AFTERMATHS : THE SUBSEQUENT LIVES OF THE FABULOUS KILLJOYS

2.

2.
The cold, January morning is evincing a more desolate brume of invisibility, for there seems to be a presence, though intangible and indecipherable in form, lingering and loitering about the air; a forlorn, gloomier aura that is quasi-surrounding the town of Summit, New Jersey. Summit always tends to have a diluted feel to it, Gerard thinks, but today it seems like the town has taken on a more aesthetic, even derogatory melancholy that exceeds most Summitonians' expectations. Gerard finds himself recalling his life in Los Angeles, California about six months ago, from which he has escaped, his excuse being merely a desperate form of escape, but there's more than meets the naked, mortal eyes. Los Angeles is the hub of things, the mecca in terms of entertainment and luxury. He often prefers Summit to Los Angeles, mostly because of Summit's promotion of self-knowledge and isolation, but couldn't help himself to leave until the disbandment, as for all of LA's self-absorption and resultant asphyxiation, it has filled some holes in his skeleton, holes of insouciance, and has made him appreciate a little more about life as a celebrity.

Gerard wanders to a nearby park, 300 meters away from the Way family's abode. It's a humble, bullish plot of land named Atticus. Atticus himself, the deceased, prestigious and esteemed founder of the park, is rumoured to have had himself interred somewhere underneath the park's premises, and Gerard finds that fascinating.

Chilly as it is today, he finds himself encountering a respectable number of people, innocuously strolling around on sidewalks, taking photographs. Kids are laughing hysterically, one of them occassionally overbalances and falls onto the ground,...

Gerard makes his way to a rather large pond that serves as the center of the park, and observes as several boats - lover's boats in the form of animals, specifically swans, ducks, etc. with the colors varying exuberantly. He looks as the boats undulate pastorally on the water, couples inside, holding hands and kissing, exchanging words of affection.

Gerard finds himself fascinated with a particular couple, which stand out against the ordinary, one-trick colorscape: they are a bride and a groom, smiling broadly, as if they had proudly eloped from a sought-after wedding to spend some quality time, alone. Without the company of family and friends, without the constant suffocation of questions, bombarding reminders and formalized etiquettes, they look as young as a couple in their get-go 20s, a couple of homegrown ex-teenagers holding hands through thick and thin. As they kiss, unbeknownst of the perceptive glare of Gerard, he is in a world of himself too. Particularly, the world as it was a few years ago.
a man, and a woman
(((A WOMAN)))
(((AND THE CORPSE OF A THOUSAND EVIL MEN))

Gerard stands up as soon as the thoughts come over him, and walk confusedly, with no particular aim or purpose, alongside the pond, doing everything in his power to avoid the newly-wed couple.

"No. You can't keep doing this Gerard. The band, it is over, YOU know it was over since the production of Danger Days. You make a decision, and you'd better stick.." - Gerard is giving himself the talk again, trying to suppress an outburst of relapse and backtracking, when the kids of the park, switching from loitering and sniggering to a stampede, run past him. Gerard catches sight of some of their faces, some dirtied with dust and mud, some as bright as the sun, and some as miserable as sin. But there is one sight that meets his sore eyes and overwhelms him with neurosis, as one of the children, doesn't have a face.

Well, he does, anatomically speaking, but there is a something so salient, so eye-catching that Gerard feels as if he were on the brink of a complete retreat from life.

The kid, a smidgeon taller than his counterparts, is wearing a fully face-covered helmet, a yellow one, and is chasing after kids, possibly occasioning their rambustious stampede, and constantly yells: "Where are you guys? Imma get ya one by one." Some oldsters are positioned nearby in a bench looking out over the pond, smiling pleasantly at the kids. But for Gerard it feels like a blow to the head.
((nananannanananananananananananana)))
(((Imma get ya one by one)))

(curled up like a ball of shame)
(Dont beat yourself up for something you cannot help but feel)

A fat, contemptible mosquito suddenly takes residence on Gerard's arms as he is lost in a fistfight with himself, his own critic, and its itchy bite brings him back to life. Gerard stares at the mosquito in amusement as it imperceptibly sucks the gore out of him.

As a nerve impulse, he smacks down at the ravenous mosquito and it explodes, objectionably, onto his flesh and reveals a smudge of bad, thick blood. He sighs in disgust and proceeds to wipe the remains of a mosquito off of his fingers and arms, feeling himself heating up, feeling suffocated and enervated, feeling nostalgic and overwhelmed with emotions.
((vampires will never hurt you))
((AND IF THEY GET ME AND THE SUN GOES DOWN))
"Fuck no. I'm not going there, not by a long shot." - He whispers, barely audible, to himself, as he feels a sudden urge to throw the godforsaken overcoat onto the pond, and to go home and just lie there, wait for Liz to return with their child, and to move on with his life. That's the dream, that's the goal. A goal that seems at this point impossible to achieve.

He gets up and leaves the park in a hurry. He needs to go home. He isn't going to melt down irretrievably. At least not here.

But life isn't going to let him off so easily, it has a savage way of doing business, and that proves accurate as Gerard stumbles upon, begrudgingly, a funeral on his way home.

It is a small, lesser-known residence in the neighborhood, Gerard doesn't even know the owner's name. God forbid, he suddenly experiences an uprush of blood pressure and heat starts ro flush through his face as he sees the hearse, having been parked there for a while now, patiently awaiting the deceased passenger. The mourns are afar but he can hear them as clear as a bell.
(((YOU DIE TO GET IN AGAIN)))
(((IT'S YOUR CHOICE IF YOU FEEL SO ADAMANT ABOUT IT)))
"STOP!" - Gerard screams at the top of his voice, releasing insurmountable amounts of pressure that has been accumulating, and takes to his feet, fleeing, crying in the process, away from the funeral. Why is this happening to me? I just set foot out of the house in weeks, and i have so far been inundated with hopeless, cutting reminders of the band, a fading memory in retrospect, an idea that didn't succeed, a flare of light having been put out. Why can't everyone just leave me the fuck alone? Can't they see that i'm struggling as hard to cope with the depression, the drugs, the incessant amounts of drinking, and the judgments of my wife and child?

Gerard, being so lost, isn't even paying attention when he collides head-on with a well-built musculature of a pedestrian, obscurantist in appearance, and sprawls onto the floor, tears swelling in his eyes and a headache threatening to bring him to pieces.
"Gerard Way? From My Chemical Romance? Is that really you?" - A teenaged, boyish and loud-mouthed voice rips through the air as Gerard struggles to regain his footing.
Gerard impetuously gives out a sigh. "Oh no, don't tell me."
He's a fan of My Chemical Romance, judging by the tee.