Authors note: I am a dead piece of shit
This part mentions self harm
The breeze is making it really cold, so Gerard puts on a red flannel. Sunday nights are always Gerard's favorites. Gerard sits under his favorite tree and grabs his sketchbook. He tries to draw the cemetery in front of him, but loses inspiration. He walks over to the grave where his grandmother, Elena lies. "I love you Grandma." He whispers into the October air. He hears a voice behind him and jumps up, running. "Keep running." The voice says. "Keep running." It keeps repeating. Gerard lies down by a different tree, this time in someone's yard. A short figure exits the house, running down the street. Gerard wonders who it is, but doesn't have enough energy to run after it. Gerard gets up, and tries to walk to his house, but slips on the grass. "Fuck." He says, slowly getting up. Gerard finally gets home, and runs to his room.
"Where have you been?" Mikey asks. "Outside. Near my tree, and grandmas grave." Gerard responds. "Okay." Mikey responds, sitting down on Gerard's bed. "Are you okay, Gerard?" Mikey asks. "No. Nothing is okay. Nothing ever will be." Gerard responds, weakly. "Show me your arms." Mikey demands. "No." Gerard responds. "Gerard, I know what's under those sleeves. I'm trying to help my big brother, but it doesn't seem you want it." Mikey says, cold-heartedly. "There's nothing under my sleeves except for skin, Mikey." Gerard says. "Sure?" Mikey asks. "Yes, I'm sure." Gerard responds, tears forming in his eyes.
