Gerard Is Dead!
A Quest, and Gerard Has Some Fun
There was a pause after Pete mentioned doing “some sort of quest”.
“Whatever do you mean a quest?!” asked Gerard.
“I dunno, exactly, I’m still new at this!” said Pete. “Let me think.”
So Pete sat. And thought. And put his feet on the desk. And thought some more.
“How ‘bout you…” Pete started finally. “How ‘bout you get Patrick to love me!”
“Patrick?” repeated Gerard, confused. “What? Who?”
“The singer in my band!”
“What? I thought YOU were the singer!” moaned Gerard, putting his head in his hands. He feared he’d never get through all this!
Pete grinned. “Yeah…” he said. “Lots of people do.” Pete took a minute to bask in the moment, then cleared his throat and started again. “You get Patrick to tell me he loves me, and I’ll help you out.”
“But he’s still alive, right?”
“Far as I know.”
“No living person can see me!” screamed Gerard, pounding his fists on the desk.
“Woah, woah, calm down there,” Pete said, surprised. “You could try – ” Pete paused for dramatic affect “ – haunting him.”
Gerard sat back, his face breaking into an excited grin. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I would like that quite a lot.”
“Kay then be-gone!” screamed Pete dramatically. “And do not return until you have done what I have asked of you.”
Then Pete sat down, and attempted to swivel his chair around swiftly. Only his chair wasn’t a swivel chair, so he had to bounce up and down, scooting it around until his back was turned to Gerard.
Then Gerard left.
“Where does Patrick live?” Gerard wondered aloud, zig-zagging nimbly around the crowds of people on the downtown sidewalk. Suddenly, Gerard realized he didn’t have to zig-zag. He could just walk right through people. And he did, giggling as he went, strolling right through businessmen, hobos, mothers with whiney little children.
“Who’s in charge now!?” Gerard yelled to the sky, not thinking about how little sense that actually made.
Suddenly Gerard saw something out of the corner of his eye, something pink with blonde hair, that made him scream at the top of his lungs. Until he realized it was only on a TV screen, in the window of a television shop. Pictures of Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus were flashing across the screen, and the newswoman was crying.
“Miley Cyrus, also know as Hannah Montana, burned to death today onstage at one of her concerts, brutally beaten and set on fire by Emo cult band My Chemical Romance singer Gerard Way, who also died, fortunately .”
“What?!” yelled Gerard, crossing his arms and stomping his foot. “SO unfair!”
Gerard felt pretty upset for a while, watching the TV moodily as they switched to a story about a mass murderer who kills people with a fork. Then Gerard realized that he didn’t have a reflection in the glass! And he laughed, and felt much better.
“Whatever do you mean a quest?!” asked Gerard.
“I dunno, exactly, I’m still new at this!” said Pete. “Let me think.”
So Pete sat. And thought. And put his feet on the desk. And thought some more.
“How ‘bout you…” Pete started finally. “How ‘bout you get Patrick to love me!”
“Patrick?” repeated Gerard, confused. “What? Who?”
“The singer in my band!”
“What? I thought YOU were the singer!” moaned Gerard, putting his head in his hands. He feared he’d never get through all this!
Pete grinned. “Yeah…” he said. “Lots of people do.” Pete took a minute to bask in the moment, then cleared his throat and started again. “You get Patrick to tell me he loves me, and I’ll help you out.”
“But he’s still alive, right?”
“Far as I know.”
“No living person can see me!” screamed Gerard, pounding his fists on the desk.
“Woah, woah, calm down there,” Pete said, surprised. “You could try – ” Pete paused for dramatic affect “ – haunting him.”
Gerard sat back, his face breaking into an excited grin. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I would like that quite a lot.”
“Kay then be-gone!” screamed Pete dramatically. “And do not return until you have done what I have asked of you.”
Then Pete sat down, and attempted to swivel his chair around swiftly. Only his chair wasn’t a swivel chair, so he had to bounce up and down, scooting it around until his back was turned to Gerard.
Then Gerard left.
“Where does Patrick live?” Gerard wondered aloud, zig-zagging nimbly around the crowds of people on the downtown sidewalk. Suddenly, Gerard realized he didn’t have to zig-zag. He could just walk right through people. And he did, giggling as he went, strolling right through businessmen, hobos, mothers with whiney little children.
“Who’s in charge now!?” Gerard yelled to the sky, not thinking about how little sense that actually made.
Suddenly Gerard saw something out of the corner of his eye, something pink with blonde hair, that made him scream at the top of his lungs. Until he realized it was only on a TV screen, in the window of a television shop. Pictures of Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus were flashing across the screen, and the newswoman was crying.
“Miley Cyrus, also know as Hannah Montana, burned to death today onstage at one of her concerts, brutally beaten and set on fire by Emo cult band My Chemical Romance singer Gerard Way, who also died, fortunately .”
“What?!” yelled Gerard, crossing his arms and stomping his foot. “SO unfair!”
Gerard felt pretty upset for a while, watching the TV moodily as they switched to a story about a mass murderer who kills people with a fork. Then Gerard realized that he didn’t have a reflection in the glass! And he laughed, and felt much better.