Once again, inspired by a song - Headfirst For Halos by My Chemical Romance.
This one's a little more fan-fiction that my last story, as members of the band are in this short story.
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He sat alone in a mostly dark room. Torn blinds above him let in small herds of stray mid-day light beams reach around, leaving flee-bitten spots on the stained carpet and crumbling walls. Specs of dust floated in and out o the light-portals, slowly making their way from one dry wall to another. The room smelt of alcohol, and that dingy smell of old socks and BO you’d expect from any young man’s room.
The person longingly mumbled something, inaudible due to the liquor that infected his speech. He sat slumped against the wall, underneath the old square window, his head was inclined and rested on his chest and a beer bottle rested at his side. The brand or type was unknown, as there was no label to identify it with. Far below him outside, a car horn beeped and a loud screech erupted from the streets. He elevated his chin slightly and his lips parted just a little bit, suddenly distracted from his nonsense by the noise. He remained in this frozen thought for maybe 10 seconds, finding it hard to contemplate what to think about it. Shrugging it off, the man dismissed the noise, not really caring what the situation was. He stopped caring about anything a long time ago. He looked around the room. It was empty, except for a white telephone which rested in a corner to the man’s left. He stared viciously at it for some time, as if he were sizing it up, ready to throw it out the door or window like had the rest of his possessions during a drunk-fuelled rage episode. Sirens could be heard in the distance. The noise was the only one to be heard, and it crept into the building like a ghost, haunting the being inside it.
The man had, after analysing the machine for a while, decided its fate. Just as he was about to reach over and grab the doomed object, a loud ring projected itself from the telephone like it was a cry for help. He jumped, spooked by the phone’s sudden disturbance of noise. His eyes bulged and he stared at the phone unsure of what to do. His dark hair fell over his eyes in greasy strands. He had not bathed in days and stunk of liquor and B.O. The phone rang and rang, until the answering machine finally kicked in. Crackling came through the speaker, and then a familiar voice, but he could not remember whose it was. The alcohol blocked his mind from accessing his memories. This annoyed the man greatly, but then he reminded himself of why he had drunk the venom substance in the first place.
“Hey, Gerard. It’s uh…” the voice trailed off. It sounded troubled, worried. “Mikey here, just wonderin’ what you’re up to. I haven’t heard from you in a while.” The voice derailed again, breathing was apparent in the background. Gerard smiled, partly comforted and partly disgusted by his brother’s voice. His younger brother, who had that dorky smile and unstylish brown hair tucked into his glasses. The teenager’s voice returned to the speaker, “Just… ring me back when you get this. I need to talk to you. ‘Kay… bye…”
Beep.
Beep.
Beep
Gerard suddenly became enraged, attempting to pick himself up off the ground and march over to the telephone. All he could do was stand up and then stumble over sideways, crashing up against the wall. Red and blue pills fell out of his navy cotton hoodie and onto the floor beside him. He slid down, a deranged growl stalked across his stubbled face, as he planned out his next action. Just as his seat touched the ground, he twisted to his side and grabbed the beer bottle, almost misjudging its distance. Gerard launched the beer bottle at the phone, and it smashed against the wall just above it. Gold bubbling liquid trickled down the wall. A high-pitched, demented laugh filled the atmosphere. He pointed hysterically at the mess he made. But his voice slowly saddened as the man realised what he had done. Weeping for his lost booze, Gerard lowered his shoulders closely to the floor when he noticed the pills that had fallen out of his pocket. He grabbed two, one blue in colour and one red. He placed them both inside his mouth as he laid there, hair sticking to the tears on his face, grieving for the lost beer.
