‹ Prequel: Immaculate Misconceptions
Status: 8/18/2015 Hiatus that's currently attempted to be broken.Do not be surprised if this gets deleted and reposted.
Oh, Catastrophe
Prologue
Angelo crumpled the paper with his most recent sketch and threw it at the waste bin angrily, missing his target and adding more to the piling mess of papers on the floor. He's been working on this commission for weeks and has gone through multiple trials and errors. He couldn't focus.
He reached for his medication and popped two blue pills, taking a swing of Gatorade and sitting back into his chair waiting for that thudding feeling in the back of his head to disappear.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled before inhaling deeply and exhaling again. More and more slowly each time, just as this therapist taught him.
Blood. Blood everywhere.
Skeletons reaching out and screaming. Reaching for him.
He shook his head, uncrumpling a sheet of paper that laid next to him and staring at the unfinished skull,
"Maybe it does need something a bit more... gore." He twisted his mouth, pushing the sheet aside and starting fresh. "At least this head is good for something..." He sighed as his pencil scraped against paper.
His phone was ringing again.
Why won't people just stop calling him? Obviously if he hasn't answered all day, he doesn't wanna talk. He never wants to talk.
He flinched when his voicemail went off: "It's Ang. Leave a message or something. *beep*"
"Hey Ang, it's Chris. Just wanted to check in on you... We haven't heard from you for weeks now. Just wanted to make sure everything is ok..." For a moment things were quiet, "Listen, Ang, please call us back. We're worried... We've heard some things and-"
Angelo unplugged the phone and disabled the phone lines.
He didn't want them right now.
He didn't need them.
He didn't care about them.
Not anymore.
"God, what the fuck Ang," He growled, "You've known them for years and now you're being a total jackass."
It doesn't matter. They ruined your fucking life. Ran you into the ground and dragged you through the dirt. No one fucking cared about you when Chris went missing. You always had to be the one to hold their hands.
"But they're my friends... I'm always there for them. They needed me."
Fuck friends. They don't give a shit about you. Hell! They never gave a shit about you until you fucking left them. Look at them... Rolling around in their profits. They replaced you Ang... They even re-recorded the album. It's almost like you were never there.
"Shut up!” His hand involuntarily swung sending Gatorade spilling all over the floor as it clattered off the table, “They would never do that to me! So what if they re-recorded the album! There were some needed changes anyway-"
It's funny how you lie to yourself just to make yourself feel better. No one cared Angelo. No one gives a damn about the drummer. You’re an extra. A background prop. What you can do, there’s a million others doing the same.. maybe even better HAH! You're worthless.
"Stop it!” He screeched, finger nails digging into his skull until he could feel chunks of flesh burying itself underneath them.
Why? So you can wallow in your self pity? Wonder why you weren't strong enough? Wonder why you're so weak? You’re hands are shaking again Angelo. Why don't you go take a blade to your wrist like all the kids that call themselves your fans?
"Leave them out of this!" Angelo's hand tightened so hard around the pencil, it snapped. Drops of blood dripped upon his art work, "Leave them alone!" He felt like he was choking on the air he was breathing, he was suffocating.
What about a bullet to your head, huh? Maybe that’ll be easier for you? Like how you shot that man-
“I- I was helping him! I was protecting C-chris-”
How sad. They've ruined you Angelo... You're nothing now. And you don't need them.
"I don't need them."
They never cared.
"They never cared."
No one ever did,
He would stare blankly at his paper, “No one ever did..”
You're better off alone.
"You're right..."
You're right.
"I'm right." He murmured, wiping his upper lip while looking down at at the skeleton, screaming in pain from whatever was dragging it into the darkness behind it, into the mouth of a sinister skull. It reached out as if for a plea, crying for mercy, for sympathy. Did he draw this?
He popped another pill, letting himself feel heavy... feel like he was sinking. He liked the feeling.. the feeling of disappearing. He didn’t even think about how long he’ll be passed out on the floor.
He reached for his medication and popped two blue pills, taking a swing of Gatorade and sitting back into his chair waiting for that thudding feeling in the back of his head to disappear.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled before inhaling deeply and exhaling again. More and more slowly each time, just as this therapist taught him.
Blood. Blood everywhere.
Skeletons reaching out and screaming. Reaching for him.
He shook his head, uncrumpling a sheet of paper that laid next to him and staring at the unfinished skull,
"Maybe it does need something a bit more... gore." He twisted his mouth, pushing the sheet aside and starting fresh. "At least this head is good for something..." He sighed as his pencil scraped against paper.
His phone was ringing again.
Why won't people just stop calling him? Obviously if he hasn't answered all day, he doesn't wanna talk. He never wants to talk.
He flinched when his voicemail went off: "It's Ang. Leave a message or something. *beep*"
"Hey Ang, it's Chris. Just wanted to check in on you... We haven't heard from you for weeks now. Just wanted to make sure everything is ok..." For a moment things were quiet, "Listen, Ang, please call us back. We're worried... We've heard some things and-"
Angelo unplugged the phone and disabled the phone lines.
He didn't want them right now.
He didn't need them.
He didn't care about them.
Not anymore.
"God, what the fuck Ang," He growled, "You've known them for years and now you're being a total jackass."
It doesn't matter. They ruined your fucking life. Ran you into the ground and dragged you through the dirt. No one fucking cared about you when Chris went missing. You always had to be the one to hold their hands.
"But they're my friends... I'm always there for them. They needed me."
Fuck friends. They don't give a shit about you. Hell! They never gave a shit about you until you fucking left them. Look at them... Rolling around in their profits. They replaced you Ang... They even re-recorded the album. It's almost like you were never there.
"Shut up!” His hand involuntarily swung sending Gatorade spilling all over the floor as it clattered off the table, “They would never do that to me! So what if they re-recorded the album! There were some needed changes anyway-"
It's funny how you lie to yourself just to make yourself feel better. No one cared Angelo. No one gives a damn about the drummer. You’re an extra. A background prop. What you can do, there’s a million others doing the same.. maybe even better HAH! You're worthless.
"Stop it!” He screeched, finger nails digging into his skull until he could feel chunks of flesh burying itself underneath them.
Why? So you can wallow in your self pity? Wonder why you weren't strong enough? Wonder why you're so weak? You’re hands are shaking again Angelo. Why don't you go take a blade to your wrist like all the kids that call themselves your fans?
"Leave them out of this!" Angelo's hand tightened so hard around the pencil, it snapped. Drops of blood dripped upon his art work, "Leave them alone!" He felt like he was choking on the air he was breathing, he was suffocating.
What about a bullet to your head, huh? Maybe that’ll be easier for you? Like how you shot that man-
“I- I was helping him! I was protecting C-chris-”
How sad. They've ruined you Angelo... You're nothing now. And you don't need them.
"I don't need them."
They never cared.
"They never cared."
No one ever did,
He would stare blankly at his paper, “No one ever did..”
You're better off alone.
"You're right..."
You're right.
"I'm right." He murmured, wiping his upper lip while looking down at at the skeleton, screaming in pain from whatever was dragging it into the darkness behind it, into the mouth of a sinister skull. It reached out as if for a plea, crying for mercy, for sympathy. Did he draw this?
He popped another pill, letting himself feel heavy... feel like he was sinking. He liked the feeling.. the feeling of disappearing. He didn’t even think about how long he’ll be passed out on the floor.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hello everyone! After I closed up Immaculate Misconceptions on Mibba, I decided to bring it to the MIWFF website mibba made. I had a bunch of feedback and through the process I had mentioned the though of a sequel involving Angelo Parente (since he announced his departure my brain suddenly conducted another story line). I had a couple of people encourage me and I managed to write a prologue to the would be series. After I wrote the first draft, I quickly dropped the idea and left my decision of putting up the series or not unannounced. After revisiting the draft, the story reweaved itself into my brain and I released the edited prologue on MIWFF where I attracted some old readers and some new ones. It's been running for a while but I found myself with some writers block and in some need of more feedback and commentary from other readers. What once was going to be an exclusive MIWFF sequel has now snaked it's way to Mibba in hope for more readers! I look forward to kicking off the sequel on Mibba and hopefully getting out of the block I'm in. As always, thanks for reading! Subscribe, comment, drop a recommendation and I'll be updating soon!