"Why is Brendon Urie carrying a hobo?"

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"She's not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention"
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"Move your fat ass!"

"I'm trying." I mumble trying to gather all my things as quickly as possible.

I run up the stairs to my room before he decides he wants to hit me again. I lock my door behind me.

If you're wondering who "he" is, it my dad. He's terrible, it doesn't matter if I've done something wrong, he still hits me. I wish he would just leave me alone. I don't know what I have done to deserve this. I'm growing sick of his abuse.

I sit down at my old wooden desk and put one earphone in and turn on my favorite Panic! album, AFYCSO obviously. Music is the only thing that makes me forget my horrid life.

As I'm in the middle of I Write Sins, when my dad bust through the door, drunk as usual. He's yelling about something I don't hear though, not because his lack of vocals, I've just learned to block his voice out. So I just stand in the corner, staring down at my feet. The awaited punch comes shortly after, which makes my nose bleed. I hold my nose, then the blow to the eye, which then makes me fall, which leads to kicking.

When he finally leaves I'm a pulp basically. I've grown sick of it obviously, I've never had the guts to leave. But tonight is the night.

I grab my empty worn out book bag and start throwing things into, including a few band tees, ripped jeans, and some sweatpants.

I open my window, i take one last look at my room and feel tears welling in my eyes, I step out of the window then, taking to the streets.

I find an old empty alley way, and decide to lay down my sleeping bag, I'm very exhausted and fall asleep almost immediately.

(Time change brought to you buy Patrick Stumps fedora)

The light is hurting my eyes. I try to open them and fail miserably. So I squint trying to find the source. There's also a rumbling noise, a hurricane? I think it's my stomach, the pains follow, definitely my stomach. I haven't ate in quite a while

"Is she alive?" I try to respond to the voice but nothing comes out.

"Should I poke her?"

"Shhhh, what if she's sleeping!?"

"You idiots! Don't poke her."

"What do you want?" I mumble,
not opening my eyes. Finally able to speak. They're probably going to mug me or something, it's happened before.

"She's alive dude." A familiar voice says.

"Really? I didn't notice." Another familiar voice says sarcastically.

I manage to open my eyes, which gives me a migraine.

"You guys look familiar." I state feeling dizzy.

"Here, let me help you."
One of them says. Grabbing my arm and pulling me upwards.

I stand but as soon as he lets me go, I fall. I'm caught by a strong set of arms but then I pass out.
I feel like I'm being carried, while people are whispering all around me, I can only make out one sentence.

"Why is Brendon Urie carrying a hobo?"

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