Frank Iero and the Meaning of Life

Chapter Six -Dirt for Breakfast

The unrelenting fury of the afternoon sun beat down on the slow-moving caravan and wrung the sweat from my skin; my lips felt chapped, and the faint taste of dirt lingered in my dry mouth. To make things even worse, my jacket stuck to my body like a viscous glue, and my tangled hair stood saturated with perspiration.

I sat in the back of the iconic trans-am and stared out the dust-covered windows; both the sapphire sky and the colorless sand seemed to stretch on forever. Crowds of miserable-looking kids unlucky enough to not have a vehicle trudged beside us and dragged along bags of various items.

It hadn't even been a day, and I missed Newark terribly. I would give anything to be back in that fic, even if it was shitty.

I sure hoped that Ghoul was having a good time.

Our author had been at it for what seemed like hours; none of us got any sleep that brutal night. My eyes drooped as they were hypnotized by the infinite rolling dunes lazily drifting by; Before I could fall asleep, however, Jet tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned around and saw that he held a pair of rusty pliers in his hands.

"Ghoul," he said, "those glass pieces have got to come out. You can't risk getting an infection."

I looked down at my still-bloody hands; a few pieces of glass still stuck into the back of them. I gulped and then realized what Jet wanted to do.

"Please, no," I pleaded. "We should worry about it later."

Jet took my hands and inspected them closely.

"Don't touch it!" I exclaimed. "They're very sensitive."

Jet then pointed the pliers at one of the pieces and took hold of it.

"Jet, stop!" I shouted.

"Just hold still and stop wiggling around," he said. "You'll make it hurt even worse."

I held my breath and looked away; I felt a sharp pain as he yanked the thing out from under my skin. Then, he did it again...and again...and again. It hurt like a real son of a bitch every time he pulled one out.

After for what seemed like an eternity, all of the pieces came out. Admittedly, it felt much better.

Jet handed me his gloves. "Wrap them around your hands," he said. "You gotta stop the bleeding."

I tied them around my hands as best as I could and hoped that the blood would stop flowing.

I sighed heavily and stared out the window again in hopes of distracting myself from the pain. Then, a familiar face ran up to the side of the car and tapped on the window.

It was the Girl. I'd recognize her from anywhere.

She looked unusually happy—given the set of circumstances, at least—and skipped along at a merry pace. Poison, strangely enough, actually looked happy himself and cranked down the window.

"Guess what?" she said.

"What?" asked Poison.

"You have to guess first," she said.

Poison chuckled and put one hand on the wheel. "Alien invasion?" he asked.

"No," said the Girl, "but you were close. Turns out one of the guys actually had some extra water stashed in his huge truck."

Water? Yes, please.

"Where?" I asked. "I'm parched as hell."

"We're not stopping to rest until sunset," said Poison.