There's A Dozen Reasons In This Gun.

                                                    Chapter One - So Long, and Goodnight. 

"It is a revenge that the devil sometimes takes upon the virtuous, that he entraps them by the force of the very passion they have supressed and think themselves superior to." 

     - George Santayana 

I'd always belived in the forces of good and evil. That there was some form of higher authority that dictated whether something was right, or wrong. Call it the forces of God and Satan if you wish. Most of all, I'd always belived that everything happens for a reason. However, no matter how many nights I spent awake, lying on my back staring at the same section of plaster that made up part of the ceiling of our apartment I still couldn't give a straight answer as to why it he did it. I mean, I was a nobody. A failing musician in a shitty punk band that no-one apart from whoever bothered to come to our shows knew about. Gerard though, holy fuck the man was a fucking saint. Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly a- you know what, go with it. His art was amazing, it could tell you a million stories from a stroke of a brush. I remeber it every fucking night. The pouring rain, the thunder. Typical Jersey weather. Then the crash, the weeps. The silence.

It was his funeral today. I should have gone, I should have been there. Instead I'm sitting in this run down shitty apartment slowly drinking myself to death and getting as high as a fucking kite. I drink to forget, to cope. It's the knocking at the door that brings me to my senses, and my feet. I drag myself over, unlocking it and pulling it open. Gerard's little brother Mikey's standing infront of me, still dressed in the black suit he must have worn to his funeral. 

"Hey Frank." he smiles weakly. 

"What the fuck are you doing here Mikes?" I pause, realizing I was probably too harsh. "Shouldn't you be with Donna? I'm sure she needs you right-" I trail off.

"You're drunk again aren't you?" he asks, frowning.

"Tispy." I correct. "if Toro or Bryar have sent you here on fucking suicide watch, tell them I'm fine. I don't need my fucking hand holding." I snap, and rub my forhead. 

He frowns at me again. "Actually Gerard told me to keep an eye on you if anything ever happened to him." 

I nearly facepalm. "Shit, sorry Mikes. Do you want to come in for a drink or something?" 

"No, clearly you're doing fucking brilliantly without me checking up on you, so I'll leave you be." He turns and walks away then pauses. "He would have wanted you there." he says, before he disapears. I sigh and lock the door behind me, flinging myself onto the sofa to spend another night awake and staring at the same fucking patch of ceiling. I don't know whether it's exaustion or bordeom that makes me drift off, but before I know it, I'm asleep. The gentle patting of rain outside the window is like a painful lullaby, singing me into unconiousness. And for the first time in days, I let it. 

~A/N

Okay sorry it took so long. (Edited whoop. Shall be writing more maybe after work experience woo)

Most generic question ever, but shall I carry on? Or deem this as a lost cause and give up?

~Laura xo