Our Foundations from Decay

Gerards POV

First day back at school and I still can't talk. My dad isn't letting me miss any more days off school since it's already been about one to two weeks since I left the house.

The morning sun was shying behind the cloudy sky. I entered the familiar building, being greeted by the cliché American halls. I walked down the endless row of obnoxiously red lockers until I stopped in front of mine.
I was approached by a tall guy with curly hair,"Hey Gerard, what's your first class?" Ray asked me.
Ray was my friend from school. He was real popular and invited me to hangout with his friends sometimes but I never really got along with them- I usually preferred hanging out in a small group at the library, trading comics or drawing or playing card games and whatnot. Me and Mikey usually hung out at lunch, sometimes accompanied by Ray when he wasn't with his main group of friends.

I finally answered Rays question by showing him a crumpled piece of paper that was shoved at the back of my locker- it was my timetable.

"Ah, English first." Ray said, "Have fun, Gerard"
I waved him goodbye and with that, I was off.

We were doing work on computers today. Of course, I had already finished the assignment as I was good at English. What to do now? I pondered. I decided to go through my notebook that I brought from home, reading over all the things I'd written.

I flicked through the pages, my fingers brushing against the soft, frail paper. I loved the feeling of it- it felt like little butterfly kisses on my fingertips.
I stopped on a random page and read through what it said:

"Steel corpses stretch out towards an ending sun scorched and black.
It reaches in and tears your flesh apart as ice cold hands rip into your heart
That's if you still got one that's left
Inside that cave you call a chest
And after seeing what we saw, can we still reclaim our innocence?..."

It went on to describe more of the visions and thoughts that plagued me every so often. I had come to find that writing down what's been burning and searing in my brain helps numb the pain. Bringing my visions to life on the piece of paper eases the sore burns- it helps me cope, but it just wasn't enough. I knew that as long as I didn't have my voice back, I could never overcome the trauma I was infected with.

I know..., I suddenly realise, I should ask Mikey to join my band! He can play bass and I'm pretty sure that Ray plays drums, I can ask him even though we aren't that close. But now I need a guitarist... oh I'll make some posters to put up right now! Hopefully a guitarist will want to join our band, I thought with excitement.
I wasted no time, clacking away at the computer keys and designing the perfect poster that would persuade someone to join.

Are you happy with your life? If not, join our band!
We're looking for a guitarist who has passion and spare time on their hands.
Message this number to join now! :)

My poster was done, a simple message and some good illustrations with eye-catching colours; it was perfect.
I pressed 'print' and snuck out of class to grab my copies.

Lunch time rolled around and I finally finished putting up my posters.
Ah, there.
"Hey, look at this emo. 'Join our band' oooh can I have your autograph?" I turned around and a group of boys were jeering at me.
"What's he gonna do, sing?" A roar of laughter ripped among the clique as one of the boys had a particularly "smart" idea. "He should give us a little preview. Go on, sing for us"
Now I was starting to get nervous, what does one do in this odd situation?
The rest of the guys started encouraging me to sing.
"Go on! Cat got your tongue?"
I felt trapped. I was blocked by this group of elites and the only thing I could use to defend myself, I didn't have.
"C'mon, are you some mute kid or something?" They said, beginning to get frustrated with me.
"Yeah, talk. Talk you emo!" They went from annoyed to mad as one of them shoved me against the wall, causing the poster I'd just pinned up to fall on the ground.
I was fighting with all my might to keep the tears from accumulating in my eyes, but they did. They made my under-eyes swell up and my waterline heavy, threatening to drop the tears under all the pressure. But I kept my cool, or at least, about as much of it as I had left.

Suddenly, someone appeared from the corner of my vision, who was it? Perhaps a saint here to rescue me? Someone sent down from above?

He walked up to the group of boys,
"C'mon, leave the kid alone." He calmly said.
" oh yeah? Are you another emo kid defending your kind?" They mocked and laughed on, not being serious in the slightest.
"Just go." He stated, once again calmly, but with a serious expression.
"Ooh I'm soo scared guys!" The leader of their pack spat sarcastically.
"I said move." Demanded my saviour, as he elbowed the guy out of his way like it was nothing. The others backed up for a second, but then started to gang up on the saint again.
He was unbothered by this, and swiftly punched the guy in front of him square in the jaw. This time, the others got the message and left.
I stood there in the corner meekly, staring at this guy, awe-struck. Is he God himself? He just scared off a gang of guys- and so easily too.

The guy turned to me, his eyes suddenly widening as if he recognised me from somewhere, making me realise I knew him too. It's the guy with the cast from the therapy room!

"Gerald?" He said in a face of disbelief.
Huh? Gerald? Did he mis read my name on his cast or something..
I must have been visibly confused because he realised he messed up.
"Oh, fuck- uh, I mean-" he stumbled over his words, then he just stopped himself.
The boy waved bye at me nervously and left in a hurry, I just stood there confused on what just happened. Why did he think my name was Gerald? If it was Gerald, I would've written 'Gerald' not 'Gerard'. Was my handwriting bad? I mean, why am I blaming this on him here? It could've been my awful handwriting which confused the poor boy. Oh never mind that! The more important question is why'd he save me? I owe him big time. I was stupid like this, sometimes. Always mentally tripping over myself, never being able to properly process too much at once because then, well, that happens. I focus on silly things and forget about what I was meant to be thinking about.

I can't believe the guy saved me, If I see him again I should thank him.

I was finally home. Since my dad's work got blown up, he was relocated to their other headquarters which was slightly further from home, making it a hassle to get us home everyday. But I was finally there.
" anything exciting happen at school today?" Asked my dad, like he always does.
I shook my head, hiding all the events of the day that really happened.
"Well, the girl from the therapy room that day, I saw her at school- she's actually in one of my classes." Mikey spoke nervously, again, like he always does.
I wanted to ask more about this interesting topic but, obviously, i couldn't talk.
Luckily, my dad said what we were all thinking:
"Did you approach her? Talk to her?"
Mikey looked down regretfully and shook his head, "no" he began, " I got too nervous and left."
Ah he pulled a 'Way'. All the people in the Way family always shy off, especially to people they're nervous around. It's in our blood, I don't know why I expected any different answer from little old Mikey- he was no exception to the Way's way.
"Ahh you'll get 'em next time, son" my dad said as he walked past him and ruffled up his hair, causing his glasses to slip down the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a message. Had someone already wanted to join our band? I thought with hopefulness, I don't usually get messages otherwise.