Post by xToTheENDx on Mar 12, 2008 16:15:51 GMT -5
There's something cold and blank behind his smile
The icy wind whipped against the small figure of the teenage boy as he made his way down the long, lonely sidewalk on his way to school. His black, old converse shoes scuffed against the cement, scattering small rocks and dirt clods that littered the sidewalk. He stared at his shoes as he walked, a small book bag slung over his shoulder. He wore only a black Misfits hoodie, black jeans, and some black gloves with the fingers cut off. It wasn’t doing much to block out the cold, but he didn’t care. The weather couldn’t rival the coldness he felt inside.
He heard familiar voices talking ahead of him; he didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
“Hey, here comes the f*ggot.”
Not today…please, just for once… He pleaded inside of his head, keeping his gaze fixated on his shoes as he hoped the bullies would just let him pass in peace.
His wish was denied, though, when he felt two pairs of hands grab his arms.
His mouth was an empty cut
And he was waiting to fall
The boy ignored the stares he got as he walked down the school hallways, a bruise marking his right eye and a busted lip still bleeding and dripping down his chin. He made his way to the bathroom, a routine for him, and began to clean away the blood. After years of dealing with bullies, he had learned to not fight back. They would eventually get bored of beating a sack of flesh and leave him alone, possibly with less damage than he would have if he did indeed fight back.
He stared at his face in the mirror, glaring at the purple bruises that marred his face.
Maybe if you didn’t look like such an emo f*g, they’d leave you alone. So f**king ugly, disgusting, a pathetic excuse for a human being. Frank turned his gaze down to his arms, rolling up the sleeves and glaring down at the red, angry scars that ran up and down the white skin.
The shrill ringing of the bell broke him from his thoughts, signaling that he was now late for 1st period.
“Sh*t.” He sighed, rolling down his sleeves and gathering up his ripped book bag, heading out of the bathroom.
__
He stopped outside the door to his 1st period class, a pass clutched in one hand. It was Chemistry, a hard and equally boring class that he was, coincidentally, failing.
Sighing, he twisted the doorknob and entered the classroom.
Immediately he was bombarded with taunting stares and accusatory whispers from his classmates, but he ignored them. He was used to their hatred. He was a freak, it was something you had to get used to.
“Late again, Iero?” The teacher frowned at him. He didn’t respond, only handing the teacher the late slip and heading toward an empty desk in the back of the room. As he took his seat, the teacher continued his lesson, none of which Frank paid any attention to.
But all the drugs in this world
Won't save him from himself
By the time school ended, everything was covered in a thin blanket of snow. Frank sighed, guessing it must’ve snowed the entire time he was in class, and zipped up his hoodie. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he began to take the same route home.
His shoes crunched into the snowy sidewalk, eyes once more staring at the ground. He prayed that the jocks didn’t decide they hadn’t had enough earlier and came back to give him another beating.
His prayers were answered as he finally made it home, unscathed.
He cringed when he was greeted by his drunken father’s yells when he entered the house.
“What the f*ck happened to you? Let me guess, you got beat up again. Wouldn’t doubt it, since you’re such a f*cking pansy. A good for nothing f*g. I can’t believe I have a f*ggot for a son. You don’t deserve to be alive.” His father rambled, but it hardly hurt Frank anymore. He was used to it, ignoring his dad and heading up the stairs toward his room.
“Yeah, walk away like the pansy you are. It’s because of you that your homo friend died. Because God hates f*gs—”
“Shut the f*ck up!” Frank yelled, hands balling up into fists. “Don’t you dare talk about Gerard that way.” His voice was surprisingly threatening, eyes filled with venom as he glared daggers at his drunken father. It was enough to shut him up until Frank could make it into his room and slam the door.
Once alone, he threw his book bag at the wall and slumped to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and cried silently.
You were from a perfect world
A world that threw me away today
The deep, freezing water rushed underneath the bridge, crashing against and flowing over the large rocks that managed to peek up from the bottom of the river. Frank stared down at it, mesmerized.
It was here that the only person he’d ever cared for, the only person he’d ever befriended, was killed. A fatal collision with a drunk driver had forced Gerard’s car through the steel guard rails and into the river.
Even after 6 months, Frank could still see the flashing lights of the ambulance and rescue team, the vivid picture of the steel railing of the bridge broken and the car upside down in the rushing water. He ran his gloved hand over the now-fixed railing, his breath catching in his throat and the tears falling down his face. He was powerless to stop them.
Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself up onto the railing, taking a second to get his balance. He stood up straight on the edge, looking down at the rushing waters and then up to the sky. He took another deep breath, savoring the icy air that chilled his lungs, and exhaling. The clouds were just as gloomy and grey as always, snow falling and landing on his face as he stared up at the heavens.
He spread his arms, a genuinely happy smile gracing his face...
...and leaped off the bridge.
--------------------------
The suicide of a boy in my town has been haunting my conscious for a while. It's a kick in the face, courtesy of our good friend Reality.
Suicide is a very serious thing, something even I have considered in the past. A person you pass in the hallways at school may be suffering, and you will never know. Their names will grace the Obituaries the next day, and you will sigh and shake your head, thinking "What could make you do something like that?"
Watch who you point and laugh at, beat up, and make fun of. You may never see them again.
Lyrics (C) Marilyn Manson's Coma White.
Dedicated to Luke Byers
November 4, 1993 - February 13, 2008
-
Comments?
The icy wind whipped against the small figure of the teenage boy as he made his way down the long, lonely sidewalk on his way to school. His black, old converse shoes scuffed against the cement, scattering small rocks and dirt clods that littered the sidewalk. He stared at his shoes as he walked, a small book bag slung over his shoulder. He wore only a black Misfits hoodie, black jeans, and some black gloves with the fingers cut off. It wasn’t doing much to block out the cold, but he didn’t care. The weather couldn’t rival the coldness he felt inside.
He heard familiar voices talking ahead of him; he didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
“Hey, here comes the f*ggot.”
Not today…please, just for once… He pleaded inside of his head, keeping his gaze fixated on his shoes as he hoped the bullies would just let him pass in peace.
His wish was denied, though, when he felt two pairs of hands grab his arms.
His mouth was an empty cut
And he was waiting to fall
The boy ignored the stares he got as he walked down the school hallways, a bruise marking his right eye and a busted lip still bleeding and dripping down his chin. He made his way to the bathroom, a routine for him, and began to clean away the blood. After years of dealing with bullies, he had learned to not fight back. They would eventually get bored of beating a sack of flesh and leave him alone, possibly with less damage than he would have if he did indeed fight back.
He stared at his face in the mirror, glaring at the purple bruises that marred his face.
Maybe if you didn’t look like such an emo f*g, they’d leave you alone. So f**king ugly, disgusting, a pathetic excuse for a human being. Frank turned his gaze down to his arms, rolling up the sleeves and glaring down at the red, angry scars that ran up and down the white skin.
The shrill ringing of the bell broke him from his thoughts, signaling that he was now late for 1st period.
“Sh*t.” He sighed, rolling down his sleeves and gathering up his ripped book bag, heading out of the bathroom.
__
He stopped outside the door to his 1st period class, a pass clutched in one hand. It was Chemistry, a hard and equally boring class that he was, coincidentally, failing.
Sighing, he twisted the doorknob and entered the classroom.
Immediately he was bombarded with taunting stares and accusatory whispers from his classmates, but he ignored them. He was used to their hatred. He was a freak, it was something you had to get used to.
“Late again, Iero?” The teacher frowned at him. He didn’t respond, only handing the teacher the late slip and heading toward an empty desk in the back of the room. As he took his seat, the teacher continued his lesson, none of which Frank paid any attention to.
But all the drugs in this world
Won't save him from himself
By the time school ended, everything was covered in a thin blanket of snow. Frank sighed, guessing it must’ve snowed the entire time he was in class, and zipped up his hoodie. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he began to take the same route home.
His shoes crunched into the snowy sidewalk, eyes once more staring at the ground. He prayed that the jocks didn’t decide they hadn’t had enough earlier and came back to give him another beating.
His prayers were answered as he finally made it home, unscathed.
He cringed when he was greeted by his drunken father’s yells when he entered the house.
“What the f*ck happened to you? Let me guess, you got beat up again. Wouldn’t doubt it, since you’re such a f*cking pansy. A good for nothing f*g. I can’t believe I have a f*ggot for a son. You don’t deserve to be alive.” His father rambled, but it hardly hurt Frank anymore. He was used to it, ignoring his dad and heading up the stairs toward his room.
“Yeah, walk away like the pansy you are. It’s because of you that your homo friend died. Because God hates f*gs—”
“Shut the f*ck up!” Frank yelled, hands balling up into fists. “Don’t you dare talk about Gerard that way.” His voice was surprisingly threatening, eyes filled with venom as he glared daggers at his drunken father. It was enough to shut him up until Frank could make it into his room and slam the door.
Once alone, he threw his book bag at the wall and slumped to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and cried silently.
You were from a perfect world
A world that threw me away today
The deep, freezing water rushed underneath the bridge, crashing against and flowing over the large rocks that managed to peek up from the bottom of the river. Frank stared down at it, mesmerized.
It was here that the only person he’d ever cared for, the only person he’d ever befriended, was killed. A fatal collision with a drunk driver had forced Gerard’s car through the steel guard rails and into the river.
Even after 6 months, Frank could still see the flashing lights of the ambulance and rescue team, the vivid picture of the steel railing of the bridge broken and the car upside down in the rushing water. He ran his gloved hand over the now-fixed railing, his breath catching in his throat and the tears falling down his face. He was powerless to stop them.
Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself up onto the railing, taking a second to get his balance. He stood up straight on the edge, looking down at the rushing waters and then up to the sky. He took another deep breath, savoring the icy air that chilled his lungs, and exhaling. The clouds were just as gloomy and grey as always, snow falling and landing on his face as he stared up at the heavens.
He spread his arms, a genuinely happy smile gracing his face...
...and leaped off the bridge.
--------------------------
The suicide of a boy in my town has been haunting my conscious for a while. It's a kick in the face, courtesy of our good friend Reality.
Suicide is a very serious thing, something even I have considered in the past. A person you pass in the hallways at school may be suffering, and you will never know. Their names will grace the Obituaries the next day, and you will sigh and shake your head, thinking "What could make you do something like that?"
Watch who you point and laugh at, beat up, and make fun of. You may never see them again.
Lyrics (C) Marilyn Manson's Coma White.
Dedicated to Luke Byers
November 4, 1993 - February 13, 2008
-
Comments?