Youngblood Chronicles: Light Em Up

Prologue

"One year," I marked the small square on my wall I used for day counting. The little black tally mark I had just made was the 365th mark on the wall. "I've been rotting in this cell for one year." I was 17 then. I got up from my crouch. It had been 1 year since I had decided to come here on that fateful mission. 1 year since I had left my world in the dust. 1 year since I had lost my arm after Patrick Stump, of all people, had cut it off.

Over the year, my mom, and the cult (which is apparently called Voiceless) had tortured me. They had bleached my hair to an almost white color, stuck me with many illnesses that had nearly killed me. They had bitten me with a rattlesnake! I only survived that one because they gave me the anti-venom.

"In poison places, we are anti-venom," I sang softly as I set to work drawing again. I had been given charcoal sticks and other art supplies and using my one good hand and arm (my right) I had drawn all over my cell. The floor, walls, ceiling, under the mattress on the cot, on the underside of the cot, the ceiling. I had many, many papers filled with drawings, stories, recipes, poems, and a few hidden songs I had written. However, to give me more room, my cell had been extended and was now 10 by 15. So, I had a little more wall space before I would have to break out the colors.

I heard the door at the end of the hall creak open as my next meal was brought in. I was fed once a day, usually a meal about the size of a normal dinner. It was brought along with 3 or 4 bottles of water, and some art supplies and such. Today, Pete Wentz was bringing my meal.

"Good morning," I said cheerfully. I got up and walked to the edge of the cell, my white under clothes were ragged and torn up some from the beating I received. Some of them from him. Still, as long as I could sing and draw, I would try to be cheerful. Kill em' with kindness, as My Little Pony would say.

"Good morning Pete. How goes the cult?" Pete slid my food under a slot in the cell bars, along with the water and the new charcoal sticks and paper.

"So far so good. I mean, we took out some people, turned Taylor Swift, the music industry is trying to bring in new talent, only to have it disappear," Pete stared at my stump. The stump where my left arm had once been. "You know, we have an arm for you if you would just..."

"Save it, I know my mom told you to say that." Pete headed back to the stairs, not making anything musical whatsoever. In the past year, I had been informed many a bad thing.

The White Kids, who apparently had been calling themselves Youngest Blood had been wiped out, artists were turning left and right. Voiceless was recruiting more people. I knew a lot of it was fake, but it was usually my only human interaction all day. I would sometimes get more, but that usually came in the form of torture or a brainwash attempt. I wasn't susceptible to their techniques. Besides, I guess when the took my arm, they broke me. And they can't break me again.

I took the new charcoal sticks and began working on my masterpiece. Over the year I had been down here, I had learned to cope with my missing arm, but also refined my drawing skills tremendously. I had been given some drawing things for Christmas from my mother, Janice Lloyd and Head Bitch #2. I also had probably one of my most prized possessions. Not my black boots that barely fit, but a picture of the band Fall Out Boy before all this.

I walked over to above my cot and took down the sheet. I had used one of my sheets and covered it with art to hide what I had underneath. Underneath was a nearly completed picture of the Fall Out Boys, based on the picture I had been given. I also had some color charcoal, which I would later use to complete the image.

"Alright Patrick, let's finish your face," I muttered, setting to work. Sometimes, at night, I would talk to the wall like it was a person, venting everything to it. After a long torture session, I would work on the picture. If I had just recovered my voice from sickness, I would sing a Fall Out Boy song or at least part of it.

I scratched away at the wall, curving the nose, adding the glasses, and finishing the bangs. I worked for many hours, eating little bits of the food (which was a hamburger and some veggies, with a fruit cup) and taking little drinks of water as I worked.

It was probably 2 in the afternoon when I heard the door at the end of the hall creak open. I quickly put the sheet back up and smiled. I had finished my masterpiece. I sat on the cot, pretending to draw on a piece of paper. A moment later, my cell was unlocked, and Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley walked in.

"Let's go. Bitch #2 wants to talk to you." I got up, not bothering to put on my boots. But I was extremely scared. I had a torture session only 2 days ago. What was she going to do now? I shakily got off the cot and walked over. Andy roughly grabbed my only arm and Joe locked the cell while Andy led me up the stairs.

"Why does she want to see me?" I asked, not expecting an answer or any acknowledgment.

"I don't know, she just wants to see you." Andy snapped. He waited for Joe to catch up at the top of the stairs, and the two yellow-eyed men "escorted" me to my mother's office.