The Anatomy Of A Gun (Frerard)

One

The air is thick, the walls grimy with dirt and blood and sweat. I turn around quickly, to see his eyes. They're brown.

Bang.

My eyes snap open and I sigh. I was hoping that tonight I wouldn't dream, but that's so fantastically unrealistic at this point that the closest I'll get to not having dreams is not sleeping, which I tried, and failed.

It shouldn't bother me anymore, I shouldn't be guilty, but every goddamn night there's a new pair of eyes pleading for me to save them. I can never save them.

I glance at the alarm clock, seeing but not quite registering 4:03 AM because I knew that time would be there already. I get out of my bed and change lazily out of my sweat soaked clothes. This has become routine.

I sit on my bed for awhile, contemplating for the thousandth time what the dreams are. They started awhile back, about three years ago, and I was terrified when I first had to see a person die like that, even if it was in a dream. I'd seen some filthy stuff in the waking world but it's fucking butterflies and marshmallows in comparison to the blood washed walls that appear when I close my eyes for just a second too long. Every night, someone gets shot, a stranger. Always shot, never anything else. Once I tried talking to a therapist, and all I got was a look saying everything my dad ever had: Gerard Way, you need fucking help.

"Why does this hap-pen to me?" My voice cracks in the middle of the sentence. I look up when no one answers, and then remember that no one is listening.

I sit for awhile, just thinking until about 5 AM, then eventually slip into sleep.

--

When I wake up, it's 7:30. I take a quick shower and dress in my normal black jeans, Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt and converse. I know, I'm typically "emo", I've even got the eyeliner down.

Today, June 15th, a rainy Wednesday, seems like the perfect day to go on Netflix, eat horrifying amounts of food and draw, but there's no food in the fridge. I just moved here, so I don't know very many people or places but I decide to drive to the CVS down the street. It starts to rain as I begin to drive.

It's really weird not being in school, even though I'd only been there a week or so. Got out three days ago, I've got no idea where I'm going in life. Other than CVS.

Suddenly, the air becomes so thick I can't breathe, my chest is too heavy for thinking about anything other than getting air to my lungs and I'm gasping. My vision goes blurry at the edges and my heart beats in my ears and I can feel myself shaking. Everything moves in slow motion and  it's just the ticking of the car and the rain rolling down the windshield.

I am having a panic attack.

My heart pounding in my head, the shake in my hands, a faint ringing in my ears and... the crashing of my car into CVS. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm so dead. Shit. Why didn't I walk? Why am I like this? I could've dealt with the rain. Things are still moving slow as I lurch forward, my head hitting the glass and hurting a helluva lot. I feel my leg also yank in a questionable direction, along with my elbow hitting my window, and the window breaking.

Everything hurts, and then I feel nothing.