Fic: Atlas (a preview)
Title: Atlas
Author: vinvy
Pairing: undeclared
Rating: PG-13
Beta: defect_no9
Warnings: adult concepts, bad poetry, teen angst out the wazoo
Disclaimer: So fake it makes fakes look legit.
Summary: Mikey Way starts a blog during his freshman year of high school. It is for no one's eyes but his.
A/N: This is just a little preview of a couple of sections I found interesting and hopefully entertaining. It'll be up here until I actually finish the damn story.
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23 September at 9:47 pm Mon: (no title)
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My brother says I walk like Atlas. Like I’m carrying the world on my back. He’s a terminal poet, I swear.
What he really meant was that I have tense shoulders. It’s not my fault I’m tense, really. Someone has to hold the world up when the gods fail and the levees break and the whole of heaven rains down and floods it.
See? I can be a poet, too. Let’s hope I don’t drown.
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11 October 4:43 pm Thurs: The Lost Boys are Playing Follow the Leader
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...
Gerard is good at forgetting but he and I aren’t the same, for all the blood we share. He’s just gonna continue to scrape by in his classes with a perpetual hangover so he doesn’t have to feel lonely. Then he’ll go to college, pull himself together, then get famous drawing. He’s the best at that, especially when he doesn’t pass out in the middle of a picture.
I’m going to... I don’t know what I’m gonna do...
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5 November 5:55 pm Wed: Remember, Remember (Yes, this was Planned)
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My parents are happy. I hate that they’re happy. It’s false, like George Washington’s teeth and I can see the paint chipping from the wood. Who do they think they’re kidding with this? It sure isn’t working on me.
Gerard is back at school. I don’t know what’s going on in his head but his bag is full of the homework he’s getting caught up on so I’m not going to question it.
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15 Nov 2:09 am Sat: The English Homework Was e. e. cummings
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there’s a house party and
no one’s home with anyone
someone was invited
everyone is dancing
there’s a cigarette ash
and bourbon
working their way down
someone’s neck
everyone is dancing
up in the attic no one
nibbles anyone’s
collarbones
raw and tender
everyone is dancing
on the tiled island
soda sticks everyone’s
heels tacky,
back-breaking, slick
someone kills herself slowly
no one suffocates on skin
anyone dies a little death
everyone is dancing