(no subject)
Title: Bang Bang., Guns Go Bang
Author: Take a wild guess.
Paring: not really any...kinda mikey/gee
Rating: R
Summary: I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, or how, but I will not fail to kill myself.
I’ve decided now, that there is nothing worth living for. I’m leaving the earth forever. I don’t want to be here. There is no one who cares, or at least that is how it seems. My own brother seems more preoccupied with fame than his own brother. The whole band does.
I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, or how, but I will not fail to kill myself. No matter what, I will do it. Gerard can beg and plead with me through the door, but in the end, he will hear the resounding sound of death.
My so-called friends won’t even notice that I’m gone. Unless someone tells them, they’ll notice, pretend to care, and then shrug it off. Oh how I wonder what the sound of a bullet going into my head would be like. Or what streams of blood pouring down my wrists would look like. Or what it feels like to hear the sounds of people crying as I fade from consciousness in a bathtub.
So many methods, only so many ways I can die. I could get myself hit by a car. Or maybe I should electrocute myself in the bathtub. Or, I could go classic, and slit my wrists in the bedroom. And then there’s the old overdose. I could always drown myself too.
My mind is swimming with ideas and thoughts of suicide. Thoughts of reactions and emotions. What will they say? What will the do? I am disrupted form my oh-so happy thoughts by a ringing phone.
“Hello?” I answer, irked that I was interrupted.
“Mikey, It’s me.” My brother’s voice came from the other end of the phone.
“Do you need something, Gee?” I ask, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Yeah, are you going to show for the photo shoot later?”
“Have I ever missed one?” I asked, laughing, putting on the show I do every day, and I’m so popular and loved by everyone. I’m so happy. I’m so funny. That’s how I act but that is a far cry from how I feel.
“No, but you can’t blame me for asking.”
“No, I guess I can’t. You’ve always been the kind of person to check up on everything.”
Crap. He check up on everything. Knowing my brother, even if he means well, he’ll call right when I’m about to go.
“Alright,. I just wanted to make sure you were coming.”
“Ok.” I said, still putting on the happy cat, laughing and trying to sound as though I understood completely and didn’t mind his call.
“Bye, Mikes.” He said, hanging up.
Good. Now I can go back to thinking. Where was I? Oh, right. Reactions, and emotions. Nobody will show actual emotion, it’s all a show, and they don’t actually care about the stupid little bass player. To them, I am Gerard’s little brother, the kid with asthma and glasses. Nothing more.
Just like the good little brother I’m supposed to be, I showed up at the shoot, on time and ready to let some prick in a vest with a ponytail take my picture for 5 hours. Being dressed, and put in make-up is not as fun as those who dream of it may think. Sweating like a pig, with tons of make-up on your face to make you look better than you do is not fun. So, I stood there, the whole time, letting the prick with the vest and ponytail take my picture. 5 hours, with no food, no breaks, just a bottle of water, and 4 guys who could care less.
I’ve decided the time is right, and the shit hit’s the fan tonight. I’m going to buy a gun, have a drink of my good ol’ friend vodka, and then it’s all going kabang. When considering and executing dangerous actions like this, it takes many hours of careful planning, or, if you’re the spontaneous type, you just break down and pull the trigger,
Once I arrive at the local hunting and fishing supply store, I casually browse in the section of handguns. but won’t this be expensive?. No worries, I’m in a band, I have tons of money! As I browse, I see a shiny silver gun, small in size, but advertised to be much more powerful than the gun next to it. I quickly flag down an employee.
“Sir, could you possibly take this fine pistol up to the register and ring it up?” I ask, a sty grin on my face, as I point to the pistol.
“Of course.” He says, pulling it out of the case. He carried it up to the register and scanned the tag. “Driver’s license, please.” He said, holding his hand out for my license. He scans it when I hand it to him and he hands it back. “I’m going to need some information sir.” He says, bluntly. He is obviously as entertained as my brother is watching the O.C.
“Ok.” I said, just as bluntly as he, although, at the moment, how could I be sad when I am only hours away from my death?
“First of all, I’m going to need your name.” He said, taking out a pen and pad of paper. This an seriously looks like a drone, like he and the rest of the people in the store, didn’t really want to be here.
“Mikey Way.” I said, mocking his tone again.
“Date of birth.”
“September 11, 1980.” Again, I mocked him. This man was so clueless, he probably thinks I’m just buying this for protection. but the mindless drone behind the counter had no idea what will take place later. I wonder if he tries to read people, to figure out what they’re going to do with the gun they’re purchasing.
“Place of residence also.” His tone is getting more and more drone like as he goes on, having taken note of my name and birthday, now waiting for my address.
“Flying duck apartments, number 5B. Newark, New Jersey, 34569” I now sound exactly like him. He takes down the address and looks up.
“Would you like to purchase a safety lock with your firearm?”
Safety lock? I’m only using the damn thing once! I shake my head no.
“Alright.” He says, placing the gun in a case and handing it to me. “here is your firearm” the drone hands me the bag, and starts to walk off….
Bullets. I need bullets.
“Sir!” I say, following him, he turns to face me “I’m going to need bullets.”
“Right,” He says, going behind the counter and pulling up a box and ringing them up on the register, still drone like. He mumbled a price for the small box and waited for me to pay him.
Once I handed him the money, he placed the bullets in another bag and handed it to me.
“Have a nice day, sir.”
I waved behind me and walked out. On my way home, I received another call from Gerard.
“Hello?” I answered, excitedly.
“Hey Mikey, what’re you doing later?” he asks curiously.
“I kinda have plans already, why?”
“Oh, well, the guys and I were gonna go to the bar, I just wanted to see if you wanted to go along.”
“Not really, sorry Gee.” I said trying to act like I felt sorry about not being able to go.
“Alright,” He said, “See you around then.” He finished, hanging up.
I hung up my phone, and got out of the car, walking into the liquor store to purchase the final thing I would need to make me a happy person. I purchased my trust y bottle of vodka, and left the store. The least I can say about the people there: they were a lot less drone-like then the last ones.
Driving back home, I continued to think about what life would be like for the people in my life, without me. I know they won’t really care that much, so I don’t know why I’m so preoccupied with thinking about tit. I don’t have a family of my own, just my parents and brother. I don’t have a boyfriend or anyting, so I don’t have to worry about truly hurting anyone except Gerard. He’s my brother, and my best friend…and the only person I care about more than anything
Gerard is the only person I know that at the moment that regards me as more than a pale white figure with glasses and asthma. He actually does care, sometimes. He actually does talk to me, but only when he needs something. There’s the rare occasion that the others talk to me. Gerard’s friends don’t like me much, but they voted me into their band anyway, because I’m Gerard’s little brother.
Once I’m back home, I crack open the bottle of vodka. I’m trying to figure out where I want to die, where will have the most shock value on the people that ignore me everyday. What should I write? There has to be some sort of note, atleast for Gee. The only person I really care about.
I pull out a pad of paper, I have to do this before I’m totally smashed. I start writing.
Gerard,
You are probably wondering why I have chosen to take my life. It’s simple really: no one cares about me. I don’t want you to be mad or upset with me. I have no will to live, and I’m sure you don’t want a corpse for a brother. Or do you?
You’re my best friend, and my brother. I’m not sorry I’m doing this. I am sorry , however, that everyone chooses to ignore me. Your friends have never seemed to like me. Especially Frankie, he really seems to hate me. What did I do wrong? What did I do to make you all ignore me? Why don’t you care about me? Why doesn’t anyone care?
Don’t worry about the pain I’ll feel, because there won’t be any. I won’t even be sober enough to notice that I pulled the trigger. I’ll be so smashed I won’t even remember why I pulled it. I’m not that far along yet, but I will be. I bet the whole bottle will be gone before I pull the trigger.
Mikey
P.S. I remembered another reason I’m doing this, I love you.
I put the letter on my kitchen table, the first visible thing when you walk into my apartment. Once that’s in place, I go into my bedroom and sit down at the desk. I ’m sitting looking through old pictures of times when I think I was happy. The bottle of vodka is half gone. I’m getting to the point where the only thing I will remember for sure is that I need to pull the tirgger.
All these pictures I’ve gone through, all the memories I’ve recaled, they’re all a blur it’s time to pull the trigger, the vodka’s gone. I’m numb, and ready to go. I pull the gun out of the bag, It’s sliver metal feels slick in my hand. Along with it I pull out the bullets, taking one, and loading it into the gun. I place the gun on my desk and go into the bathroom, throwing the rest of them away, there’s no need to keep them.
Back at my desk, the silver gun is calling me. It’s calling me over, psyching me up for death. I’m ready. I sit back down, the gun taking its place in my hand. It’s surface is smooth and cold, beckoning me to pull the trigger. I cock the gun, and place it on my temple. Guns go bang, and that’s just what this one is going to do.
Just as I start to apply pressure, I hear a voice.
“Mikey, No!” Gerard ran in, and the trigger was pulled.
_________________________
ok, just so you guys know, i made a few changes to make this acceptable. the P.S. in the letter, and mikey saying boyfriend instead of girlfriend, and and the only person I care about more than anything
i added that too.
Author: Take a wild guess.
Paring: not really any...kinda mikey/gee
Rating: R
Summary: I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, or how, but I will not fail to kill myself.
I’ve decided now, that there is nothing worth living for. I’m leaving the earth forever. I don’t want to be here. There is no one who cares, or at least that is how it seems. My own brother seems more preoccupied with fame than his own brother. The whole band does.
I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, or how, but I will not fail to kill myself. No matter what, I will do it. Gerard can beg and plead with me through the door, but in the end, he will hear the resounding sound of death.
My so-called friends won’t even notice that I’m gone. Unless someone tells them, they’ll notice, pretend to care, and then shrug it off. Oh how I wonder what the sound of a bullet going into my head would be like. Or what streams of blood pouring down my wrists would look like. Or what it feels like to hear the sounds of people crying as I fade from consciousness in a bathtub.
So many methods, only so many ways I can die. I could get myself hit by a car. Or maybe I should electrocute myself in the bathtub. Or, I could go classic, and slit my wrists in the bedroom. And then there’s the old overdose. I could always drown myself too.
My mind is swimming with ideas and thoughts of suicide. Thoughts of reactions and emotions. What will they say? What will the do? I am disrupted form my oh-so happy thoughts by a ringing phone.
“Hello?” I answer, irked that I was interrupted.
“Mikey, It’s me.” My brother’s voice came from the other end of the phone.
“Do you need something, Gee?” I ask, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Yeah, are you going to show for the photo shoot later?”
“Have I ever missed one?” I asked, laughing, putting on the show I do every day, and I’m so popular and loved by everyone. I’m so happy. I’m so funny. That’s how I act but that is a far cry from how I feel.
“No, but you can’t blame me for asking.”
“No, I guess I can’t. You’ve always been the kind of person to check up on everything.”
Crap. He check up on everything. Knowing my brother, even if he means well, he’ll call right when I’m about to go.
“Alright,. I just wanted to make sure you were coming.”
“Ok.” I said, still putting on the happy cat, laughing and trying to sound as though I understood completely and didn’t mind his call.
“Bye, Mikes.” He said, hanging up.
Good. Now I can go back to thinking. Where was I? Oh, right. Reactions, and emotions. Nobody will show actual emotion, it’s all a show, and they don’t actually care about the stupid little bass player. To them, I am Gerard’s little brother, the kid with asthma and glasses. Nothing more.
Just like the good little brother I’m supposed to be, I showed up at the shoot, on time and ready to let some prick in a vest with a ponytail take my picture for 5 hours. Being dressed, and put in make-up is not as fun as those who dream of it may think. Sweating like a pig, with tons of make-up on your face to make you look better than you do is not fun. So, I stood there, the whole time, letting the prick with the vest and ponytail take my picture. 5 hours, with no food, no breaks, just a bottle of water, and 4 guys who could care less.
I’ve decided the time is right, and the shit hit’s the fan tonight. I’m going to buy a gun, have a drink of my good ol’ friend vodka, and then it’s all going kabang. When considering and executing dangerous actions like this, it takes many hours of careful planning, or, if you’re the spontaneous type, you just break down and pull the trigger,
Once I arrive at the local hunting and fishing supply store, I casually browse in the section of handguns. but won’t this be expensive?. No worries, I’m in a band, I have tons of money! As I browse, I see a shiny silver gun, small in size, but advertised to be much more powerful than the gun next to it. I quickly flag down an employee.
“Sir, could you possibly take this fine pistol up to the register and ring it up?” I ask, a sty grin on my face, as I point to the pistol.
“Of course.” He says, pulling it out of the case. He carried it up to the register and scanned the tag. “Driver’s license, please.” He said, holding his hand out for my license. He scans it when I hand it to him and he hands it back. “I’m going to need some information sir.” He says, bluntly. He is obviously as entertained as my brother is watching the O.C.
“Ok.” I said, just as bluntly as he, although, at the moment, how could I be sad when I am only hours away from my death?
“First of all, I’m going to need your name.” He said, taking out a pen and pad of paper. This an seriously looks like a drone, like he and the rest of the people in the store, didn’t really want to be here.
“Mikey Way.” I said, mocking his tone again.
“Date of birth.”
“September 11, 1980.” Again, I mocked him. This man was so clueless, he probably thinks I’m just buying this for protection. but the mindless drone behind the counter had no idea what will take place later. I wonder if he tries to read people, to figure out what they’re going to do with the gun they’re purchasing.
“Place of residence also.” His tone is getting more and more drone like as he goes on, having taken note of my name and birthday, now waiting for my address.
“Flying duck apartments, number 5B. Newark, New Jersey, 34569” I now sound exactly like him. He takes down the address and looks up.
“Would you like to purchase a safety lock with your firearm?”
Safety lock? I’m only using the damn thing once! I shake my head no.
“Alright.” He says, placing the gun in a case and handing it to me. “here is your firearm” the drone hands me the bag, and starts to walk off….
Bullets. I need bullets.
“Sir!” I say, following him, he turns to face me “I’m going to need bullets.”
“Right,” He says, going behind the counter and pulling up a box and ringing them up on the register, still drone like. He mumbled a price for the small box and waited for me to pay him.
Once I handed him the money, he placed the bullets in another bag and handed it to me.
“Have a nice day, sir.”
I waved behind me and walked out. On my way home, I received another call from Gerard.
“Hello?” I answered, excitedly.
“Hey Mikey, what’re you doing later?” he asks curiously.
“I kinda have plans already, why?”
“Oh, well, the guys and I were gonna go to the bar, I just wanted to see if you wanted to go along.”
“Not really, sorry Gee.” I said trying to act like I felt sorry about not being able to go.
“Alright,” He said, “See you around then.” He finished, hanging up.
I hung up my phone, and got out of the car, walking into the liquor store to purchase the final thing I would need to make me a happy person. I purchased my trust y bottle of vodka, and left the store. The least I can say about the people there: they were a lot less drone-like then the last ones.
Driving back home, I continued to think about what life would be like for the people in my life, without me. I know they won’t really care that much, so I don’t know why I’m so preoccupied with thinking about tit. I don’t have a family of my own, just my parents and brother. I don’t have a boyfriend or anyting, so I don’t have to worry about truly hurting anyone except Gerard. He’s my brother, and my best friend…and the only person I care about more than anything
Gerard is the only person I know that at the moment that regards me as more than a pale white figure with glasses and asthma. He actually does care, sometimes. He actually does talk to me, but only when he needs something. There’s the rare occasion that the others talk to me. Gerard’s friends don’t like me much, but they voted me into their band anyway, because I’m Gerard’s little brother.
Once I’m back home, I crack open the bottle of vodka. I’m trying to figure out where I want to die, where will have the most shock value on the people that ignore me everyday. What should I write? There has to be some sort of note, atleast for Gee. The only person I really care about.
I pull out a pad of paper, I have to do this before I’m totally smashed. I start writing.
Gerard,
You are probably wondering why I have chosen to take my life. It’s simple really: no one cares about me. I don’t want you to be mad or upset with me. I have no will to live, and I’m sure you don’t want a corpse for a brother. Or do you?
You’re my best friend, and my brother. I’m not sorry I’m doing this. I am sorry , however, that everyone chooses to ignore me. Your friends have never seemed to like me. Especially Frankie, he really seems to hate me. What did I do wrong? What did I do to make you all ignore me? Why don’t you care about me? Why doesn’t anyone care?
Don’t worry about the pain I’ll feel, because there won’t be any. I won’t even be sober enough to notice that I pulled the trigger. I’ll be so smashed I won’t even remember why I pulled it. I’m not that far along yet, but I will be. I bet the whole bottle will be gone before I pull the trigger.
Mikey
P.S. I remembered another reason I’m doing this, I love you.
I put the letter on my kitchen table, the first visible thing when you walk into my apartment. Once that’s in place, I go into my bedroom and sit down at the desk. I ’m sitting looking through old pictures of times when I think I was happy. The bottle of vodka is half gone. I’m getting to the point where the only thing I will remember for sure is that I need to pull the tirgger.
All these pictures I’ve gone through, all the memories I’ve recaled, they’re all a blur it’s time to pull the trigger, the vodka’s gone. I’m numb, and ready to go. I pull the gun out of the bag, It’s sliver metal feels slick in my hand. Along with it I pull out the bullets, taking one, and loading it into the gun. I place the gun on my desk and go into the bathroom, throwing the rest of them away, there’s no need to keep them.
Back at my desk, the silver gun is calling me. It’s calling me over, psyching me up for death. I’m ready. I sit back down, the gun taking its place in my hand. It’s surface is smooth and cold, beckoning me to pull the trigger. I cock the gun, and place it on my temple. Guns go bang, and that’s just what this one is going to do.
Just as I start to apply pressure, I hear a voice.
“Mikey, No!” Gerard ran in, and the trigger was pulled.
_________________________
ok, just so you guys know, i made a few changes to make this acceptable. the P.S. in the letter, and mikey saying boyfriend instead of girlfriend, and and the only person I care about more than anything
i added that too.