The Blind Artist (Frerard MCR Fanfic)

Edited- Chapter 2

Chapter 2


Age 22

Time doesn’t wait for you when you’re growing up. Those few years my life disappeared before I could blink. But it brought me here.

“Peter Bentley… Lucy Bright… Maria Carter…” one by one names were read. Hands were shaken and the sound of cameras filled the air. The applause that followed pounded in the center of my chest.

I had never been so nervous. Almost ashamed of existing. My head was bowed and my fingers traced tattoos on my wrists, where the green satin brushed over them. I had never seen such a colour, it was murky and olive in tone. A colour I had never been in and would never be in again.

Being nestled between people wasn’t my idea of a fun time. In fact I was close enough to just turning around. “Hey dude… don’t be nervous.” A voice whispered next to me and only then had I looked up at the people with last names similar to mine. He was shaking himself. His black hair sticking out awkwardly from under his cap, his eyes darted around the room. He too was waiting to hear his applause.

Without thinking I had dropped my head again, wishing time would be over. I had rehearsed that walk in my head for days straight so I wouldn’t mess it up. I just wanted to go home. Wherever home was.

During my time there it had became apparent who I wanted to be. It’s funny because life throws you things that way. My dad dying triggered that instinct inside me to carry on my studies. To be something.

“Penny Heywood…” my thoughts were interrupted with my cue to stand. Like a production line we were waddled and moved along waiting to stand on the stage for our moment of glory. My feet were like cement and my brain had gone foggy with anxiety, what if I had tripped? What if it was all a mistake and I hadn’t graduated?

“Good luck mate.” The guy in front of me turned to offer a smile. It wasn’t his fault I could only reply with a small nod and a gulp in my throat.

The crowd were rising to every name called and cheers got loud, claps got longer. It was like they were encouraged by the kisses and waves the people in front of me offered out. 

“Ryan Humphries…” The tall scrap of a guy in front of me took to the stage on wobbly legs. I watched him stride across, make an awkward motion of shaking hands. He pretty much heaved a sigh of relief, turned and winked to his family who gave out a whistle to him.

I gave myself one deep breath in…

“Frank I-aire- orea-o…” the Dean of Monroeville’s community college called out.

3 steps up to the stage. 5 steps to the man that fumbled with the name card. And 1 extra to face the camera.

It seemed exhausting for a click of a camera and a piece of paper in their hand. Especially considering the amount of silence that met me half way.

The hall stood still, not a single clap escaped hands or an utter of a voice, an awkward cough filled the air and I moved over in a rush to finish the torture.

The space I had been told to smile and wave to that day was empty. I already knew this. But still that sinking feeling had found its way in my chest, it was something that wouldn’t leave for months after.

“It’s Iero, dick.” I grumbled to myself as I slumped down in my seat. For the rest of the ceremony I just stared at the diploma in my hand. 3 years of work for something so destructible, a piece of paper with a name on. A paper I would place in a box to never be seen again and a line on my CV. What more did I need to say- ‘hey you made it, now you’re out on your own ass!’

It was that day I worried what was going to be next for me. I had rent to pay as I was no longer a student and I had no job. It was only a matter of time. I knew that.

“So I give you the graduating Class of Monroe College! Please say your final goodbyes and join us on the field for pictures.” The college announced and I couldn’t help but very visibly relax.
As cheers and the sound of people running to their families echoed the hall, cameras flashed and people linked arms as they filtered out to the field.

I had no idea what I was doing. I was pretty much squished between two large football players arms and pushed out to stand where we were told. It was like I was in a daze. Like I didn’t know how to function. I could barely remember where I was or what I needed to do. The empty seat threw me off. I had somehow put my hopes up the chair would be occupied.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t because the people who mattered in my life didn’t care, just like they didn’t care about any of my achievements. I knew not to get my hopes up.

“1!... 2!...3!” I was somehow pushed behind someone almost double my height, small and insignificant as always. Green caps flew into the air. Mine stayed on my head. I saw it as protection for eye injuries, have you seen how pointy those corners are?

Heat blasted my cheeks in anger. I elbowed my way to the back toward the car park. I yanked my gown and cap off and dumped them in the nearest bin. The students noise became faint as I left my college life behind.

Pride wasn’t something I was familiar with. I had done better in life just enjoying every small success and waiting for the next downfall. The paper was all I had to show for it now. I didn’t even have hug of a parent or a pat on the back. I didn’t even have friends.

A confetti canon popped and I felt the tissue float down and it tickled my cheeks with the tears that had begun to fall. Not tears of sadness or disappointment but tears of hope even if it was for a slight second.

“Frank wait!” I heard a soft voice behind me and I turned slowly as he caught my arm to pause me in my tracks, I wiped the tears away and turned my deep brown bloodshot eyes towards the green ones I had come to know. “I know you didn’t want to do this but I just wanted to say congratulations.” He gave me the type of smiles where it wasn’t a frown, yet it wasn’t a smile. More like an empathetic grimace. Probably the only look I had received from people.

My teacher, Professor Walker, was the only one who believed in me, he had known something was up a long time ago and he helped me to use it to get this far. He was one of the reasons I was qualified as a nurse, he had gave me this opportunity and I respected him for it.

“Thanks, I was just planning on going home, I’m not one for crowds.” I gestured to the sight behind us where all his colleagues spoke fondly of their students.

“I’m sorry about what happened up there, I just didn’t want to see you go without giving you this.” He pulled a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and thrust it in my hand, it was slightly worn like he had it stuffed into his pocket for a rainy day. It was a paper clipping with a smudge of red pen outlining an ad for a live in health assistant.

“Thanks, I guess I’ll see you around.” I pocketed the clipping and turned away for the final time. I guess even with the hope of something that could give me a life off the streets I was still set in my ways. My dad used to call it the stubbornness of someone who didn’t want to know better. He knew me so well.

I would think about it. And think about it. All night. Like a calling card it glowed in my mind from the inside pocket of my black slacks.

Where it would stay for the rest of my life.