Status: i don't own characters, only plot :)
The Red Ones Make Me Fly
The Red Ones Make Me Fly - part 6
He knew Michael was right though. He couldn’t even remember what the top of his dining room table looked like, let alone his desk or his bedroom floor. There was even a pile of clothes and art he’d given up on months ago still perched on the end corner of his bed which he just slept around instead of moving it. It was silly, he supposed, but in a way he was comfortable with his mess. It made him feel like he wasn’t so terribly alone. And yet, at the same time, it reiterated the fact that he was so terribly, terribly alone.
Gerard Sighed, taking more pills from his cabinet and a glass of water with him down the passage to his bedroom where he would bury himself, in self-loathing and some desperate attempt to finish his comic, for the rest of night.
The hours crawled by slowly, and he’d still drawn nothing. Just pages of scribbles, as usual. But there was something familiar about these scribbles. They looked like a figure – he struggled all night to reel in the image from his subconscious, but as the night turned into morning, his eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep with his pencil still in his hand.
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
“aargh,” Gerard moaned, suddenly awake. His eyes were dry and sore as he rubbed them with his fingers. He untwisted the lid of the pill bottle on his desk and decanted two into his palm. He swallowed them dry as his phone vibrated again from somewhere in his room.
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
He dug through the pile of clothes on the floor as the phone vibrated again, telling him that whoever was texting him was pretty determined to get his attention. After about ten minutes of lifting and shifting piles of clothes and papers, he found the jeans he’d been wearing and found his phone in one of the pockets. There were four texts. None of them were nearly as interesting as the fourth which read, “R U busy tonite? ~FrnKnSt9”
FrnKnSt9…
Frank?
Gerard Sighed, taking more pills from his cabinet and a glass of water with him down the passage to his bedroom where he would bury himself, in self-loathing and some desperate attempt to finish his comic, for the rest of night.
The hours crawled by slowly, and he’d still drawn nothing. Just pages of scribbles, as usual. But there was something familiar about these scribbles. They looked like a figure – he struggled all night to reel in the image from his subconscious, but as the night turned into morning, his eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep with his pencil still in his hand.
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
“aargh,” Gerard moaned, suddenly awake. His eyes were dry and sore as he rubbed them with his fingers. He untwisted the lid of the pill bottle on his desk and decanted two into his palm. He swallowed them dry as his phone vibrated again from somewhere in his room.
Drzzzzzzzzzzzd
He dug through the pile of clothes on the floor as the phone vibrated again, telling him that whoever was texting him was pretty determined to get his attention. After about ten minutes of lifting and shifting piles of clothes and papers, he found the jeans he’d been wearing and found his phone in one of the pockets. There were four texts. None of them were nearly as interesting as the fourth which read, “R U busy tonite? ~FrnKnSt9”
FrnKnSt9…
Frank?
♠ ♠ ♠
Gerard still being antisocial - perhaps a little less now?his life is still messed up ;_;
comment?
i dont own MCR (i wish)