The Healing Powers of Loud Music and Frank

Counterparts

"Fools leave too soon

Built to fill roles and fall,"

--American Football, But the Regrets Are Killing Me

Life works in a fubbling mess of actions and consequences. Utter absurdity, getting up each and everyday only to be met with the same fate as those long before you, and of those long after you.People toil to their graves.

Gerard wants no part in it. Existance is a dreadful thing, the stream of consciousness is never a gift but a punishment. Bursts of tolerance are infrequent and have spread out to the point that he hasn't had hope in years, since before he went to art school.

He's not sure when the thought of suicide first entered his mind, he had been harbouring dreadful things for so long that he forgot what it was to have that warmness and excitement flood into you and crush your very being, reduce you to particles and dust. He was so sedated, and oh-so tired of his current state.

But, he was a coward. As much as the thought of not being excited him, he was filled with unknown dread. Maybe in some corner of his mind, he understood that if he followed through with purchasing a gun and placing it inside his mouth, to the roof of mouth and onto his brain, he'd kill fear and sadness, but at a valuable price, he'd also kill his chance of feeling fullfilled and perhaps, having a chance to feel happy for one time in his god-awful life.

He's a coward, and he knows it. He hates the fact he's a coward, he does. But he's unknowingly grateful for being a coward because it was the only thing that kept him alive this long. Self-preservation worked that way. It backfired on the depressed, just like it backfired on the desperate.

Gerard was screwed, he was desperately depressed with a fleeting sense of incompletion and incompetency pressing to his chest every day. It seemed like he barely made it when he crashed at night and it seemed like he'd never make it when he woke up.

Gerard makes plans to visit the gun shop the very next day, in hope to never wake up ever again.

--

Frank doesn't know how, but he makes it through the day with bursts of excitement perking him up during class and placing smiles on his face when the situation didn't call for any delightful face expressions.

He would be picking up his Les Paul right after school, he'd take the bus downtown and back home with his Les Paul.

Then, he'd take it the very next day to Mike's house and he'd show off his beauty. Mike is going to shit his pants, Frank knows. Mike would get jealous and Frank would act smug as all fuck. He liked attention, especially from Mike who knew how to make the most of a glance, a smile, a word.

Frank plays his guitar all night, and he falls asleep with it next to it, melodies freshly imprinted inside his mind as he rests.

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