From the Ashes, You Crawl

Chapter Six; Flashback

Gerard ran for a very, very long time. Longer than he could ever remember running in his life. He was so pumped with adrenaline, he never grew tired. Gerard had ran, mostly with his eyes closed, through the crowds of burning people until he in front of the home he had grown up in. Gerard wasn't sure how he had gotten up to the door. Perhaps, it was magic or destiny or some combination of that sort of crap he sincerely didn't believe in.

Whatever it was, he stood in front of his home, the empty bag over his shoulder. The grass was yellowing, and it looked incredibly brittle, like if he touched it, it would fall apart. He noticed that the paint on his old home was peeling away from the siding, scorched and yellowing, and the windows were completely shattered. Gerard began to walk hestantly towards the door when he tripped on something and was flung onto the ground, landing on his stomach.

"Fuck," He muttered, leaning up on his elbows, gasping back his breath. He looked back down he body towards his feet and saw a melting basketball, sticking to the sidewalk. For a moment, he wondered why there was a ball laying there, and then, he remembered.

His brother had always loved sports.

Gerard leapt to his feet and ran inside. He didn't even bother to knock. He simply burst through the door to find his mother sitting expressionless on the couch, knitting silently. Her eyes were not on her frantic, but careful hands, they were staring straight ahead. This bothered Gerard, but he couldn't find the words to speak. His hands shook as he stared at her. They hadn't had contact in years since Gerard had packed his things in a suitcase and left for the city. Gerard's eyes flicked to the pictures on the mantle, family portraits from long, long ago. From where he stood, he could see that sharpie had been taken over where his face had once been, and in some, his whole body had simply been ripped out.

Gerard looked away back to his mother. She still didn't look at him. Her hands frantically moved like her life depended on the sweater she was making. It was black, like all the things she knitted. Gerard could remember when he was younger how she would always knit things for Mikey. Mikey was the precious one. Precious because he was smaller, more fragile. Precious because he wasn't mentally unstable, like Gerard was, and his mother planned on keeping him that way by protecting him. She'd constantly knit him hats and gloves and sweaters and socks, but when Gerard would politely request a pair of gloves, she'd pretend like she couldn't hear him. That had always made Gerard incredibly sad.

Finally, Gerard decided to talk to her. He wanted to know where Mikey was, so he could see his brother and make sure he was okay, but when he flicked his eyes to his mother's face, she was already staring at him, tears rolling down her face. She seemed to read his mind.

"He-He was outside when it happened," She sputtered, her tough exterior fading, but her hands never pausing.

Gerard didn't even bother to ask. He rushed past her, through the hallway, and into the bedroom he had once shared, his eyes on the floor. That was when he notice a splattering of blood. Slowing down, his eyes followed it. The blood was stained into the carpet in drips or slid against the wall in handprints. Whomever had left them had been stumbling along. This made Gerard want to be sick. He knew who's blood that was.

Even before he was at the door at the end of the hall, he could hear the moaning, the crying, the pleading. Gerard recognized the voice. He tensed himself at the door, leaning against it. He pressed his eyes shut, listening to the weeping and moaning. A single tear slid down his face, but that was all he allowed before he pushed open the door.

The room hadn't changed much from the last time Gerard had left. His bed was gone, a plain, empty space left there, and it seemed to him that Mikey had never bothered to fill it. Gerard noticed that his whole half of the room was completely empty; Faded places on the walls marked where his posters had been. Smooth places on the carpet marked where his dresser and bookshelf had been. It seemed that there had been a rush from his parents to make sure that every single trace of Gerard disappeared.