A Silent Scream *MCR fanfic*

3

When the sun jolted me from my uncomfortable sleep, I was too tired to fully understand where I was, why I was there, or remember yesterday very much at all. I glanced around, only half-awake and start remembering. After a few minutes of waking up, most everything makes sense, except the jacket. That, however, takes half an hour and a can of pineapple chunks for me to finally understand. I was wearing the same leather jacket Gerard had been yesterday. He was wearing it in the grass though, when he comforted me, and with how quickly after his departure I started home, there wasn't any opportunity for him to return to the playground and forget his jacket, so he must've left it for me. Strange.

The vague realization of the fact that I have to go to school hits me about an hour after I returned from dream-land. Assumably from some kind of miracle, my phone is still over half charged, so I plug in my earbuds and let myself sink into that world as I walk to school, leaving what I planned to make my new "home" completely un-hidden as Gerard and I were likely the only ones who fully appreciated the worn-down playground.

Stacey and Tracey were definitely popular girls, so the first thing they observed when I approached them, was my outfit. Stacey, the louder and more social of the two, gasped and nearly screeched at me,

"You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday!"

I'm not paying all that much attention as she drags me through the school and into the teachers bathroom, where she promptly locks the door and orders me to strip. Of course, there's no way I've yet figured out to argue with either of the sisters once they've told or asked you to do anything, so I peel my clothes off. This has happened multiple times before. I'll accidentally slip on the same clothes as the day, they'll slip into a panic, lock me in a room and switch up our outfits until they all look new. To me, they seemed all too obsessed with insignificant details.

The only time I'd worry about outfit or appearance is the first or last time I'm seeing people, because that's what matter. The first time, or any sort of return, signals to other what type of person you are, and either invites them in or pushes them away. The last appearance is what they'll remember.

Think about someone you've known who's left, in any way. When you think their name, the first image to appear in your mind isn't a mundane memory from the middle of your relationship. No, it's the last time you saw them. Likely because you associate them with their disappearance, and the last time you saw them is directly linked to said disappearance. Ultimately, thinking of this person, especially repeatedly, will upset you, since the automatic connection to their disappearance is being placed front and center in your mind, repeatedly. Sometimes the human mind is an amazing, unbelievable, beautiful machine. Other times? It's just painful.

I ultimately wind up wearing a dark green skirt, black heels, my red shirt, and Gerard's jacket. Stacey urged me to not wear a distinctly masculine jacket; well, her exact words were something along the lines of "EW. Skyyyye, no boy clothes," but I preferred the black, interesting jacket to the white crop top she wanted me to wear over my shirt.

Today seemed to move at a snail's pace, seemingly intent on torturing my metaphorical lungs with the foggy air that stung with any attempt of mine to breathe. Stacey and Tracey decided - primarily because of myself wearing the same outfit twice in a row - that immediately after school was the prime time for a visit to the mall.

Under most circumstances, I would have adamantly refused to return to the hellhole they labeled as a mall and again put myself through the torture of repeatedly trying on dozens of outfits, only to leave with nothing in our hands, but a mess of clothes to clean in the hands of the unfortunate souls who worked at whichever store we happened to pop into, but my current circumstances were entirely new to me. I did know that new clothes were a must, and it vaguely crossed my mind that I had no place to keep these clothes, but I assumed that by the time I had the chance to return to my abode, I would have managed to think up something that would efficiently keep my short supply of clothes out of harm's reach. So I agree to shop with them, provided we can stop by the bank and get my credit card, as I had them hold it. My account was directly linked to my parents', so at any time I could retrieve more money. I charge my phone in the car, claiming I lost my home charger. My phone is my last hope right now. Simply put, it's the only way my parents or Trisha would be able to reach me, if by some miracle they had survived.