The Black Parade

FUCK

Well, this fucking sucked. The guy was looking down at me with one of those ‘oh shit what have I done’ looks. I was about to give him a mouthful of what he’d just done but he chucked the gun down and ran off. Great, all that for a fucking 7-11, there was all of twelve dollars in the till. I tried to explain to the cretin, in simple words he’d understand, that there was this new marvellous plastic thingy called a ‘credit card’ that seemed to be all the rage these days with modern humans and thus not so many of them handed over their hard earned cash. And all I got for my troubles was a bullet through the gut. I guess people have aversions to sarcasm, or perhaps he was just having a really bad day. Not that I could hold that against him, oh no, what with human rights these days, they’d probably give me a right telling off for angering the poor fool.

I was guessing, as I could have this marvellous rant in my head, he hadn’t nicked any vital organs, but there was still a rather alarmingly large pool of blood gathering beneath my body.

And... I was feeling cold. I felt like perhaps I should re-enact the final scene from Pirates of the Caribbean... you know the absolutely gorgeous Geoffrey Rush doing the whole “I feel... cold” thing and dying, bet then again he’s not dead because he comes back at the end of the sequel. Hollywood really likes to fuck with your brain like that. I never thought it would actually be like this... what with the feeling cold, and losing feeling in my nerves, and slowly... ever so slowly... being unable to do anything but have a long sarcastic rant in my head! Why was I still able to have a long sarcastic rant in my head? Couldn’t I fucking die in peace? Why did I have to still be able to think and comprehend and fucking annoy myself?

Jesus, even in death there was no fucking peace.

I thought about fighting it, tried to haul myself up to get to a phone perhaps and call for help and I got about as far as raising my little finger and gave up, too much work really, and what was worth saving? My life, ha! I work in a fucking 7-11 I didn’t have that much in the way of prospects, did I? Come on, truthfully? It was a waste of my final breath. If only someone could be here to know my final thoughts, because I’m sure they’d be entrained. I know I fucking am.

Jesus fucking Christ, why aren’t I dead yet?

There was the distant sound of sirens. I wonder if they’re for me? Nah, probably some burglar just called the police because he fell through someone’s window and hurt his back and was now going to sue the poor people he was robbing for having inaccessible windows or something like that. I’m bitter, okay? Cut me some slack, I’m fucking dying here!
I tried one last time to haul myself up and actually managed to sit up with the help of some unknown strength... things were looking up, but all that movement had sapped all my remaining energy and the world was starting to look a little fuzzy around the edges. Whoops, I think I’m about to pass out from severe blood loss. Well there goes my last hope.

See you on the other side, if there is one, which I doubt highly because the stupid Christian religion was all made up by some big headed male chauvinistic pigs to keep people in line and...

What the fuck just happened? Why is there a- oh wait that’s probably the ‘bright light’ I’m supposed to head into and...

“We’re losing her!”

Who the fuck is that? Where the fuck am I? Why is death so loud and bright and smells faintly of bedpans and disinfectant? What the hell is going on?

“Stand clear!”

Fuck me. I’m suddenly in a hospital. What kind of punishment is that? What did I do to deserve spending eternity in a hospital? Hell if I’m staying here.

Hey, I can sit up, I can... shit why is my body still lying down on the hospital bed while I’m sitting up and looking back at it? Oh, so now I’m dead. Took its fucking time.

They gave my dead body another one of those shock things, you know, you see them over do it in the movies. There was still that awful flatline beep coming from the heart monitor, it really fucking hurt my ears, guess they weren’t trying that hard to save me, oh well. I wasn’t looking too good. I was wearing cut up black jean shorts, that I cut myself, and a green t-shirt that now kinda looked like it was ready for Christmas, well you know red and green... Christmas colours, I was trying to make a joke, damn you! God, no one appreciates my humour anymore.

I’m having a full-blown heated discussion in my head. This isn’t normal behaviour. Well not for the living, maybe the dead converse with themselves like this a lot? I think death made me mentally insane.

Oh look... another mentally insane thing...

A bleached blonde guy sitting at the end of my bed dressed like a reject from the Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club band singing.

I’ve lost it, completely utterly mentally insane.

“Now come one come all to this tragic affair.” You know he wasn’t half-bad at this singing thing, for a figment of my fucking imagination.

I stared back at him blankly. He seemed to be getting way too into the song for my liking.
“Wipe off that make-up what’s in is despair.” I’m not wearing any... oh wait, it was probably a metaphor or something, yeah, the figment of my imagination thought he was a poet, ha!
He stood up and offered me his hand. I looked back at my body, which was surrounded by busy little doctors and nurses trying to save my life, and not doing a very good job of it. I looked back to look at the bizarre man who was smiling at me, one of those inviting ‘trust me I’m not a serial killer’ smiles, which obviously you couldn’t trust. But I was finding myself wanting to. Considering, even if I did create him in my mind, he was one hot motherfucker, even in the interesting clothes.

What did I have to lose?

I grabbed his hand and it was like being emerged in a lovely warm bath, this warm comforting feeling filled me from head to toe and made me feel all tingly, at least in death there was still some feeling, nice to know. I wonder if it lasts though? Actually I wonder how long I’ll be stuck like this? Considering I wasn’t looking my best, my best friend had convinced me to let her cut my hair last night and well... she went a little over the top and now my hair was purple and lopsided with a fringe that covered my eyes. She said it was punk. I say, no more drinking with her.

“Time of death,” one of the doctors finally gave up and accepted the inevitable. Bleached blonde figment of my imagination, who felt quite solid and real so I was really confused now, guy gave my hand, he was still holding, not me, I wasn’t still trying to hold his hand, I’m not that sad, a reassuring squeeze. Like I needed it, c’mon, I’d resigned myself to death ages ago, this was just a waste of fucking time, I was ready to move on and all that shit, see what there was to look forward to. I wonder if there’s reincarnation? I’d love to be a guy next time around, just being content in my life with a nice porno, a good wrist and somewhere to stick my business. Being a guy is piss easy.

“Eleven seventeen.” A nurse reeled off. Ooo, late night death, at least it was only the end of this day that sucked.

Bleached blonde guy turned to me. “Ready to go?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How can I trust you? How do I know your not some crazy dude who’s gonna rape and ki- wait you can’t kill me, sure, where to my Sergeant Pepper reject comrade?”

Bleached blonde guy gave me a puzzled look, and then a ‘back up from the scary lady, slowly’ look. Woo, I scared the figment of my imagination. Go me! “Sergeant Pepper?” He repeated in confusion.

“Yeah, but more the dark ‘I’m so emo’ brood, I preferred Ringo Stars one personally... hmmm, maybe pink would suit you?”

“Ah, Gwen... I forgot, you always thought you were funny.” The guy replied.

“What?!” I spluttered. “First, how do you know my name? And secondly, I don’t think I’m funny, I know I am.”

The guy just smirked. “I know... everything.” He said in a dreamy sort of way, but he ruined the whole mysterious thing by laughing his head off. Whatever this guy was he was giving it a bad name. “And, in answer to the second bit, you’re really not funny, sugar.”

“Neither are you,” I muttered under my breath. I turned away from the deranged bleached blonde dude, and whoever did his hair needed a fucking big round of applause because they made him look like a twat, and I was beginning to like that thought. The doctors and nurses were leaving the room, none noticing us standing there, leaving my body all alone. It looked pretty lonely, if I could just... What am I thinking? I’m fucking dead. “I look like shit.” I huffed.

“Better than some,” bleached blonde dude answered, I really needed to find something different to refer to him as, perhaps his name... there’s a thought.

“Okay, who are you? Just for the record.” I asked, turning back to him to see he was starting to look a little antsy, guess he didn’t like the questions, good for him, I wasn’t going to stop.

“My name is not important right now.”

I yanked my hand away from his, that he had still been holding, still him, not me, let me stress that fact. “It’s really important right now if you want us to get going wherever it is we’re supposed to be going, and it looks like your times running out or something because you’re looking a little worried.”

“Gwen,” he started with a soft voice, holding his hand out to me, “trust me, you’re right, we’re running out of time...”

I was about to argue that he wasn’t getting to the point when the door opened again and in walked two doctors and... Oh shit! My mother was unusually quiet, for once, usually she’d be yapping on about nothing in particular, that was apparently so important to her life. She wasn’t crying. She was just quiet; her face set in grim determination.

“We should have gone, Gwen.” Bleached blonde guy said quietly, but I wasn’t paying attention to him.

My mother walked over to my body, her face full of rage. “Fucking bastard, I’ll get that fucking bastard.” She hissed though gritted teeth. Guess mother dearest was about to go on a killing spree to revenge her daughter’s death. Why wasn’t I caring as much as I should have?

“Come on, Gwen, you don’t want to see the rest.” Bleached blonde guy continued.

I ignored him and walked over to my mother, he didn’t follow. My mother was just staring at my dead body with anger in her eyes. “Mom?” I just had to try, I waved my hand in front of her eyes but she didn’t move. “Well...” I sighed, and I sounded really depressed, shit. “Don’t worry about me, I’m probably in an all right place, I got the reject from Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club band to keep me company. So...” She couldn’t even hear me, why was I bothering saying goodbye to her? “See you at like my funereal, or something...”

“Gwen,” he tried again. “Please.” His hand was still outstretched for mine.

I turned to him. “Not until you tell me your name.”

“Gerard,” he replied softly.

“Well, Gerard,” I stepped towards him, hand outstretched for his. “Where to next?” I placed my hand in his and he smiled, small but there, he pulled me into him and he spun me around and next thing I knew I was wearing this fucking bizarre black dress with criss-crossing straps on the back and netting over my stomach. No sign of a bullet wound. Deaths the best plastic surgeon I know. “Excuse me?”

Gerard was just smiling bitter sweetly, “So throw on the black dress mix in with the lot you might wake up and notice you’re someone you’re not.” Shit he was singing again... and there was music coming from somewhere, the sounds of the doctors telling my mother the time and cause of death was drowned out. “If you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see you can find out first hand what it’s like to be me. So gather round piggies and kiss this goodbye I’d encourage your smiles I’ll expect you won’t cry.” What was this? A fucking musical? What had this to do with dying? Piggies? Who wrote the damn score? Grr, don’t like. Piggies? I am not a piggy. I was going to argue but he was still singing. I didn’t want to annoy the weird dude while he was having a ‘moment’. “Another contusion my funeral jag here’s my resignation I’ll serve it in drag.” I wonder about this Gerard, I seriously do. “You’ve got front row seats to the penitence ball. When I grow up I want to be nothing at all.” I think he just liked the sound of his own voice that little bit too much.

He suddenly clicked his fingers, the ‘music’ really kicked in, and this thing burst through the fucking wall of the hospital room, followed by a load of other really weird things. In front was a fucking skeleton, dressed like the guy at the front of one of those marching band things, hat and twirling baton included.

“Get me the hell out of here.” I muttered under my breath, this was freaking me out. I tried to let go of Gerard’s hand but he held on and just smiled at me, looking terribly pleased with himself.

“Welcome to the Black Parade.”