Desolationrow Stories

"What is it that actually cured him, Doctor Iero?" A voice asked, causing my breath to hitch. The question had caught me off guard. Why? Because I didn't fully understand the answer myself. I took a deep breath before replying. "Love." I stated quietly before clearing my throat and repeating myself, louder this time, "Love is what cured him." ******** For years, Gerard has been locked away in Desolation Row, the mental asylum for those beyond crazy-- for good reason too. Gerard's haunted by the demons of his past: forming as voices in his head and hallucinations, which leaves him sometimes confused to what's dream and what's reality. They're both nightmares to him. That is until a new doctor is assigned to him, to hopefully break Gerard from his seemingly incurable trance. The worlds best doctors had tried to battle their ways into Gerards mind, yet to no avail. But still, the new doctors' hazel eyes and therapeutic voice has Gerard intrigued. No one can understand Gerards' new fascination with the man: not even Gerard. Although, Gerards' mind still torments him with the fact that 'Doctor Iero' may be only a figment of his imagination-- a reassurance that his mind could take away just as easily as it was made. Despite this, Gerard feels the urge to grow closer to the man who had miraculously stole the attention of the uncanny mental patient, in the hopes that he can help stop Gerard's tortured mind and his stay at Desolation Row might not be so bad.

He's Got A Reputation: He's the school's bad boy, he charms girls into sleeping with him. He's got a history of vandalism, violent pranks, he's had his fair share of fights, he drinks, he smokes, he does drugs, he's had a history of landing himself in juvie. He's the lead Bad Boy of Belleville High School, he doesn't show many emotions: just his string desire for sex. Everyone is scared of him, no one back talks, no one changes his plans, no one breaks his rules, they all listen, they all go along with his plans without any sort of back talking or complaining. He always gets he wants. Him and group loves skipping classes, the bleachers are their area, second period is their period, they beat up kids, throw bricks through windows, spray paint in illegal places, their pranks are mean. She's Got A Small Reputation: she's the rebel. She's never been in juvie, never done anything to illegal. Sneaks out, smokes, drinks a little, pick pockets, skipping class, swearing, trespassing onto abandoned property. She hides all of her emotions. She loves skipping classes and hanging out underneath one of the bleachers drawing and listening to music she takes to school with her. She stays out of their way but no one else's. She fights for her rights and sticks up for herself and others, she isn't scared of the boys but doesn't want trouble. She's had a secret crush on Gerard for the longest time now, but she's scared of letting him know because of his reputation and her past. She's scared he'd use her, scared he'd find out her past so she doesn't tell him about it. But her life will change quickly.

I did it for the rush, and nothing more. Or at least that's what I've been telling myself. Maybe I did it because they said I couldn't, maybe I've finally lost my grip on sanity. Whatever the reason, it was in too deep to undo my sins now. It was late, it was dark, and reality had yet to set in. I was still high on adrenaline, the flashing lights and blaring sirens, vivid and intrepid against the dark cover of night. The fire was beautiful, and I stood back to admire my night's work. They were coming for me, coming to take me away. It didn't matter anymore. It was about time, in fact. At least that meant that someone had taken notice to my sorry life and ill decisions, and that was all I truly craved. My parents-or at least whatever was left of them, didn't pay me any heed. I didn't even live with them. One of my only true companions had let me crash with him for the past three months. Honestly, I was dead for all my parents cared. But that didn't matter either, because they didn't care. The sirens were close now, maybe only mere seconds away. I looked back on my burning mural, the words, "Fake Your Death," blazing brightly against the side of the concrete passway, the scent of gasoline set aflame scorching my nostrils. The words had meaning, maybe not to anyone else, but to me. Those words were the last thing I saw before being shoved roughly into the back of one of the police cars that had come to take me away. My pride was my greatest weakness, and I couldn't help but grin furiously at myself as the police car drove away from the scene. I stared longingly at the words, my last beacon of freedom, my last cry for help, fading into the black. The last light was gone, and this was the turning point.