I Would Sing You To Sleep (Mikey+Alicia)

Because I Like Old Things

I'm not even gonna lie anymore, I don't care if I have a shit ton of stories, if I get a new idea, I'm going to post it. Just never hesitate to tell me what you want updated. This entire story is dedicted to MCRWithMikeyWay. Not really sure why, but when I got this idea, I immediatly thought  of her story Homework, School, and Mikey Way. Don't forget to check her out. :) She's an upcoming writer and pretty damn punk rock if I do say so myself. Here's for you Bapp. ;)

I do not own MCR, or Mikey would not of ended up with hashtag whore (Sarah)

Maybe it was the way I could feel each individual object like seperatly wrapped presents beneath the old fashioned brown paper, tied up with fraying string in a way that made you want to keep it locked away-never wanting to open it. Like the packaging was so well thought out that whatever laid within could never measure up to the excitement I felt holding that. Like someone found something and couldn't help but think of me, and know that I would apperciate each crumbling sound the paper made as I turned it over it my hands. 

Except it wasn't just for me. It was for a

Forgetful Fuck Face

Or at least I hoped that wasn't for me. The address was so carefully written, with a tad of sloppyness however, and it was definitly adressed to my flat. But it didn't say Alicia, it said fuck face. I guess that could still be me, except it said Mr fuck face. I dunno, maybe if someone hated me enough to call me a guy, or maybe it was one of those people that called everyone Mr, just like I called everyone kid...Or maybe I thought way to much, and often got off subject.

Yeah, that was it. Still, it couldn't be so bad if it was in fact for me. I mean, look at the paper. No hate male would be so carefully wrapped...Unless it it had to be so exact that the tiniest movement would set off a bomb. Once again, thinking to much. Besides, I didn't really have any enemies aside from that douche that charged me an extra twenty cents at the grocery store for paying him all in quarters. So what? I was starting to break into my savings funds of loose change. Don't judge me. I'm kinda a hermit, lets just put it that way.

After staring it down on my counter for a good two days I finally decided to just send it back to the who ever the hell called me, but not really me, a fuck face. Psh. Just kidding, if you know me at all, you know I opened it about twenty minutes after I found it in my mail box. What? You might of expected one of those stories where the character waits a good responsible time to open something the person wouldn't even know they had, constantly tormenting themselves over the finely wrapped package.

Come on, who are you kidding? All anyone ever gets in the mail in this messed up world is bills and advertisements.  No one bothers to write letters anymore, let alone send such beautiful packages. Anyways, it was in my mail box anyways. Not my problem.

Like I said earlier, when I opened it, (being careful not to rip the return address) it wasn't as great as the wrapping, but damn. This dude, chick, it, I guess I will say, has awesome music taste. I fingered the old cassette tapes gingerly, biting my bottom lip. That whole thing I said about my mail box, well. I felt a bit bad now. Obviously these must of been a present or something, and maybe fuckface was just friendly bantering. Plus they did say forgetful fuckface. Surely they knew them.

I absolutely loved cassette tapes, and anyone who bothered to keep them around, clearly apperciated them too. It was hard to find any worth keeping, considering how horribly people treated them. To them, it was trash. To me it was the art of my childhood. I mean, I litterally belived I pissed myself a little when I read teenage dirtbag scrawled a crossed one of the tapes. They all seemed to half flecks of black...nail polish? Flecked a crossed the labels. Hell, some were even labeled in it. Ok, this person must be a girl. 

Every title took me back to my teenage years, and suddenly I felt nostaligic as hell. I'm pretty sure I'm straight, but I would totally get with this chick if it saved me from spending late nights alone in my way to brightly painted room, the window above my bed cracked a bit as I listened to the soft stream of my neighbors records. I was going through a horror movie faze at the time, so of course I was curled under the blankets with the window hardly open at all...but still.

I had a few posters drooping lazily from my walls, staring down at me as if they were physically there, rubbing it in my face that they'd never know I existed. I never did meet those neighbors....Ma's pretty great now, but back then she was against all those bands. She didn't like how negative bands like The Misfits were with their lyrics. As soon as we moved, to put it quite bluntly, she finally pulled her head out of her ass.

To bad too. I never had many friends, (which was exactly why I spent my nights huddled under my blankets and chewing at my black polished nails every Friday night,) and some friends would of been pretty awesome. 

A soft chiming noise rang out from my tv, reminding me of the latest WWE match had finished recording-some of my favorite boxers too. I'd wait till later though, I had some tapes to listen to anyways. 

Sorry it's short, it's just the prologue. ~DemolitionDrag