers up and walked shakily back onto the street.

Frank had heard the laugh. Heard it and felt a spasm of fear which caused his leg to twitch and smudge his work.

This was Bob's territory and trespassing would mean a beating. Hurriedly, he shoved the pencil and paper into his jeans pocket and stood, glancing nervously behind as he did so. He just hoped that Bob was in a generous mood. Either that or he prayed that the Doc Martens had been left at home.

After a final check behind, Frank swiftly set off down a nearby alleyway, before seeing a shadow and diving behind a bin, cautiously peering round to check that he hadn't been seen. As he did so, he saw a flicker of black disappear to where Bob Bryar's voice was growing louder and louder with anger at something which Frank hoped he wouldn't find out.

Still crouching, Frank crept to the corner of the alley and peered round to check Bobs' thugs had left it - and recieved a shock to shake him out of his fear induced stupor.

The person he had been hiding from was a young man with shining black hair, he had seen him when daring to look up in the hallways, always hurrying along, never chatting with Bob - so why was he walking towards him now?

Frank leaned round a little more and as he did so, the other boy rounded the corner and Frank saw him properly for the first time. He was good looking, his deathly pallor strongly contrasted by his dark clothes. Underneath the jacket, Frank could see muscle beginning to form and when the boy lifted his head, he revealed two soft shining brown eyes, reflecting nothing but truth and innocence.

Frank jumped, what the heck was going on?! He had never realised any of this crap about anyone before! And what was he doing letting this boy walk to an early grave?!

Standing, Frank sprinted down the alley, urging the ground to soften his pounding footsteps, sure that if Bob didnt hear him running, he would surely hear his heart beating loud and fast enough to be a marching band solo.

Frank reached out to grab the collar of the mysterious boy's jacket, his fingers brushed the smooth, tanned leather and clutched - a second too late. The boy moved forward with surprising velocity and rounded the corner.

"Bob!" he yelled, alerting everyone in the vicinity to his presence, "Looking for me?!"

Bob turned and grinned - no - leered at the young man, revealing a black tooth and a DIY lip piercing - still glistening with his own blood. The effect was rather terrifying thought Frank, but the boy didnt seem peturbed,

"Yeah? You think you're so tough but..."

Frank's eyes widened in terror, wishing the boy would see sense and run. But he didnt. He performed the opposite.

The boy stood there and Frank saw sweat pouring down the back of his neck, even though it was -3C. The boy clenched his fists and shouted at Bob, causing the girls to shriek and gasp, Frank to choke in amazement and sympathy and Bob's eyes to widen wrathfully,

"You can't even grow a beard!"