One Shots

You had a terrible life. You weren't always like this, a the-world-hates-me, depressed teenager. Once you were a happy, carefree young girl, but that all changed when your dad left when you were fourteen. It was the summer before your freshman year and you haven't been the same since. After he left your mother was hospitalized for depression for almost a month. Once she recovered she became vicious and made your life a living hell. She blamed you for your father's leaving and reminded you of it everyday. She planted the idea that you were a completely worthless waste of space into your head until you believed it yourself.

One night after a particularly brutal dose of abuse you had decided you had had enough. You thought that if you were as worthless as you had come to believe then there was no reason to continue on. As you sat on your bed looking at the blade you held in your hand you began rethinking your decision. All you needed was one reason not to do it. You racked your brain for a reason, but couldn't come up with one. Your father left you, your mother hated you, you had no friends to mourn your death, there was nothing holding you back.

Tears welled up n your eyes at what you had become. You decided to write a "last will and testament" of your life. You wrote one sentence: I just needed one reason to live. You then dried your eyes and prepared your own funeral. You surrounded yourself with the only things that made you happy: your books, your drawings, and your CDs. Literature, art, and music were your only friends. They never judged you, they were just there for you through thick and thin. This is how I want to go, you decided, I want to take my own life before someone else does. So you took the knife in your hands and slit your wrists.

The last thing you remembered was being swallowed by frigid darkness, then you awoke to the beeping of machines. Your mother had called an ambulance when she discovered what you had done. When you questioned the reasoning behind her actions she assured you that it was for her own benefit, not yours. She said they would have locked her up for child abuse and neglect if you had died. Her statement just confirmed your belief that she really doesn't give a damn about you.

The morning after your "accident", as your mother liked to call it, you awoke to find a vase of snow white lilies on your bedside table. There wasn't a card with them, so you just assumed that one of the nurses had put them there. They were beautiful and they lived until you got out of the hospital and had healed enough to return to school three weeks later. When you arrived back at school you weren't surprised that no one had noticed your absence. Nothing had changed since your "accident" other than you decided that taking your life wasn't the best solution to your problem. Now you were determined to get into college and live on your own and move far away as soon as you were able to. And now here you were, three months later, sitting in art class.

"Today you will be expressing your mood right now in your drawing. I want to know what emotions you are going through at this exact moment. I want it to express your biggest fears and your deepest secrets," your art teacher, Mrs. Stephens, finished her speech. "You may use any materials in the classroom."

Where to begin? Your biggest fear? Definitely being noticed. You tended to blend in with your surroundings. There was nothing special about you. You were just another nobody, at least that's what your mother told you everyday.

Your deepest secret? That you actually want to be noticed, at least by him. He was the one thing that plagued your thoughts and haunted your dreams. His striking hazel eyes and the mysterious aura about him intrigued you. Of course, he was oblivious to your presence. You were merely a shadow of existence drifting through the halls of school. You were just biding your time until you could escape this hell on earth.

You took out your sketch book and decided to do a charcoal drawing for your assignment. First you drew the basic outline for you picture, then began shading and adding detail. As you were drawing you felt someone watching you. When you looked up you were surprised to find the subject of your work looking in your direction. He noticed you looking at him and you quickly looked away, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

After recovering from your initial embarrassment you returned to your drawing. With five minutes to spare you signed your drawing in the bottom right-hand corner. You looked at the finished product and was proud of your work. It was a picture of a girl in the middle of a desolate field on a dark night. She had a lost, lonely look on her face and the moonlight illuminated her silhouette. She was looking off into the distance where a man was standing, looking up at the starry sky. He seemed to be completely unaware of the girls presence.

It was one of your best works yet, if not the best. It showed exactly how you felt. You were completely alone in a dark, empty world and the one person you wanted to notice you had no clue that you were alive. You smiled melancholily and titled your drawing "My Excuse". He was your excuse for coming to school everyday. You knew it sounded pathetic, but you could deal with being pathetic.

"Okay, is everyone finished?" Mrs. Stephens asked. There was a murmur of "yes's" and she clapped her hands together. "Good. Now put away your things and leave out your work so we can go around the room and look at each others' interpretations of the assignment." You inwardly groaned. Even though art was your passion you hated sharing your works with the class. Many students were in the class for an easy grade. You, however, eat, sleep, and breathe art. You felt it was the only way you could freely express yourself. After cursing under your breath you did as you were told and began to look at you peers' work.

Some were fairly good, others made you wonder how they got into an advanced art class. One person had merely drawn a clown, or at least that's what you thought it was. But there was one in particular that caught your attention. Unlike most of the charcoal and graphite drawings, this one was a canvas painting. It seemed a lot more professional than the other works. The painting was of a concert. There was one man on stage at the microphone and there was a spotlight on him. There was a crowd of people standing in front of the stage. But what made the painting so intriguing was that all the people looked exactly the same. They all had blurred faces and were wearing black clothes, except for one girl.

On closer inspection you noticed that the man on stage seemed to be looking at the girl while he sang. In his eyes was a look of love and complete adoration. When you looked at the girl your breath got caught in your throat. She looked oddly familiar, in fact she looked like you. She had long black hair with one random blue streak in it and she had ice blue eyes just like yours. As you studied the painting further you noticed lilies littered the stage and the boy looked awfully similar to the subject of your own work. You immediately looked for the title of the painting and the artist. You found it in the bottom right-hand corner: "My Reason" Gerard Way.

You stood there mesmerized by the painting. Before you knew it the bell rang and students began milling around you and exiting the classroom. You came to your senses and looked up to find only one other person was in the room. Gerard stood over your own work studying it. You gathered what courage you had and walked over to him.

"So what do you think?" you asked him. He looked up at you confused.

"Madison, is that me?" his beautiful voice met your ears.

"Yes," you whispered, staring at your feet.

"It's amazing," he lifted your chin and looked into your eyes. You felt like you could just melt into his gaze.

"Yours was incredible as well," you managed to squeak. He removed his hand from your face, though you wished he wouldn't, and stood there. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course. And you?" he asked. You nodded your head. You seemed to understand each other without having to speak. You couldn't believe what was happening to you. The boy you thought about constantly actually seemed to like you. Before you knew what was happening he was stepping closer to you.

"You're my reason for waking up every morning," he whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver. "Will you give me the chance to be yours?" You looked up into his questioning hazel eyes, searching for a lie, but you found none. You nodded your head and his face broke out into a smile and you returned it. He lifted his calloused hand and caressed the side of your face. You leaned into his touch as he bent down and planted his lips on yours. Now I have a reason.