The Blind Artist (Frerard MCR Fanfic)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Age 18

I always loved the sunrise, I had always been the witness to both sunset and sunrise, the mix of white blending into the hue of oranges and subtle yellows made me think of cocktails, of warmth and that brisk chill that brought autumn to life. Everything was like a reflection of fire and ice, the dark flame cut by the dark night fading into an unreplaceable blue. I never appreciated such things though. I never had the time to just stop and think anymore. Like now, running home from my shift at the local gas station, I had to make sure to be home by the time the line of amber reached level with the tops of the houses. I loved early morning, it was still early enough to spot the odd night creature pass over the land to the day animals as the strike of energy shot into my veins.

If I made it home by 6 am I had an hour of rest before school started. It also meant I had enough time to do my chores before mom came home. Upon seeing the patch work wooden house my mood lightens but my body drains of all enthusiasm no matter how much I push myself to be my merry self and run up the porch steps. I can feel the grime of the day clinging to my skin, it pools in the crevice of my lower back and runs along my hairline but I dare not move to touch it knowing I would only let it collect again.

By the time I grab a small granola biscuit from the kitchen I'm stopped at the foot of the stairs by the gruff shrill of the voice that raises all hair on my body. "Frank, where the fuck have you been?" My father calls and I sigh trudging up the stairs. My feet rock on each step with the rush of blood that pounds in my ears so hard I have to clutch the rail as I make it up to the top.

"I was at work." I grumble as I shuffle into his room. I'm met with his deep brown eyes that used to be filled with so much light and energy that it was infectious but now are dull and degraded nothing like the man I used to look up to when I wanted a Halloween costume for the Easter parade. Back then he'd willing make me a Dracula costume as I stood amongst the other chickens and bunny rabbits, he'd smile proudly and get back to work. I used to pretend it didn't bother me that my parents didn't appear for anything, that it was okay that they were busy; maybe now I realise it's time for all I missed out on. "Did you eat yet?" I ask as I go through the motions of bringing his bed up, altering his drip and clearing away the various buckets lined up around his bed.

"No. I thought you'd be home. But obviously it's too late now." He says in a clipped tone and I resist the urge to sigh and tut at his obvious pissed off attitude to try make me feel guilty. I was used to this though, every morning the same thing, in the short couple of hours he didn't have his career here he'd feel like no one cared. After falling ill when I was 13 years old I soon knew I had to become older, mature and be the guy I never thought I'd be.

"I'm sorry, here let me change this and I'll get you something." I say as he turns his body so I can dress the various wounds that he inflicted on himself now that he can't move more than an arm.

"I'm guessing you're going to school as well. Fine leave me." he shrugs me off making ti hard to not hurt him as he tugs on the various wires he has attached to him.

"You know I have to go dad. If I don't I'll fail high school, I'm barely passing as it is." I can't meet his eyes, I nibble my lip ring thinking of the tattoo that burns into my heart and how in just a few small weeks I'm going to be out of this. I'm going to have my own life and the small fund I'd earned would be mine and mine only. I wouldn't let her have it this time.

Before I know it it's all too late. I manage to jump in and out of the freezing cold shower to awaken me a little and pull on a new set of clothes. I check my schedule and grab my backpack from my room before giving my dad one final goodbye just in time as my mom pulls in the drive. I'm running to school now, feeling my body pound against the pavement and my knees shaking with the effort to catch up, I hadn't managed to catch the bus since freshman year and I still hadn't gotten used to the energy it took for me to propel myself forward.

I had yet to buy myself a car, the money I earn from being the neighbourhoods personal handy man went to my mother for my 'keep'. I got to my locker in time for the bell and I just stood slumped against it. People walked past looking at me like they do every morning, they scowl and raise their eyebrows before going back to sucking each other's faces off and gossiping about who's the latest slut. The odd jock bumps into my shoulder as I splutter at feeling the air finally pulse in my blood. It was then that I felt a body behind me, I turn my head and see the music teacher. I see him holding a note in his hand and he holds it out to me with shaky hands. Confused I pull it to my chest wondering what was wrong- usually he'd just come into my class and give me the slip that told me I was late, he'd know I'd ran the whole 3 mile to get to the prison but he knew I was here for a reason.

"I'm sorry Frank." He says, it's just us in the hall now, the silence echoed off each wall and the tension sizzled between us as my eyes flickered down for a split second and I shrivelled up the paper in my fist so hard I knew it had left paper cuts over the palm of my hands.

"He's gone." I whisper. At that moment in time I knew nothing would be the same.