November 1st (Frerard)

30: Tuesday, October 30th

In time, Gerard became doubtful of his actions and choices, because there was a certain loneliness encompassed in a field alone at the other side of town, and indeed, a certain loneliness in your own company, because perhaps Gerard did need people more than he could care to admit.

Gerard did indeed envision himself skewed and distorted into the person he expected of himself, added with a few aspects of the person he wanted to be, and indeed the impact he made upon others, but in truth, the real Gerard Way was so much more than that.

The real Gerard Way was so much more than could be defined by a single date in November, because a life was defined not by its ending or its beginning but by the middle, by the years in which there were smiles and the years in which there not, by the years in which there were nothing but tears and sadness, but his life would lay at the midpoint, as an average, halted and bolted in place by a great grey slab of rock in the ground, but never defined by it.

Gerard, however, sometimes found himself wishing to be defined by such a simple thing, by a granite slab: ornate and detailing only his full name and the duration of his life: laying him down as little more than a statistic, as little more than just another person who might be soon forgotten.

Because, in a way, Gerard was not just himself, but everyone before him until the beginning, because he would not be sat in a field on a Tuesday morning on the outskirts of town, and in truth, he felt as if he had to some degree let down these people that never knew him and never would, for he would never live on, and they would never live on together with him in his children, because Gerard was going to be dead within forty eight hours and the reality of that felt like broken glass on bare skin.

And he would be lying if he dared to say that he wasn't scared.

He wasn't scared of letting the world down, though, he wasn't scared of letting himself down, though, just scared of the moment, and having accepted every moment as past, because there were only a certain number of thoughts you could have in a forty eight hour period, and indeed only a certain number of feelings you could experience, and Gerard wasn't sure if he wanted to die having experienced only the heart wrenching despair slumped in the corner of a field: tired, and hungry, and covered in dirt.

He had, however, finished the letters in full, and in forty eight hours they would indeed be his final testament, so they counted for more than sleep or food, which would be meaningless in so little time.

And Gerard couldn't deny the slightest uneasiness that conjured within him, because he couldn't deny that he was much than blue ink and six pages of words that would be all that was left, because if his life was a book, those six pages of letters would be the epilogue, and in truth, Gerard had so many questions and not enough space for them, and not enough sense in his in order to comprehend them, because what the fuck did it sound like to die?

Gerard had always found himself uncomfortable with silence, and suddenly found himself overwhelmed with an immediate distaste for an eternal silence, but it was of course an eternal silence that would occur without him noticing, and in turn, meant little at all, but now he stood with forty eight hours left, and-

He wondered what it would be like.

He wondered what he could possibly think of in those last few moments, in walking into that lake and just letting the water pull itself in around him; he even considered going to the ocean, even though he knew that was where people would look for him, even though there was a lovely view of the shore from his bedroom window; he just wanted to disappear, to fade out, and he felt that it wasn't really the same when people watched you do so.

But he wondered what it would be like to have water turn to hell around you: pouring through out you and down your throat: into your stomach and into your lungs, until we're nothing but water, and you were nothing but the lake around you, and indeed, you were nothing.