I Have Seen Your Dreams

Gerard's POV

There wasn't anything I loved more than art last year . I would paint and draw continuously, not to mention sculpt paper machete guitars and amps. Art is an escape. Art class, however, is far from an escape.

My class is filled with false beauties, thick jocks, and students who were simply left alone due to sheepishness. The girls would wear plastic and leather eyelashes, cake their faces in what I call concealing junk, and strut within the room wearing three inch high heels. The jocks, oh the jocks. They had the stereotypical buzz cut and stone edge jaw lines, plus the brains of a pickle. The shy students were like me, but emotionless and no personality whatsoever. No bands, no shows, no brands, no nothing. It was almost as if they didn't exist.

Then there's one last category: me. I'm the "emo fag" and the "scene kid" who listens to "shitty" music. Everyone leaves me behind, and frankly, I love it. No one is there waiting for me to injure myself, or to hurt me. No one cares what I do. It's bloody marvelous!

Class was starting, so I sharpened my pencils accordingly. People crowded the supplies section, and as I searched, I couldn't find another piece of paper. I turned to my desk, to find my notebook missing. My eyes drifted across the room desperately, with no sign of a notebook. Then I catch a glimpse of a torn black cover of a notebook.

Oh boy.

Notes

new chapter c: