The Tragic Tale of The Black Parade

“I’m sorry about all of this. Nothing was supposed to go wrong,” the sandy-haired man said when they reappeared at the House of Wolves. The patient was shaken from the journey, but overall he felt fine. He was relieved to see that none of the creatures were there. It was completely silent and empty. He followed the man up a set of stairs next to the stage and back behind it, where a shocking scene greeted him. The leader appeared to have fainted. He was surrounded by his fellow band members, as well as the wolves, who were ignoring the patient’s presence completely.

“It happened again,” said the leader’s brother as he approached them. His eyes were clouded over with worry, and he was unable to meet their gazes.

“The other took over?” the blond-haired man asked in horror. The other man nodded grimly.

“I am not certain if he will recover from it this time.”

“What’s going on?” the patient asked. He was beginning to worry as well.

“It will take a long time to explain,” said the black-haired man.

“I’ve got time,” the patient responded, though he was not entirely sure of his own statement. The leader’s brother sighed.

“It is not that simple- wait,” he said suddenly, holding a hand to his forehead.

“What is it?” the patient asked.

“This is impossible…he wants to tell you himself…” The black-haired man frowned. He murmured several syllables to himself. He nodded suddenly.

“I’ve convinced him to wait until he is recovered. For now, go with him,” he said wearily, motioning to the man with the sand-colored hair. The patient nodded and followed the other man off the stage and away from the wolves crowded around the leader. He hoped the creatures would not harm the pale-haired man.
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He stared at the full bottle of water listlessly. It was as if the object was mocking him. He lacked the energy to lift it to his lips and drink it, though he knew he desperately needed it. His strength was waning quickly.

“You have cancer,” the doctor said plainly. The patient closed his eyes. He had suspected something like this. “We can begin chemotherapy treatments as soon as we have your consent.” The patient felt unable to move. He wanted to respond, he really did, but his weakness was too great. “Maybe you should get some sleep,” said the doctor. “Then you can tell me what you think.” He stood and left the room, all the time out of the patient’s field of vision. He cast a solemn glance at the weak, almost pathetic person as he left the room.

‘Why must they continue to bring me here?’ the patient thought mournfully. ‘Surely they must realize how painful it is for me.’ He sighed. It felt like he was exhaling all his strength. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep. He was tired from his journey, but was afraid to sleep for fear of what he might see when he awoke. Would the wolves be surrounding him, or would he witness yet another painful memory?

Sleep came to him anyway. His body was crying out for energy.

In his dreams, he pictured his family and friends. His mother…his girlfriend…his best friend… They all looked at him solemnly, as if he were already dead and they had just returned from his funeral.

Bright orange flames appeared suddenly. The patient gasped when he realized he could actually feel the heat coming from them. He began hyperventilating, trying desperately to breathe in fresh air but only inhaling smoke. His mind was reeling. He couldn’t ignore the screams of his loved ones. He wanted it all to stop.

“‘Sleep,’ he says,” came the leader’s voice, entering his mind. The man appeared before him. The other faces in the patient’s mind vanished, but the intense flames remained. “That’s a laugh.”

“Please…why…” The patient couldn’t find the words to express his pain. The leader looked at him with a smirk.

“Sleep doesn’t do you much good if you have nightmares, does it?” The fire seemed to burn within the black-clad man’s eyes. He looked insane.

“Please…make it stop,” the patient said to him, feeling tears rush into his closed eyes. The leader shrugged and snapped his fingers. The flames died down into a soft blue glow, and everything went cold. The horrible sights and sounds had vanished. The patient fell to his knees in weakness, leaning forward with his hands flat on the unseen ground. He needed sleep, or at least water. He needed something, anything, to make him feel stronger.

“I know this is hard. But there is not much left, if you can only hang on a little longer,” the leader said quietly as if trying to reassure him. Tears were flowing down the patient’s pale face more steadily as he stood up. It was a wonder he had the energy to do so. “This entire journey has been for you,” the leader said, regaining his commanding tone of voice and looking the patient in the eye. “You’ve visited several of your memories now. Do you feel any different?” He nodded.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said sadly. “All I ever did in my life was cause other people pain.” The leader placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“This is why I chose to help you. Against my better judgment, I confess. I believed that if given more time you could have made things right. But at the same time, I know how humans think. I understand their nature.” He let concern creep into his voice. “If I relied on human nature, you would not be here.”

The patient’s tears had since slowed down. He felt his heart begin to relax and return to its normal rate. The man’s presence was strangely calming.

“You said…this whole thing’s been about me,” he choked out. The man nodded once. “What about you?” The leader was a little surprised by the question. He hadn’t been expecting something like that.

“What about me?” he asked in confusion. He wasn’t sure what the patient was asking.

“Your brother said you wanted to tell me your story. I don’t know if he was telling the truth because you were unconscious…”

“My brother and I share a strong bond. He can often hear my thoughts,” he said plainly, as if this explained everything. “Whether I’m conscious or not.”

“So are you going to tell me?” the patient asked hopefully. The man paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes. I think I will.” He waved one hand in an arc, and the entire scene changed. The darkness disappeared, to be replaced with bright lights that blinded them temporarily. The man’s eyes were accustomed to it and adjusted within a few seconds, while the patient held up one hand. The glow was too bright. He heard screams somewhere close, but they were different. They weren’t screams of terror or fear. These people were…happy.

He glanced at the leader. The glazed look had overtaken his eyes again, and he was smiling. He looked completely different, with midnight black hair going halfway to his shoulders and a raccoon-like black mask of makeup over his eyes. His face was almost white. He wore a black shirt with a red tie, a stark contrast to his usual marching band uniform.

“They can’t see you,” he said to the patient with a smile, showing gleaming teeth. The people’s cries intensified. “You might want to move, however. I’m not going to be standing here and rotting in place the whole time.” The patient’s eyes had adjusted to the strange lighting. He took a sweeping glance over the crowd. It seemed to be dark and endless, dotted with flashing lights like the night sky. The screaming never seemed to cease. It was overwhelming, as if they weren’t even shouting any words. It was all just noise.

The patient realized what was going on. This was a concert. He took several steps away from the man, realizing he was walking through everything on the stage. He was some kind of ghost to everyone there. He retreated to the far left side of the stage to quietly observe the scene. The other four were there, also dressed completely different. The patient noticed that all of them wore strange black bands around their arms. He was standing almost right next to the one with the crazy hair, and could just see what his armband looked like. There was a circle of small white shapes that looked like guns, with one colored blood red. There were three letters in the center - MCR - and all of it was on a black background. The patient frowned slightly. What did it mean?

“We are My Chemical Romance, and we hail from New Jersey!”

Oh. That’s what it meant.

“Things were very different then,” said a low voice next to him. He jumped slightly and looked to his right. The leader was standing there as if he had returned to his original state, platinum hair and everything. Most of his face remained in shadow, only half-illuminated by the stage’s bright lights. His dark voice overpowered all other noise, seeming to block out all other sound in the patient’s ears. At this point, though, the younger man was not surprised.

“Sometimes I look back on this memory and I swear I’m insane.”

“Why?” The man shrugged and motioned at the stage.

“Watch, and you’ll soon see.”