Title: Bullets
Writer:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
squizie
Rating: R (to be safe)
Disclaimer:This is all true. Batman came to my place a few days ago and told me this story while I stared with wide eyes. He loves investigating both Gerard and Frank for me... no, lies, everything came from my very fucked up imagination. Don't sue me, please? I'll give you Batman's number if you don't.
Summary: Frank is a seventeen year old who moves to his aunt's house in Belleville, New Jersey. On the way back home from his new High School, there's an old XIX century cementery. It's always desolated, but he notices that every sunday late morning there's a man dressed in a black suit mourning and speaking to an old tomb. Why doesn't anyone want to tell him who the stranger is?
Warnings: violence, homophobia, angst, sex, language ( If you feel offended by any of this topics, please avoid reading!)
A/N: Okay... It's been forever since I've posted around here, I'm a faithful reader though. This story is going to be formed by three big parts. Also, please, keep in mind that I'm from Spain (Europe) therefore English is not my first language. I love writting in English and English literature, but I won't be surprised if I have shitloads of mistakes. So, if anyone offers to be my Beta, I'll be more than willing to have one. ;) That's about it for now, enjoy the story!
Prologue
Frank was starting to regret coming to New Jersey in the first place. It had been his idea, but he wasn't so sure it was what he wanted anymore. Belleville had turned to be a very small place in the middle of fuck-town. Where was all the action he had aimed for? What about the punk rock concerts? How was it possible that there was only one comic store near his house? He felt like a dissapointed kid when someone informed him that Santa didn't exist.
He had decided to move to his aunt Mary's house to spend his last year of High School. He had lived his whole life in Jacksonville, Florida, and he had always thought that city basically hadn't been made for him. He liked grey days, rain and dark. He needed a place where he could find inspiration for his writing. And so there he was. In the middle of fuck-nowhere. He knew since the beginning that Belleville wasn't going to be exactly like Newark town or Jersey City, but sure as hell he hadn't expect it to be this boring.
Boring.
That's how one could describe the last week in the life of Frank Iero.
His new High School wasn't that bad and he was pleased that he was at least a little ahead on every subject he had taken, but so far nothing interesting or worth writting about had happened yet.
He sighed and put his hands in his ripped jeans pockets while dragging himself to the small comic store. He had imagined Belleville as the Comic's Paradise, and then again he had been totally wrong. The owner (who he had learnt was named Mikey) smiled at him warmly once he put a foot into the shop.
" Good morning, Frank" he said fixing his black nerdy glasses.
" 'morning dude" he almost had to fight back a yawn.
Mikey frowned.
" Haven't found anything interesting to do around here yet?" he asked fumbling around some new comics he had got to refill his stock.
" Not really, but I've been thinking about maybe going to that old cementery I told you about, remember? And maybe chase a few vampires " he grinned picking up one item from the shelves. He made his way to the counter taking in his surrondings. It was a small store but it felt comfortable to be there, like a second home. Lots of diferent comics everywhere, DC, Marvel, Dark Horse... and some indie editorials too. He smiled at Mikey, he had liked him since the first day they had talked. With his thick black glasses and his shyness, he had demonstrated to be very smart and easy going. A good friend.
" Oh, it sounds like a plan... It's 9.50$ " Mikey rolled his eyes and handed the comic to him.
" Actually, I think I'll just go there and try to write something "
Mikey's eyes were brighted with excitment.
" Have you started writing that super dark novel that would make you the most famous American writer of all times?"
" Ergh... no... " Mikey pouted, all anticipation gone " ... but I think I've possibly found a source of inspiration for the main character" he added biting his tongue with innocence.
" Oh, really? Tell me about it, or more like tell me about him"
" I already did, remember? And you didn't want to talk about it. That weird guy I saw last Sunday when I walked past the cementery... I don't know why, but he looked interesting and weird enough... "
Mikey tried to keep on with his light tone but grabbed the edge of the counter gripping it tightly. He plastered his best fake smile.
" Frank, you really need to get a girlfriend. And forget about stalking strangers"
He sighed and gave him the money.
" Yeah, probably. See you next Sunday, or maybe even earlier"
" See you... "
He started reading his new adquisition, Bloody Mary by Garth Ennis, one of his favorite comic writers, and headed to the cementery street. A few minutes later, he was on the front door deciding if he should go in or not. He took the book into his bag and, taking a deep breath, he stepped in.
It was empty, just like the rest of the times he had been there.
No one seemed to care about their dead beloved ones in that town. There were a few flowers here and there but it was mainly desolated and cold looking. They have left the grass grow uncontrollaby and everything had a decadent creepy look. After a good half an hour of walking through tombs and trying to come up with an idea to start his oh so brilliant to be story, he heard a soft voice near him. He stopped in his tracks and glanced around trying to find someone. At the end of the cementery, near the small forest, there was a man wearing a black suit. He was knelt down one of the tombs and speaking in a very low tone. Frank had seem him before, in that exact same position and also talking to whoever was buried there. He walked slowly trying to get a better view without being caught. He hid between two tall mausoleos and observed the stranger. He had black raven hair long until his chin. He stood up all of a sudden leaving a few red roses behind him.
Once Frank was sure that the man was out of the picture, he went to the tomb and checked the roses out. They were at least twenty four natural ones. All the flowers he had seem around the tombs were made of plastic and looked like they had been there forever. But these were new ones, they were replacing the ones the man had left exactly one week earlier. He wondered why someone would bring new roses to a tomb every Sunday when no one even cared to visit that cementery anymore. He leaned in and tried to read. There was no name, nor a date, just a small little rose painted in the center of the grave. He stayed there, standing, like if he had grown roots and wasn't able to move, until a few cold drops fell down his face. It was starting to rain and soon he would be soaked if he didn't rush back home. He sighed, still confused, and walked back home trying to figure out who could be buried in a tomb without name. A girl named Rose? No, that sounded stupid.
When he arrived to his aunt's house he was completly wet. She was cleaning up the living room with some background music. Frank Sinatra.
"Oh Frank, you are soaked darling. Why don't you change your clothes and give me those ones to dry up?"
He nodded absentmindly.
" Aunt..." he began.
" Yeah, sweetie?"
" Why doesn't anyone visit the old cementery anymore?"
Aunt Mary kept on cleaning up the living room while speaking.
" Because practically all the tombs are too old for anyone alive to remember, darling. They've built a new cementery out of town some decades ago and that's where everyone goes now"
Frank frowned. Now everything was even more confusing.
" Well, apparently there's a man who doesn't think the same. I always see him every Sunday Morning placing red roses on a tomb... a nameless tomb by the way... "
Aunt Mary stopped cleaning and looked at Frank with fear in her eyes.
" Don't get anywhere near that man, Frank" she warned swallowing thickly.
" What? Why? "
" Let's say that... Jersey is definitly not Jacksonville... so yeah, don't go to that cementery, Frank. It's old and horrible anyways, I'll take you one day to the new one if you want to. And now, hurry up and change your clothes! I don't want you to get sick your first month of school! "
Frank nodded in silence and went to his room wondering what could be so wrong about the man in the black suit.
Writer:
squizie Rating: R (to be safe)
Disclaimer:
Summary: Frank is a seventeen year old who moves to his aunt's house in Belleville, New Jersey. On the way back home from his new High School, there's an old XIX century cementery. It's always desolated, but he notices that every sunday late morning there's a man dressed in a black suit mourning and speaking to an old tomb. Why doesn't anyone want to tell him who the stranger is?
Warnings: violence, homophobia, angst, sex, language ( If you feel offended by any of this topics, please avoid reading!)
A/N: Okay... It's been forever since I've posted around here, I'm a faithful reader though. This story is going to be formed by three big parts. Also, please, keep in mind that I'm from Spain (Europe) therefore English is not my first language. I love writting in English and English literature, but I won't be surprised if I have shitloads of mistakes. So, if anyone offers to be my Beta, I'll be more than willing to have one. ;) That's about it for now, enjoy the story!
Prologue
Frank was starting to regret coming to New Jersey in the first place. It had been his idea, but he wasn't so sure it was what he wanted anymore. Belleville had turned to be a very small place in the middle of fuck-town. Where was all the action he had aimed for? What about the punk rock concerts? How was it possible that there was only one comic store near his house? He felt like a dissapointed kid when someone informed him that Santa didn't exist.
He had decided to move to his aunt Mary's house to spend his last year of High School. He had lived his whole life in Jacksonville, Florida, and he had always thought that city basically hadn't been made for him. He liked grey days, rain and dark. He needed a place where he could find inspiration for his writing. And so there he was. In the middle of fuck-nowhere. He knew since the beginning that Belleville wasn't going to be exactly like Newark town or Jersey City, but sure as hell he hadn't expect it to be this boring.
Boring.
That's how one could describe the last week in the life of Frank Iero.
His new High School wasn't that bad and he was pleased that he was at least a little ahead on every subject he had taken, but so far nothing interesting or worth writting about had happened yet.
He sighed and put his hands in his ripped jeans pockets while dragging himself to the small comic store. He had imagined Belleville as the Comic's Paradise, and then again he had been totally wrong. The owner (who he had learnt was named Mikey) smiled at him warmly once he put a foot into the shop.
" Good morning, Frank" he said fixing his black nerdy glasses.
" 'morning dude" he almost had to fight back a yawn.
Mikey frowned.
" Haven't found anything interesting to do around here yet?" he asked fumbling around some new comics he had got to refill his stock.
" Not really, but I've been thinking about maybe going to that old cementery I told you about, remember? And maybe chase a few vampires " he grinned picking up one item from the shelves. He made his way to the counter taking in his surrondings. It was a small store but it felt comfortable to be there, like a second home. Lots of diferent comics everywhere, DC, Marvel, Dark Horse... and some indie editorials too. He smiled at Mikey, he had liked him since the first day they had talked. With his thick black glasses and his shyness, he had demonstrated to be very smart and easy going. A good friend.
" Oh, it sounds like a plan... It's 9.50$ " Mikey rolled his eyes and handed the comic to him.
" Actually, I think I'll just go there and try to write something "
Mikey's eyes were brighted with excitment.
" Have you started writing that super dark novel that would make you the most famous American writer of all times?"
" Ergh... no... " Mikey pouted, all anticipation gone " ... but I think I've possibly found a source of inspiration for the main character" he added biting his tongue with innocence.
" Oh, really? Tell me about it, or more like tell me about him"
" I already did, remember? And you didn't want to talk about it. That weird guy I saw last Sunday when I walked past the cementery... I don't know why, but he looked interesting and weird enough... "
Mikey tried to keep on with his light tone but grabbed the edge of the counter gripping it tightly. He plastered his best fake smile.
" Frank, you really need to get a girlfriend. And forget about stalking strangers"
He sighed and gave him the money.
" Yeah, probably. See you next Sunday, or maybe even earlier"
" See you... "
He started reading his new adquisition, Bloody Mary by Garth Ennis, one of his favorite comic writers, and headed to the cementery street. A few minutes later, he was on the front door deciding if he should go in or not. He took the book into his bag and, taking a deep breath, he stepped in.
It was empty, just like the rest of the times he had been there.
No one seemed to care about their dead beloved ones in that town. There were a few flowers here and there but it was mainly desolated and cold looking. They have left the grass grow uncontrollaby and everything had a decadent creepy look. After a good half an hour of walking through tombs and trying to come up with an idea to start his oh so brilliant to be story, he heard a soft voice near him. He stopped in his tracks and glanced around trying to find someone. At the end of the cementery, near the small forest, there was a man wearing a black suit. He was knelt down one of the tombs and speaking in a very low tone. Frank had seem him before, in that exact same position and also talking to whoever was buried there. He walked slowly trying to get a better view without being caught. He hid between two tall mausoleos and observed the stranger. He had black raven hair long until his chin. He stood up all of a sudden leaving a few red roses behind him.
Once Frank was sure that the man was out of the picture, he went to the tomb and checked the roses out. They were at least twenty four natural ones. All the flowers he had seem around the tombs were made of plastic and looked like they had been there forever. But these were new ones, they were replacing the ones the man had left exactly one week earlier. He wondered why someone would bring new roses to a tomb every Sunday when no one even cared to visit that cementery anymore. He leaned in and tried to read. There was no name, nor a date, just a small little rose painted in the center of the grave. He stayed there, standing, like if he had grown roots and wasn't able to move, until a few cold drops fell down his face. It was starting to rain and soon he would be soaked if he didn't rush back home. He sighed, still confused, and walked back home trying to figure out who could be buried in a tomb without name. A girl named Rose? No, that sounded stupid.
When he arrived to his aunt's house he was completly wet. She was cleaning up the living room with some background music. Frank Sinatra.
"Oh Frank, you are soaked darling. Why don't you change your clothes and give me those ones to dry up?"
He nodded absentmindly.
" Aunt..." he began.
" Yeah, sweetie?"
" Why doesn't anyone visit the old cementery anymore?"
Aunt Mary kept on cleaning up the living room while speaking.
" Because practically all the tombs are too old for anyone alive to remember, darling. They've built a new cementery out of town some decades ago and that's where everyone goes now"
Frank frowned. Now everything was even more confusing.
" Well, apparently there's a man who doesn't think the same. I always see him every Sunday Morning placing red roses on a tomb... a nameless tomb by the way... "
Aunt Mary stopped cleaning and looked at Frank with fear in her eyes.
" Don't get anywhere near that man, Frank" she warned swallowing thickly.
" What? Why? "
" Let's say that... Jersey is definitly not Jacksonville... so yeah, don't go to that cementery, Frank. It's old and horrible anyways, I'll take you one day to the new one if you want to. And now, hurry up and change your clothes! I don't want you to get sick your first month of school! "
Frank nodded in silence and went to his room wondering what could be so wrong about the man in the black suit.
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