Maybe I should've not come in the first place, I should've just minded my own freakin' business and cleaned up my closet or something more productive.
I really don't belong here, I didn't get up every morning during high school to do this job. This is weird. This is messed-up.
Is anything happening ever real..?
As I tighten up the laces of my big, brown combat boots I got from a yard sale few days ago, I don't know if I could ever be a "hero", or a complete "psycho." I could qualify for both, but in the end, I could only be one.
I march out the house and wait for him to pass by and pick me up, to show me where's the next place, and who's the next victim.
I hate this.
I love this.
I hate my life.
I love my life.
I hate my job.
I love my job.
Ugh, it doesn't really matter how I feel, anymore.
This is already my occupation, my eternal occupation. This is my punishment for never unseeing what I have saw.
This is what I do for a living, forever, as long as I live.
This may be a little bit more than your average introduction.... Sorry. Maybe if I would slow down a bit from the part when it all happened, you'd totally get what I'm freaking out about.
My name is Gerard Way, and... as over-said as it is,
This is what I do for a living.
YOU ARE READING
What I Do For A Living (MCR Fanfic)
FanfictionIt’s all but a white cloth separating the 2 friends, as one lays on a cold, metal table. And the other friend- alive, standing in dread, still shaken by all the stuff he had to undergo. Although, deep down, he knows that this is really how li...
