The Kids From Yesterday (frerard)

Gerard POV

        My hand is stretched out above me. I'm in the dark on my back. I can't see anything. The only source of light comes from the crack under my rotten door. I can still hear the stupid music Jim insists on playing. Ugh. That stupid thump-thump of the bass is loud enough to almost knock my small stack of CDs fall over.

        I know my flashlight is on my nightstand, easy to reach. Do I dare turn it on? Jim made sure that I as invisible and if anyone noticed my presence, they would definitely ask. I shrug in the darkness, knowing that if Jim lays a finger on me, I can bust his ass.

        Turning on the flashlight, I shine it on my backpack. It's packed, filled with everything I might need. To be realistic, I'm not sure I can just run off and survive on my own. I really don't know what I want to do. I just want to get out of here.

        Next to my backpack, on my desk is a tube of red hair dye. I run a hand through my black hair, I always wanted to see what I would look like with some sort of color. My current hair has paled my skin even further, making the impossible somehow possible.

        Hearing footsteps, I shut off the flashlight, and turn to my side. Just because Jim can't hurt me doesn't mean he can't take my light. I think hopelessly of the things he's already taken. My GameBoy, that one fish from the Fair, God rest his soul, and almost everything that could "corrupt" my mind. I'm reminded of my floorboard stash, only discovered two months ago, resulting in not being allowed to see friends. Right, like I have friends.

        As the hours pass, I'm stuck looking out the growing sunlight coming through my window. The thin fabric can hardly constitute as curtains, but according to Social Services, it's "good enough". I think it's around 5am now, I should be getting up.

        Tiptoeing carefully into the bathroom, holding the hair dye to my chest, I make sure no one spots me. Any inturuptions can ruin this. I follow the directions on the small box, applying a seemingly good enough amount of dye into my hair. Uh oh. I hear footsteps, my hands are covered in red.

"Gerard! What are you doing?!" Jim bursts through the door. He sees the dye and turns almost the exact shade of hair dye. "What is this?!"

I close my eyes, breathing carefully. "It's hair dye...I wanted to dye my hair"

"And why would that be a good idea?"

"I dunno. Wanted to see what it would look like..." I hang my head, expecting yelling.

"And it didn't occur for you to ask me first?" His hand is on his hip, the other holding the dye box.

"Well you were gonna say-"

"Do not talk back to me! Now get dressed, I don't want to see you here." Jim glowered at me, as if trying to burn a hole in me. As I passed him, I could smell alcohol. Obviously.