Give 'Em Hell, Kid
Welcome to the Black Parade
We had just gotten to that horrible alleyway. I stood there, clutching Damian in my arms. He was looking around wildly. We saw the gun Ray was holding. He fired it, straight at her head. I screamed
“No!”, but there was nothing I could do. He had already pulled the trigger. The bullet went right inside, very cleanly. There was nothing but a small, bloody hole right above her neck. Gerard tried to tackle him, hoping that in some miraculous way she had survived, but Ray had already fired the gun a second time, the bullet landing dead center in the back of her head. I stood there watching as Damian cried and screamed from the loud bang of the .45 as well as my own sobbing. I placed him on the ground, just behind the wall of the building and ran to Skylar. She had fallen on top of her latest victim, head first into the pavement. I held her in my arms for a final time, wishing her lungs were still working, her eyes were still open, and her heart was still beating. From the range she was shot at, she died instantly. I had no chance to save her again. Ray gave her no chance to live. When he noticed we were there, he broke down crying.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I had to do it! She was a murderer!” He cried, curling up into a ball. He didn’t play any music for months after that, and in fact, barely ate anything. We had made an entire new album about her. It revolved around her death, and how we believed that when she died, she was reliving one of the happiest moments in her life. She loved the color black, and was quite fond of parades, therefore, we named it The Black Parade. I couldn’t sleep at all while we were recording it, from both shock and fear of what would happen if Ray found out about the rest of us. Much of the time, I would sleep next to Gerard, hoping he would somehow keep me safe. That’s what big brothers are for, right? I was soon diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, which I had developed from my mind spinning out of control with feelings of love, hate, loss, and emptiness. Gerard wrote a song for me. Now, whenever I feel as if I can’t carry on, I always remember his quote. “I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone”. Though we have almost forgiven Ray, he hasn’t forgiven himself. I doubt he ever will, at this rate. He spends every moment he can with my son, I believe he thinks he can make up for ridding the world of his mother. Maybe he can, perhaps he cannot. As long as my boy is happy, I’m fine with anything. Damian is my life now, but there is still everything in the world that I wish I could change. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m taking Damian out to see what his father and uncles do for a living, and I’m not talking about playing music.
“No!”, but there was nothing I could do. He had already pulled the trigger. The bullet went right inside, very cleanly. There was nothing but a small, bloody hole right above her neck. Gerard tried to tackle him, hoping that in some miraculous way she had survived, but Ray had already fired the gun a second time, the bullet landing dead center in the back of her head. I stood there watching as Damian cried and screamed from the loud bang of the .45 as well as my own sobbing. I placed him on the ground, just behind the wall of the building and ran to Skylar. She had fallen on top of her latest victim, head first into the pavement. I held her in my arms for a final time, wishing her lungs were still working, her eyes were still open, and her heart was still beating. From the range she was shot at, she died instantly. I had no chance to save her again. Ray gave her no chance to live. When he noticed we were there, he broke down crying.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I had to do it! She was a murderer!” He cried, curling up into a ball. He didn’t play any music for months after that, and in fact, barely ate anything. We had made an entire new album about her. It revolved around her death, and how we believed that when she died, she was reliving one of the happiest moments in her life. She loved the color black, and was quite fond of parades, therefore, we named it The Black Parade. I couldn’t sleep at all while we were recording it, from both shock and fear of what would happen if Ray found out about the rest of us. Much of the time, I would sleep next to Gerard, hoping he would somehow keep me safe. That’s what big brothers are for, right? I was soon diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, which I had developed from my mind spinning out of control with feelings of love, hate, loss, and emptiness. Gerard wrote a song for me. Now, whenever I feel as if I can’t carry on, I always remember his quote. “I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone”. Though we have almost forgiven Ray, he hasn’t forgiven himself. I doubt he ever will, at this rate. He spends every moment he can with my son, I believe he thinks he can make up for ridding the world of his mother. Maybe he can, perhaps he cannot. As long as my boy is happy, I’m fine with anything. Damian is my life now, but there is still everything in the world that I wish I could change. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m taking Damian out to see what his father and uncles do for a living, and I’m not talking about playing music.
11/3/13