I’m Not Okay #1: Guillotine
Title: Guillotine
Rating: PG-ish for language
Pairing: none!
Notes: I wrote this, like, almost two years ago, I think, and was once proud of it...it probably sucks to some degree. Oh well. This is based on My Chemical Romance's music video for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" [awesome, awesome song, by the way]. And yeah, I'm pretty bad at titles. But anyways, enjoy!
“You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini, and croquet,” Ray said to Gerard, with the air of someone trying to explain the obvious. They were sitting outside, during break, on the stairs to the old risers-bleachers? Who even knew what they were called?; and they’d taken off the ridiculous (if stylish, but that was beside the point) navy blue suit coats they were required to wear, because it was unusually warm today.
Ray continued, although Gerard was just sitting there with one hand up on the railing behind him, looking as though he wasn’t listening to a word (he probably was listening, though; Gerard was good at that), “You can’t swim, you can’t dance, and you don’t know karate.” Ray delivered the final blow, as only a true, brutally honest friend could: “Face it,” he said determinedly, “you’re never gonna make it.”
There was no change in Gerard’s expression, or rather, his lack of one. “I don’t wanna make it,” he said flatly, emotionlessly, apathetically. He stared blankly into space, seeing goodness-knows-what in his mind’s eye. “I just wanna-”
The sound of a shrieking guitar interrupted him. It was the bell, turned into a mini rock concert by pranking seniors; it had been going on all week, too, as the staff attempted futilely to find the culprits, un-hack the system, and confiscate all the random air guitars popping into existence.
Gerard sighed and wearily picked up his coat and books. “Time for class,” he said unenthusiastically, and headed down the stairs and back inside.
Ray sat listening to the guitar riffs for a moment before gathering his own belongings and following Gerard to Art class. I can play better than that, Ray decided, picking up his coat. He made a mental note to do so, to show them all. When he was a senior, though.
He went down the stairs then, wondering to himself what Gerard had meant, what he might have said. “I don’t wanna make it”? Ray thought to himself. “I just wanna-”? Ray shook his head and gave up on it. He would have to ask Gerard later, maybe just before lights out, if Gee hadn’t already forgotten their conversation by then.
Ray snorted as he made his way down the hall. Yeah, that was what would happen. Frank would hide in Gerard’s locker like he did every two weeks, scare the living shit out of Gerard, the way it had happened so many times everyone had lost count, and Gerard would be reduced to thinking solely on the topic of how best to murder Frank without Frank’s mother finding out and killing him, and it would be completely pointless for Ray to ask anything beyond the relevancy of “Well, how the hell are you going to get a guillotine, Gee?”
He did still wonder, though. Ray pushed a bit of frizzy hair out of his face and opened the art room door. Inside, Gerard was already seated at his easel, sketching furiously across the paper as though doing so was his one true purpose in life.
Rating: PG-ish for language
Pairing: none!
Notes: I wrote this, like, almost two years ago, I think, and was once proud of it...it probably sucks to some degree. Oh well. This is based on My Chemical Romance's music video for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" [awesome, awesome song, by the way]. And yeah, I'm pretty bad at titles. But anyways, enjoy!
“You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini, and croquet,” Ray said to Gerard, with the air of someone trying to explain the obvious. They were sitting outside, during break, on the stairs to the old risers-bleachers? Who even knew what they were called?; and they’d taken off the ridiculous (if stylish, but that was beside the point) navy blue suit coats they were required to wear, because it was unusually warm today.
Ray continued, although Gerard was just sitting there with one hand up on the railing behind him, looking as though he wasn’t listening to a word (he probably was listening, though; Gerard was good at that), “You can’t swim, you can’t dance, and you don’t know karate.” Ray delivered the final blow, as only a true, brutally honest friend could: “Face it,” he said determinedly, “you’re never gonna make it.”
There was no change in Gerard’s expression, or rather, his lack of one. “I don’t wanna make it,” he said flatly, emotionlessly, apathetically. He stared blankly into space, seeing goodness-knows-what in his mind’s eye. “I just wanna-”
The sound of a shrieking guitar interrupted him. It was the bell, turned into a mini rock concert by pranking seniors; it had been going on all week, too, as the staff attempted futilely to find the culprits, un-hack the system, and confiscate all the random air guitars popping into existence.
Gerard sighed and wearily picked up his coat and books. “Time for class,” he said unenthusiastically, and headed down the stairs and back inside.
Ray sat listening to the guitar riffs for a moment before gathering his own belongings and following Gerard to Art class. I can play better than that, Ray decided, picking up his coat. He made a mental note to do so, to show them all. When he was a senior, though.
He went down the stairs then, wondering to himself what Gerard had meant, what he might have said. “I don’t wanna make it”? Ray thought to himself. “I just wanna-”? Ray shook his head and gave up on it. He would have to ask Gerard later, maybe just before lights out, if Gee hadn’t already forgotten their conversation by then.
Ray snorted as he made his way down the hall. Yeah, that was what would happen. Frank would hide in Gerard’s locker like he did every two weeks, scare the living shit out of Gerard, the way it had happened so many times everyone had lost count, and Gerard would be reduced to thinking solely on the topic of how best to murder Frank without Frank’s mother finding out and killing him, and it would be completely pointless for Ray to ask anything beyond the relevancy of “Well, how the hell are you going to get a guillotine, Gee?”
He did still wonder, though. Ray pushed a bit of frizzy hair out of his face and opened the art room door. Inside, Gerard was already seated at his easel, sketching furiously across the paper as though doing so was his one true purpose in life.