The Screaming Hope
that's when you will have to rebuild yourself, to make a brand new start,
Gerard’s POV
From there, from this incident, from this outcome, from this turning point of my life: nothing, NOTHING will ever be as it used to be, even if I was already messed up.
It’s not just something I can get over it and forget, like a family member’s death for example – even though every death is regrettable.
But this, this… Is overtaking me.
I’m mentally, physically scarred, and this, this… beyond forever!
I can’t measure the weight of the culpability, and the sadness, and the angriness, and the confusion, and the…
Whatever, I can’t count all the emotions that are stabbing my chest!
With a bit of distance, I figure out the hugeness of what happened: it is so big, and I’m so small.
Maybe I can sum everything up, to really figure out the size of all of this shit, to know what to do.
Because honestly, I’m bathing in a giant ocean of emotions, numbing all my neurons.
So yes, maybe I can sum up.
That would be the first thing that me, Gerard Arthur Way, would do after all of this mishap.
After I calculate the crevice’s depth – namely 300 meters – I’m getting a conclusion.
Frank Iero, my stalker – and maybe… lover…, but I won’t admit it – is definitely dead.
There is something I can admit though: I was beginning to enjoy my stay here, with him.
Just after my pain was my consolation, and at the moment I realized it, it was taken away.
So yes, he is dead. There is no other solution. Plus the sofa has surely crash-landed on him. So there’s no hope. No need to pray.
Or at least, to pray for his come-back. Because, I mean, it’s over.
Everything is over. Even my life may be over.
I don’t think I will love again. I…
Yes, I will admit it. I loved Frank.
Again, with a bit of distance, I figure out what happened and is happening: yes, Frank has carved his name on me, but he has also carved it on my heart. So deep though. I will… never love properly again, because… I loved him so much it’s on me… forever.
But he’s dead.
Because of me.
Maybe yes, I will reconsider my suicide proposition.
But later.
After getting my conclusion, I try my best to get out of this deathly crevice.
After getting out of the hole, I pack my things in an old luggage in order to get the shit out of here.
After getting out of the house, I look behind me: now, it almost looks like a mansion.
Seeing it makes me feel it: the screams, the laughing. The punishments, the regrets. The raping, the love.
The hope, the death.
Fragments of conversations are playing in my ears, confusing me even more.
His smile.
I feel my heart being emotionally stabbed.
What will I do? I don’t know. I’m in the middle of nowhere.
I could go to the house where Shams and I used to live. But considering it was long ago, and with her murder and my disappearance, I don’t think it belongs to me anymore.
Plus I… I can’t go to this house. I would be the target of my emotions, again.
There’s a place I hid all my savings: there’s a time when I wanted to marry Shams so bad, so I made sure to be able to give her the wedding she deserved. A magnificent, magical wedding.
I’m not going to tell anything to the police, as you can tell.
Because, I mean, nothing happened.
I don’t even know what you’re talking about.
I’m sorry, but I have something I own to search.
(Gerard, 2 years later, at the age of 25)
It’s been 720 days. Nearly two years.
It’s funny. I sound exactly the same as when I was locked with Frank.
What’s even more fucking funny?
All this 720 days, just after I got out of Frank’s house, just after Frank’s death, it haunted me.
And it still does.
717 days ago, I picked up my money from my grandpa’s grave, in the middle of a Provencal park – obviously struggling during three days to find this place.
Then, I roamed in the main city, having absolutely no clue on what to do with my life.
I was walking in the streets and I saw this humoristic poster – that was the first time I laughed in months. Or maybe even years.
It represented a llama in a bus, with a bus card in his mouth: “In Bordeaux, even llamas tick off”. A little square was explaining the story of it: some Bordeaux inhabitants were drunk on last Halloween, so they kidnapped a llama from the Circus, got in a tram, and even though they were drunk they ticked their cards off and even ticking off for the llama.
“Funny people.” I thought. “Maybe that’s the sign that I must go in Bordeaux?”
It will still be better than roaming in this dead-looking city.
It’s been now 710 days I live in Bordeaux.
I could just enjoy my stay here.
I could just enjoy these funny people.
I could just enjoy how interesting is the cultural heritage, here.
But I can’t. I don’t feel like I’m a part of this city. I don’t come from this “world”.
I’m so torn inside compared to these calm, funny yet busy people. I have lived the worse.
Maybe I should’ve informed the police, so that I could’ve got over it?
So yeah. It’s been 710 days in Bordeaux, and all I did was smoking, drinking, drawing, sleeping, barely eating, doing nothing.
And especially wasting. Wasting what?
Time, money, energy, hope.
At the moment I’m talking to you, I just woke up to my worst nightmare. That’s why I’m summing up everything I’ve done, just to help me lead to a conclusion, and above all, a plan.
My worst nightmare? After telling it to you, you would probably think it is not even a nightmare but I assure you that it is.
I was with Frank.
Until now, it isn’t really bad since I’ve dreamt of him every single day since these 720 days.
We were making love: that’s when I realized how much I miss him, how much I still love him, and how much I’ve lost everything now.
I haven’t any value.
I’m not living. Just breathing.
I’m as useful as a white crayon.
That means I need to find a usefulness.
Seeing my “Torn Freedom” torn canvas – that I made sure to grab with me when I leaved the Provencal house – remind me of Shams. And Art.
So it reminds me of my promise.
Become the coolest Art teacher.
I have all the necessary diplomas. And I want to be useful.
I want to help.
Oh yeah. I will become the coolest fucking Art teacher.
For the memory of Shams. And Frank.
I think it’s time to get out of my terrier, don’t you think?
From there, from this incident, from this outcome, from this turning point of my life: nothing, NOTHING will ever be as it used to be, even if I was already messed up.
It’s not just something I can get over it and forget, like a family member’s death for example – even though every death is regrettable.
But this, this… Is overtaking me.
I’m mentally, physically scarred, and this, this… beyond forever!
I can’t measure the weight of the culpability, and the sadness, and the angriness, and the confusion, and the…
Whatever, I can’t count all the emotions that are stabbing my chest!
With a bit of distance, I figure out the hugeness of what happened: it is so big, and I’m so small.
Maybe I can sum everything up, to really figure out the size of all of this shit, to know what to do.
Because honestly, I’m bathing in a giant ocean of emotions, numbing all my neurons.
So yes, maybe I can sum up.
That would be the first thing that me, Gerard Arthur Way, would do after all of this mishap.
After I calculate the crevice’s depth – namely 300 meters – I’m getting a conclusion.
Frank Iero, my stalker – and maybe… lover…, but I won’t admit it – is definitely dead.
There is something I can admit though: I was beginning to enjoy my stay here, with him.
Just after my pain was my consolation, and at the moment I realized it, it was taken away.
So yes, he is dead. There is no other solution. Plus the sofa has surely crash-landed on him. So there’s no hope. No need to pray.
Or at least, to pray for his come-back. Because, I mean, it’s over.
Everything is over. Even my life may be over.
I don’t think I will love again. I…
Yes, I will admit it. I loved Frank.
Again, with a bit of distance, I figure out what happened and is happening: yes, Frank has carved his name on me, but he has also carved it on my heart. So deep though. I will… never love properly again, because… I loved him so much it’s on me… forever.
But he’s dead.
Because of me.
Maybe yes, I will reconsider my suicide proposition.
But later.
After getting my conclusion, I try my best to get out of this deathly crevice.
After getting out of the hole, I pack my things in an old luggage in order to get the shit out of here.
After getting out of the house, I look behind me: now, it almost looks like a mansion.
Seeing it makes me feel it: the screams, the laughing. The punishments, the regrets. The raping, the love.
The hope, the death.
Fragments of conversations are playing in my ears, confusing me even more.
His smile.
I feel my heart being emotionally stabbed.
What will I do? I don’t know. I’m in the middle of nowhere.
I could go to the house where Shams and I used to live. But considering it was long ago, and with her murder and my disappearance, I don’t think it belongs to me anymore.
Plus I… I can’t go to this house. I would be the target of my emotions, again.
There’s a place I hid all my savings: there’s a time when I wanted to marry Shams so bad, so I made sure to be able to give her the wedding she deserved. A magnificent, magical wedding.
I’m not going to tell anything to the police, as you can tell.
Because, I mean, nothing happened.
I don’t even know what you’re talking about.
I’m sorry, but I have something I own to search.
(Gerard, 2 years later, at the age of 25)
It’s been 720 days. Nearly two years.
It’s funny. I sound exactly the same as when I was locked with Frank.
What’s even more fucking funny?
All this 720 days, just after I got out of Frank’s house, just after Frank’s death, it haunted me.
And it still does.
717 days ago, I picked up my money from my grandpa’s grave, in the middle of a Provencal park – obviously struggling during three days to find this place.
Then, I roamed in the main city, having absolutely no clue on what to do with my life.
I was walking in the streets and I saw this humoristic poster – that was the first time I laughed in months. Or maybe even years.
It represented a llama in a bus, with a bus card in his mouth: “In Bordeaux, even llamas tick off”. A little square was explaining the story of it: some Bordeaux inhabitants were drunk on last Halloween, so they kidnapped a llama from the Circus, got in a tram, and even though they were drunk they ticked their cards off and even ticking off for the llama.
“Funny people.” I thought. “Maybe that’s the sign that I must go in Bordeaux?”
It will still be better than roaming in this dead-looking city.
It’s been now 710 days I live in Bordeaux.
I could just enjoy my stay here.
I could just enjoy these funny people.
I could just enjoy how interesting is the cultural heritage, here.
But I can’t. I don’t feel like I’m a part of this city. I don’t come from this “world”.
I’m so torn inside compared to these calm, funny yet busy people. I have lived the worse.
Maybe I should’ve informed the police, so that I could’ve got over it?
So yeah. It’s been 710 days in Bordeaux, and all I did was smoking, drinking, drawing, sleeping, barely eating, doing nothing.
And especially wasting. Wasting what?
Time, money, energy, hope.
At the moment I’m talking to you, I just woke up to my worst nightmare. That’s why I’m summing up everything I’ve done, just to help me lead to a conclusion, and above all, a plan.
My worst nightmare? After telling it to you, you would probably think it is not even a nightmare but I assure you that it is.
I was with Frank.
Until now, it isn’t really bad since I’ve dreamt of him every single day since these 720 days.
We were making love: that’s when I realized how much I miss him, how much I still love him, and how much I’ve lost everything now.
I haven’t any value.
I’m not living. Just breathing.
I’m as useful as a white crayon.
That means I need to find a usefulness.
Seeing my “Torn Freedom” torn canvas – that I made sure to grab with me when I leaved the Provencal house – remind me of Shams. And Art.
So it reminds me of my promise.
Become the coolest Art teacher.
I have all the necessary diplomas. And I want to be useful.
I want to help.
Oh yeah. I will become the coolest fucking Art teacher.
For the memory of Shams. And Frank.
I think it’s time to get out of my terrier, don’t you think?
Notes
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hope you liked it :)
have a nice day
@nuclearcloud
I'm not fantabulous, silly... But awww thank you ;)
3/7/14