Crazy like you, Lollipop (Frerard and insanity) - Page 3 - The Black Parade

X.Kellls.X · 03-12-2008, 01:56 PM

One of the best im currently reading... this is proper good haha

**Nukyster** · 03-12-2008, 02:38 PM

thanks thats a great compliment from someone that finished her highschool with a C for english:P

**Nukyster** · 03-12-2008, 04:12 PM

Chapter 5) Rules & right of Monroeville

.-.-.

The king, as Gerard had called him had a name. A very normal name. Arthur Knightly, head of section 499, better known as Monroeville around the ‘Institution.’ Arthur was an man in his mid forties, Rasta haired and in a tight suit. Frank couldn’t remember ever seeing such a strange mix. Reggae and Lawyer, strange combination. Tarzan dumped him in the Kings office and Frank quickly learned his real name was Kurt.

Nervous he shifted on his chair, the noses of his Converts tapping against the dark wooden desk.

Arthur gave him a warm smile. “I’m terribly sorry for all the commotion. Normally there is a whole procedure for your new clients. Today however some things got out of hand further on at another house. I take the full blame for all the mix ups from today and I hope your not to shocked.”

He didn’t dare to look up, not sure if he would strike the guy with one deadly glare or burst out in tears and cry for his mommy. So he shrugged, saying I don’t give a damn. Arthur simply nodded, taking it as an it’s alright.

“Anyhow let me tell you something about this place.” Arthur took a file from his desk and pushed a pair of reading glasses on. “Has been build in 1967 by the church blablabla… has about one hundred clients since 1999 blablabla… I’m sure just like everyone else you don’t really care about the history from this building and our vision. You just want to get the hell out again don’t ya?”

The mans reactions took him off guard, surprised he looked up. Arthur smiled.

“I can understand that, it must be horrible to get stuffed up behind bars like your some kind of animal.”

“It kinda blows.” He agreed, still keeping cool.

“I don’t blame you for that. But your must know Frank, where here to help you and he do want you to get out as soon as possible. But to get you out we have to get in your head, understand?”

He frowned and huffed. “Yeah, I heard that nutcase talk about it. Your going to shrink me up huh? I bet you can write a book about it.”

His reaction humored Arthur. “Don’t worry everything that’s said in this room is confidential. And everything that’s said in the therapy room stays in the therapy room.

Frank dug his hands in his pocked and buried his eyes under a layer of Fleece. “O goody.”

Arthur took a pause and drew out a few files. “I believe you got a grand tour by Bob?”

Frank drew his head up under his hood and starred at the black fabric. “Yeah.”

“Good, then you know about your facilities. We can skip to the rules and I would appreciate it if you looked at me while where going through the list.”

He sighted and pulled his hood off. Annoyed he received a few papers of rules & rights.

Rules& Rights:

1) No smoking inside the building.
2) No drugs or alcohol, not in your room, not in your closet. Not anywhere. No dealing, no using. No drugs or alcohol.( if any sort of drugs are found in your room it will be taken and there will be serious consequences) cigarettes are allowed, but you may only smoke in the living room or outside.
3) Your not allowed to have any kind of weapon, (if it’s found in your room it will be taken and there will be serious consequences)
4) No pets allowed inside the facility.
5) Your not allowed to be outside after 22.00.
6) After 23.00 you have to be in your room, except on the weekends, then you have till midnight.
7) It has to be silent between 23.00 and 7.30.
8) Your suppose to be on time on every class/therapy/other appointments. If not, you need a reason or a note from one of your staff members.
9) Non of the clients are allowed to leave the facility without any supervision from your staff.
10) The dinnertimes are between 7.30-8.30/ 11.45-12.30/ 18.00-19.00. You eat together in the dinner room. If you have a special diet we will arrange it with the kitchen.
11) You must take the medication that are prescribed by a doctor or therapist.

Living in a group with many different people can be,
therefore we have some social rules:

1) You will respect your fellow group members, as well as our staff.
2) There will be no verbal as well as non-verbal aggression towards any of your group members as well members of the staff.
3) Every member of the group has his own chores. Further your responsible for keeping your own room clean.
4) You need to respect your fellow group members as well as our staff.
5) The hobby room is for everyone, as long as you clean up after yourself.
6) Discrimination or racism is not allowed.

Rights:

1) You have the right on 2 and a half hour of fresh air every day.
2) You have the right to look through your own files.
3) You have the right to call your family or friends three times a week. (only not the first week, that’s protocol).
4) You have the right on your own private space, but the staff have access to your room if they think it’s necessary.
5) The maximum time in the isolation is six hours.
6) Any unnecessary physical harm by staff members are against the rules and must be reported.
7) Every client has the right to have one visitor every week.
8) As everyone else your allowed to follow up your own religious conviction, as long as it’s not hurtful for other members of your group and doesn’t come between your therapy.
9) As you have your private space you also have a place to put your private possessions. In your room there is one closet that can be locked. However our staff have a spare key. Once a month there is a check-up through all the closets.
10) Everything that has been said during therapy is private, it can be recorded or written down but it’s kept in the facility.

He read some of the lines over. ‘Great this truly is prison, I better not dug down to pick up the soap in the bathroom.’ Uncaring he dumped the papers back on the desk and started to toy with his sleeves. Sometimes, between ignoring the teacher and scratching his name in his desk, he used them as sock puppets. ‘Good old days, just waiting for the bell and go home, go to sleep.’ He sighted and peeked up.

Knightly studied him, he didn’t like that. The guy must thing he was wacked, crazy. He wasn’t crazy. He just took a ticket early to hell, but got kicked out of the bus before he ever crossed the border.

“So Frank, do you have any questions so far?” The African American asked him.

He left his sleeves along and started rumbling in his pockets. “When will I get out?”

“When we think your better.”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. He wanted a date and a near one. “Well, when will I be better.”

“We’ll see.” Knightly said and handed him another few papers. “This is your agenda for here. I think Bob has told you about the classes, it’s to keep you up to date once you go back to school. Most of the mornings you have to study and there will be therapy classes as well. There is always a staff member around, twenty-four-seven. And I’m here fives days a week, if you have any questions or need to speak to someone you can talk to me.”

Franks eyes had been taken by the colourful collection of pens. ‘Great, now I live in school and have to spill all my problems out to some guy that looks like Xzibit, please tell me there is no hatch in this bottom else I’m going to jump out of the first window I see, I swear.’ While his eyes focused on the window behind mister Knightly the man kept studying him.

“Even though your probably thinking it’s all bull what I’m saying, we can help you Frank. We helped so many kids over the years and many of them are doing very good.”

He simply nodded, then something hit him. “What about the group? Are they, can they bite me or uhu… something like that.”

Knightly smiled. “No, they won’t bite you. Right now your group is quit settled and easygoing.”

Frank thought about the creep who’d kept pushing his buttons and would like to tell the guy otherwise.

“But I think it’s smart if I tell you a bit about your group members, to cut out any possible problems.” Knightly coughed. “You’ve met Bob Bryar. He’s a very mellow and easy going guy. At the moment however he’s going through some very difficult stuff. He’s been addicted to Methamphetamine, or Crystal Meth since he turned sixteen. So some mornings he can be very unpleasant and before you think he has an skin-disease that’s all part of the rehab. Then there is someone you haven’t seen yet. Ray Toro, another quiet one. He’s been here for about a year and hasn’t said much. Very big guy, but there is not much wrong in them. He’s just very afraid of water. And then we have our Gerard. Gerard Way…”

The man took a pause. “He came here when he was ten, after many home counselling, tutors everything. He’s has a destructive personality, no inhibition or whatsoever. But believe it or not he never means to harm anyone with his actions.”

Frank snored. “Sure he doesn’t.”

“Your just the new kid, Frank.” Knightly told him. “Everyone needs to get use to you.”

‘O goody-good.’

Knightly peeked at the clock. “Do you have any questions?”

He was about to shake his head then something hit him. “Yeah, one why does that cre- Gerard call you the King?”

“Because I listen much Elvis and Queen. And because my first name is Arthur. He gives everybody around here tones of nicknames.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right…”

Knightly looked at the clock. “If that’s everything you can go back to the living room, your going to eat in a few minutes.”

A bit dull he nodded got up and pulled his hood back over his head. ‘Just get the records straight. I’m living with lunatics until the King of pop gives me the OK sign… What the fuck...”

.-.-.

Okay if you think WTF where is this going to end, your right there with me. Well partly because I think I figured out the ending. But there is till that big black middlepit. But i love to write this, I always like the sorta anti-hero's and the guys with a very screwed up past. But this time I really make a insanitycase. O and maybe it's funny to know many things about this fiction are based on true 'institution.' This year I work in an institution a bit like Monroeville and some actions or reactions I stole from the things I see every day, a boring life nu-uh:P Reply if U wanna read more^^

Rosa · 03-12-2008, 04:23 PM

Update =]

10101

**Kriss** · 03-12-2008, 04:28 PM

Loved it

Update again when you can!

Slashable · 03-12-2008, 05:00 PM

Nuky! This story RULES!
I love the crazyness of it !
:D

dagný · 03-12-2008, 06:12 PM

this is so funny x)

the creep XD
gerard is so funny >.<

love it!
i want more! <3
^_^

Issabbella · 03-12-2008, 06:39 PM

NEWREADERNESS!!!! these are HILARIOS!! i love gerard the crazy fuck he makes me laugh so hard!!

famousXdeadX · 03-12-2008, 06:52 PM

I love it so please update!
I hope frankie warms up to gerard soon. :]

**Nukyster** · 03-13-2008, 02:56 PM

Chapter 6) Kitchen Karma

.-.-.

When he entered the dinner room he saw Ray sitting on end of the table. The King had been right, a big guy. Frizzy curling hair and his eyes focused on his plate. Sarah sprinted around with stuff to drink and ketchup. She gave him a quick smile when he entered. He pretended not to see it and he sat down next to the big guy. ‘Better next to Big Foot then next to that Tasmanian Devil.’

Bob walked in, a bit sheepish scratching his wrists and he took some things over from Sarah that gave him a relieved thanks. Then he sat down facing Ray. Frank suppressed a moan.

‘Fuck now I gotta face the creep the entire time.’

“Has anyone seen Gerard?” Sarah called from the kitchen area.

Bob was the only one answering. “No.”

“Damn it.” She came back with a pan filled of macaroni. Frank rolled his eyes from under his hood. ‘Where even going to eat as prisoners. Can’t wait till someone steels my jelly…’

“Frank?” Sarah huffed. “Can you please call Gerard, I think I will kill him if he doesn’t show up in one minute.”

“That’s not very professional, Sarah.” Bob told her. She gave him a sharp look.

“I had to cook, I can’t cook. Fuck I hope that they hire a new cook very fast...” She huffed and rushed back into the kitchen.

Bob observed how she nearly dropped a bowl then he turned towards Frank. “Let me give you a good piece of advise, do what the staff sais. Makes things a lot easier.”

Frank gave him a meaningful mind-your-own-damn-business glare but got up when he heard something fall in the kitchen. If merging in would help him get out then why not. He was screwed senseless anyway.

So for the forth or fifth time that day he scampered through the hall. Cranky he stopped at Gerard’s door. ‘If I hurry up I don’t even have to see him.’ He knocked on the door: “Gerardwheregoingtoeatsohurryup!” He rambled in one fast breath. He turned around took a few steps then waited. ‘He is not coming.’ He turned back. ‘Just fucking great.’ Angrily he shot daggers at the door, some mutt kind of music came from behind it. ‘How hard is it to open a damn door?’

He sighted rubbed his eyes, he felt a migraine come up. ‘This place is so going to eat me.’ For the second time he knocked on the door. No answer, not even a sound of someone being alive.

Frowning he watch the wood. The silence was near terrifying, that guy was hyper and bouncy. And licked, so why was there no sound other then the mute music.

‘Maybe he has a TV in his room.’ That made sense. ‘Maybe he is in there just waiting to scare the living crap out of me.’ Right now that wouldn’t be much of an challenge, he would launce if someone tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I bet he is staring at the door waiting for me to open and then- Shit Frankie your going really paranoid.’ He tiptoed closer to the door. ‘C’mon men, don’t be such a poof. Your depressed not mental! You better show that to that Doc- AND STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF!’

He snapped back in reality, his hand slowly moved towards the doorknob. His fingertips brush the iron first before circling around it. Then it comes, the click, slowly the door goes open, the music becomes louder. Frank whispers a prayer before entering.

He could have slapped himself in the face. The guy that could be a cousin from Jason Voorhees lay motionless on his bed, sheets covering his bare legs. His left hand is tangled behind his head and his other hand held a teddy bear. His Ipod goes up and down on his chest with every breath while his eyes are close and his mouth close to drooling.

‘Cute, a sleeping psycho. What’s next, dictators doing ballet?’ He got a very disturbing mental image from Hitler in a tutu. ‘Never mind!’ Now that the danger lay fast asleep he had some time to spy-… look at his room.

As his the wall facing the door had two large windows, painted crimson. The other walls where painted purple, aubergine. His closet door was partly open and half of the inside had been littered on the floor. Not only clothes but CD’s, comics, shoes, socks, books, trash all kinds of junk where spread through the room. Large posters covered about 80% of the wall near a desk. There was no mirror above his desk, but a large dash in the wall. ‘Guess he’s never heard of anger-management. He noticed a pair of dirty socks on the desk. ‘Or hygiene.’

“As I quote: No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honor and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.” Someone suddenly broke the silence.

Frank jumped up and starred at the creep who yawned, rubbed his belly and whipped off his mouth. “It’s a quote from the Civil’s Right of America, bout privacy. Right now your violating that right. Your in my room and you stand on my favorite band shirt.”

He felt how his cheeks lit up. “I wasn’t, she… Sarah told me to go get you. Dinner. Thing-“

“-Yeahyeahyeahyeah.” The creep waved away his stammering. “Don’t worry I violated close to every written ‘facility’ rule. ‘T was about time Karma kicked back, that stupid bitch…” He nearly caressed his Ipod and lay it on a small cabin next to his bed, the only piece of furniture that wasn’t vandalized by trash or clothes. The creep stretched again, both his arms and cracked his neck.

Then he dug forward and whipped some dust and remains of chips off a shirt. He pulled it over his head. “’M sorry I licked you.” His apology turned the atmosphere in the room into awkward. His peroxide blond hair peeked through the shirt and he pulled his shirt down.

“Let’s see, paints.” He muttered, eyes running over his Tasmanian underwear. “Can you throw me something? Anything as long as it fashionable and not suede, or leathery, or pink or- I don’t even have those kind of clothes.” Sleepy he blinked his eyes got up and dragged himself to his closet.

“So Frrrrank, what do you think about Monroeville so far?” He asked throwing some clothes out of his closet onto a big pile on the ground.

Frank got a bit put off by the sudden hint of interest towards him. And there was that other thing, right now the creep didn’t seem that freaky or crazy. More like the type of guy you have a quick chat with while waiting for the bus.

His habit of pushing his hands in his pocket and starring at the floor turned up. Some kids at school call it the ‘emo-march.’ But honestly he didn’t do it to draw attention, more like the opposite. For a boy his age he was pretty shy if it came to talking to strangers and lowering his gaze gave him some sort of safety, no-one would see his eyes because his eyes always betrayed him. His mouth could lie, but his eyes gave him away.

“’S alright I guess.”

Gerard pushed himself back from his digging through his closet and chuckled. “Yeah right no-one come in here unwillingly and then things it’s alright.” He must study his bearing because he got quiet for a few seconds. “You absolutely hate it don’t ya?”

“Pretty much yes.” Frank replied honest.

“I figure, everybody hates this place the first few weeks. Some even the first few months, years.” He saw his shocked look. “Mweh, not that you’ll stay here for years, your probably out in a few months. Lucky bastard. -OEW, they finally washed my fave jeans!” he dug back inside his closet and pulled out a rather shitty pair of jeans, knees ripped and the legs raveled.

The color had faded and it looked like something you would find in a dumpster. But to Gerard it seemed like a treasure, he stepped in the jeans and pulled it up.

“Did Sea cook?” He asked when he zipped his jeans.

“Sea- O you mean Sarah?” The creep nodded. “I think she did.”

Gerard moaned and drew his head between his shoulder. “Fucketie-fuck, it’s quit disturbing no-one has died from food-poisoning in this section, I swear.”

He kicked some clothes away and closet his clothes. “C’mon let’s go and get it over with.”

.-.-.

Awww thank you all so much for reviewing, your the best! Go and hug yourself