Words Mean Nothing.

The bathroom was dark and musty smelling, probably due to the lack of inhabitance it had, had since the incident. Frank's dull eyes scanned the room searching for his most prized procession, coming to rest on the little spot where the clean toilet water was kept, behind the bowl. He carefully removed the small tissue box off the top and a candle, and lifted the bulky porcelain lid. Inside, floating in the clean water amongst all the pipes was a tupperware container Frank had stolen from his kitchen about a year ago. He crossed the room to the linen closet and dried the tupperware container off along with his hands.

Inside this box was all that mattered to Frank in his entire world. The sad thought of a boy finding this much relief and comfort in something so sinister is a damn shame. He opened the box and stared at the array of tiny metal objects. Box cutters and razor blades torn out of disposable razors littered the bottom of the box, and sprawling across the top was the creme de la creme of all his sinister possessions from the hidden spot behind the toilet: a black and gold hunting knife given as a gift to him from his mother.

Frank had always intended to use this knife for something special, and he up until that moment had no idea what he would ever do with it. It wasn't anything like his over-sized pocket knife like knife he carried in his school bag after he'd lost too many razors amongst it's educational contents. This knife had a blade that was at least the size of his hand, with gold encircling the blade in a sort of elegant effect. Frank had always imagined it was a prince's battle knife when he was little, allowing his childlike mind to wander in his imagination. Scrawled across the handle of the we're the beautiful Italian words: "Finchè c'è vita c'è speranza".

Frank had never come to know what the words meant, every time he'd ask his mother she'd just tell him that'd he learn the meaning in due time, and that he'd embrace it, someday. After his mother died, he lost all reason to figure out what the quote meant. Why bother worrying about the words of a dead woman, who never bothered to say goodbye.

Tears were weaving their spidery way down Frank's pale cheeks for the umpteenth time as he sat against the wall holding the knife in his hands. He watched mesmerized as his tears fell onto the knife in pleading little puddles.

What did he truly have to live for anymore? His mother died too young for him to have ever truly remember her. All he could remember were her kind words, and her beautiful songs he'd be put to sleep with every night. His father although, a drunk never said anything to harm Frank, but, the obvious distaste in his sexuality and life in general seemed to ora about him whenever he'd had at least three drinks. His father was the typical father that every kid would have wanted, especially when he was young. Taking Frank to baseball games, and teaching him to play guitar on those long summer nights with his overly Italian Grandfather.

In retrospect Frank's life wasn't bad at all until his parents died. He'd had a few friends here and there and always seemed to be the happy go-lucky kid on the block. Loosing someone dear to your heart can change even the strongest person and that's when Frank began to spiral downward. That's when all his real problems began to start, he's sure of it.

The in Frank's mind the knife's glint was more beautiful than anything Frank had ever really thought about in his lifetime. He longed for it's elegant blade to cause him relief to hid body ever since he started his taboo game. Ending himself with the knife just seemed….right.

He placed the knife over his left wrist smiling at the sensation of the cool metal upon his warm skin. The relief and amount of dignity he was going to get from this moment was the only thing that made his tears stop falling. This was it. This was when the pain would finally stop, and he would finally get to see his family again. Forget about Gerard, Forget about Mikey, Forget about all the homophobic kids at his school; this was it, this was finally it.

The slam that came next was undeniably the loudest noise Frank had ever came into contact with in his entire life. The noise had caused Frank to accidentally stab the knife into the silky soft flesh of his upper forearm. Not expecting the pain Frank exclaimed dropping the bloody knife onto the floor.

The next sound was even more terrifying than the first. Frank scrambled to cover up his arm with the blue bathroom towel before the bathroom door swung all the way open. There standing in all his over exuberant glory was his cherry headed enemy.