Finding a Way | Adopted by Gerard Way

Into The Woods

Gerard was still asleep when I left the house nearly an hour earlier than I usually do on a school morning. Even if he was, I doubt he'd want to speak to me at this point. He's busy, anyway, planning a tour during which the guys still don't know where they'll put me. I ignored him and didn't leave my room once this weekend, and I don't even feel guilty about not using that time to study or something.

I feel nothing.

I don't know where I'm going now. I have no destination in mind as I walk down the road. The sky is overcast, and I can see my breath every time I exhale; swirling clouds reminding me that it's basically now winter. My baggy sweatpants, and denim jacket I put on over a red and black flannel offer me no protection against the cold.

I find myself in a familiar place. A place I once called, "My favourite walking path in New Jersey." I haven't been here in months, but I remember the way and trek on, kicking a stone along the path as I go.

Soon, I reach the centre of the park. It's not as nice as it is during the summer. Instead of the colourful flowers, the bright green grass and trees, and the butterflies and bees that would be buzzing around, the place is lifeless. Gloomy, even. It's all so quiet and still it's almost eery.

In the very middle of the park there's a gazebo which I approach with the goal of sitting down and shielding myself a bit from the cold. It's been decorated for Christmas, lights strung around the edge of the roof. They're not on, though, it's too early in the day.

I'm still kicking the stone, but stop when I hear a voice ring out ahead. "Hey, Kid, what are you doing skipping school?"

I look up to see a boy no older than sixteen stand up from one of the benches in the gazebo. He swings his leg over the guard rail and sits, propped up against one of the arches.

"I could ask you the same," I say. I guess I'm skipping school today.

"True, true."

I climb the stairs then copy his actions, sitting on the rail opposite him, "Why are you skipping?"

The boy shrugs, "Cause I can. You?"

"Sick of it."

He laughs a bit. "Aren't we all?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes, which are dark, almost charcoal coloured. He has a grey beanie on, but his hair reaches almost his shoulders and it's just as black as his eyes.

"I guess so."

"You got a name, Kid?"

"Eve."

"Boring," he mumbles.

"What?" I ask, only I heard what he said.

"I said your name's boring." I'm not even offended. He's not trying to be mean, he's just being honest. Somehow, I admire that: Being able to say what you're thinking out loud.

"Then what's your name?"

"Call me Krash." He smirks. "Spelled with a K."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, I guess it doesn't." Suddenly I regret telling him my real name. You could tell a stranger to call you anything at all and they wouldn't even know the difference. It's a power I've had all along, but never even considered before today.

Krash takes something out of the pocket of his black leather jacket: a pack of cigarettes. He takes one out for himself then holds the pack out to me, but I shake my head so he shrugs and puts it back in his jacket. Then, he produces a lighter from his other pocket, wasting no time in lighting the cigarette.