All Good Things Must End.

Chapter 2: One Or Two Won't hurt.

Virgil walked home slowly, a slight limp in his step. His boots dug into the back of his heels as he dragged his feet along the concrete path. Virgil sweated under his thick jacket but he knew removing it would be foolish.

The weather had warmed immensely by the time school had ended, raising a full 35 degrees leaving the cold temperature at a snow melting 30. Snow still littered the ground but was melting from the heat, leaving a blinding white shine to the ground. Even with the platinum white, clumps of muddied brown snow still coated the ground in random spots of constant movement.

Virgil missed the varying shades of green that illuminated the small city. The snow took the beautiful colors of spring and summer and replaced them with the blinding, boring shades of white and mud.

Virgil looked at the houses as they quickly lowered in quality. Sagging porches replaced the rich patteos and hole filled roofs replaced tall 2 to 3 story buildings that screamed money. Paint pealed off the sides of the buildings, chunks of the pealings littered the unkempt grounds surrounding the houses.

He saw his house in the distance and his face contorted in disgust. The house was as bad as the rest of the houses, the only difference was the second story that raised the price of the residence.

Weathered red paint pealed off the side of the building. The driveway's snow had melted due to Virgil shoveling it and grass filled cracks accented the cement. The inside of the house wasn't very much better.The stench of booze filled the air due to his mother's drinking and his father's ignorance to the act. There were at least ten beer cans on the living room floor from his mother being too inebriated to throw them away.

Virgil unlocked the door and a look of pure disgust apeard on his face. The smell of booze hit him like a brick and the once white plaster walls made him want to close his eyes in disgust.

He climbed up the stairs to his bedroom (a.k.a. the cold, unheated attic.) and threw his backpack next to his small bed.

He fell down onto the black blanketed bed and sighed. He moved and reached under his bed to grab his journal to write about his day.

Memories of the days events flashed in his mind as he scribbled them all down on paper, written in a special code in case anyone had found it.

'Fuck this school' he wrote. 'I damn it all to hell. Yes, the teachers were nice but the students were all living nightmares.' Black ink stained the page as he wrote 'first I get shoved to the ground, then I get one of my notebooks stolen (it was empty but still, someone stole my fucking notebook), I was alone all lunch, some random kid told me to put my "little sausage fingers down," as I raised my hand for a question. Fuck this school, Fuck today, Fuck this whole entire world. I'm done with this bullshit.'

He slammed the notebook shut as he finished writing and slid it back down under his bed. He took a deep breath before standing up to look in the full body mirror he had propped up against his wall.

'He wasn't that fat, was he?' He thought as he looked in the mirror. He took his shirt off and looked at his stomach then took off his pants and looked at his legs and thighs. He ran his fingers over the many scars that decorated his body, some as old as when he was 9, some as new as lunch time. Virgil looked in the mirror and thought to himself, 'Conner's right, I really am fat."

He put his clothing back on in disgust. It was okay, he could just skip a meal or two, maybe he would look a little prettier in the end. 'Ha. Never thought I'd hear you think that maybe you could be pretty. Face it Virgil, that's never going to happen.' he thought to himself.

He just sighed and ignored his thoughts. Even though he knew they were true; he decided to ignore them anyway.

He fell face first into his bed and groaned, no matter how badly he wanted to sleep he knew that he wouldn't be able too. He grabbed his cracked phone out of his back pocket and hit the power on button on its left side.

An image of Gerard Way popped up onto the screen and Virgil smiled. 'No Virgil, you're NOT gay. Don't forget that.' the smile was wiped off his face immediately. He was not gay, he just liked the band. That. Was. All.

He turned his phone back off and flipped his body so he was looking up at his ceiling. A detailed drawing of the stars shined from it's glow in the dark paint. Virgil had painted it a long time ago and it was still going strong.

He heard the door slam and light footsteps enter the house, his mother was home. He groaned and closed his eyes, he wished he could just dream his life away. Make it all disappear into black and purple swirls of nothingness. He couldn't wait till the day that he could run from this hell hole.

"Four more years," he whispered to himself. Four more years until he could be free, that is if he makes it that long. With dark thoughts on his mind and a heavy heart he turned on his side and prayed with all his might for sleep. He hoped for just one moment that he could be somewhere else, be someone else. Anything other than this.

Chapter summary:
Learn a little about Virgil's day, nothing too severe happened but it was just little things all day that drove him mad. Gets decently self depricating where Virgil talks about disliking his body. Virgil wishes he could get the fuck out of there but alas, he can't. Virgil is denying his homosexuality. Probably going to be the average amount of angst for the rest of the book.