Hey, I want you guys to know that despite the fact that some of the things in here will be used often, I view them in a negative way. But people can go with who they want, and you should never be ashamed of yourself.

Phew, I can almost feel the niceness of Patrick Stump running through my veins today. So the fact that I'm deciding to write this is kinda funny.

The cool whisper of autumn wind made leaves of fiery colors dance under the dim lighting of a dying fire, and a rising moonlight. The leaves' outlines were graced in such a way to give an enchanting feeling. Yet what was behind the leaves wasn't as much enchanting, more so upsetting.

A small boy. Scrawny and hunched over, the sound of the tip of a pencil rapidly writing down some words. By the looks of it, they were either urgent, or final words. Tears dropped onto said page, and the boy made a futile attempt to wipe his eyes clear. He wanted it all to be over. But he was still afraid. A bit of crimson like liquid dropped onto the page, hopefully not out of a previously made wound. He sat down the pencil and paper, and moved a rock over it to make it impossible to miss. A look of regret washed over his face for a moment, then an emotionless expression took over. He reached into his pocket oh so slowly, trying to get a grip of whatever was in there. As he pulled the tip of it out, a glint of metal caught the white light casted down from space. He eyed it before a sad smile crossed over his nice features.

This was a smile I knew all too well. I knew what he was about to do.

I wanted to call out to him- to tell him that I, too, carried the same noticable bags under my weary eyes fro, all the sleepless, hopeless nights I had to endure. Or perhaps I would tell him of all the self-inflicted battle scars I had come to own on my skin, which was littered to the brim with these horrifying gashes. Yes, despite this being someone I had never actually met, I felt as if I knew him better than my own younger brother. I could feel a connection radiating between us, but I didn't want to question it. If I did, who knows what would happen?

Before I could scream out to him, he shocked me completely. As if he knew I was there the whole time, he took a couple steps closer to me. As he crept forward, I could see the tiredness shown in his eyes. I could feel his misery echoing through his entire body, which was almost shaking in fear. This poor boy. As he pulled the metallic object out of his pocket, he put it to his head. The gleams of moonlight turning it almost into a silhouette suggested that this was a gun. A revolver. His free hand reached to my own, bringing my attention back to his face. I could see a couple scars on his cheeks, and his own clammy hand reached to mine and held it, as if it were the most important, fragile thing in the world. His voice came out in a barely audible whisper.

"Gerard... Find me... before it's too late. Save me, I beg of you..." He murmured, his eyes quietly pleading to accept his request. No hope seemed to float within them though. It was like looking into two dull orbs, unable to truly decipher what the motive was behind his task.

"And... If I can't?" I questioned, but immediately wished I could take it back. He frowned as he dropped my hand. He shook as he held himself with his free arm. It was like his entire body was rejecting it's existence. After the small meltdown- no, it was large and heartbreaking. He was looking into an abyss that he was about to be sucked into, and there would be no return.

"Then.. 'so long, and goodnight.'' He whispered to my ear, as if it were something we both understood. The moment those words were said, they seemed to hang in the air, unable to stop ringing in my ears. They hurt me more than anything I could possibly imagine. A couple of tears glittered down his hurt cheeks before a deafening bang arose from directly in front of me. I closed my eyes, unable to look to what he had done.

I sat up in my bed abruptly as I realized it wasn't real at all.

"No... F... Frank, why..." I sobbed. I paused, and questions ran through my head, adding more to the puzzle. Who was Frank? Was he the one in my dreams, so tender and scared? Why did I dream of him and his death?

Am I as straight as I've chosen to believe??

I got out of my bed, stained with red, as it always had been. I groaned, thinking of the cleaning I seriously had to do. My room was a pigsty, through and through. I groggily trudged towards my little bathroom connected to my bedroom. I always thought that that was quite convenient. That meant less walking, and less effort. As I walked through the doorway, I flipped the switch.

Boy, I wish I didn't.

The shitty brown circles, glossed over to the point of almost death-looking, stared at me, dark circles under them. Pale lips were made into a frown that could never truly hide all of my feelings, though it did filter what came out. Greasy black hair seemed to flow all over the place, managing to cover parts of my face. It was all ugly. I was ugly. Oh yes, I hated myself with every living fiber within my body- my hideous, revolting body. I wanted it to burn to the ground, or for it to be shredded. It would be much nicer if one of the two were to happen.

I slid my pants down to my knees, knobby and shaky. Revealed in the odd lighting of my bathroom were gashes, scratches, dried blood galore. They were all caused by yours truly, and there were about to be a few more to stare at before the next time and I pity this same, ugly body. I looked for it, practically scrambling, my hands going all over the place and shaking violently within the process. After fumbling around and looking like a complete buffoon for what seemed to be forever, I had it in my hands.

It was my blade, shining in the dim lighting that the fixtures could provide. A sigh of relief slipped out of my mouth almost immediately as I realized I had cleaned it of the blood from the previous uses. I brought it to my leg, pausing to think about it. Was I about to do this once more? Eh, what's another bunch of scars overlapping old ones? I proceeded to drag it slowly across my leg, making sure it cut deep through the skin. The pain was sharp, but dulled as the seconds went by. Little beads of red began to form from the multiple fresh wounds I had skillfully caused. Those little beads merged together eventually to make multiple lines of red, darkened blood flooding down my legs like a crimson wave hitting pale sand.

Some might say it was an improvement.

Or, at least, I did.

Notes

GAAAAAAHHHHHHH THIS IS SO SAD ALREADY AND I JUST STARTED I'M A LIL SHIT I'M SORRY DON'T HATE ME. No, but I'm sorry. This story will have it's ups and downs depending on the mood I happened to have while writing this out. If you like it, please say something about it.

This story will ALWAYS be updated on my Wattpad first. If you'd like to follow me, my username is callyb510. But most of my stories are crappy, so I wouldn't waste your time. Sorry.

PS- this is only part one because each chapter will start in Gerard's perspective and end in Frank's. It just works. Deal with it.