Walking Shadow

The sun never rises in Deadworld. It's more of a slide, as the light crawls slowly up the skyline, heating layer after layer of ash-filled atmosphere to a glowing gray. At eight in the morning, the sky is fully lit and will stay so until dusk. It's like the skies in Livingworld on days it threatened to rain; all the same shade of light gray and you can't tell whether it's noon or about to start getting dark. Meager as the light is, it still somehow manages to infiltrate the tiniest gaps in the fabric roofs of our sleeping tents, and even those of us who are heavy sleepers somehow wake up.

Ironic as it is, we're unable to sleep like the dead because we are the dead.

I'm not sleeping anymore as I stare up at the weak light filtering through the gray-olive roof of my tent. It throws mottled shadows on the skin of my chest and shoulders, as I've slept in my camisole. Almost all my clothing is black, gray, or red; I happen to be wearing my black camisole to sleep. It isn't a very warm garment, but I have on red pants and my black Parade-issue sleeping bag is rather warm as well.

I slip out of the bag and lay down on top of it, my feet slipping a little on the silky outer material of it. The tents are tiny; room enough for one person, a sleeping bag, and the regular black bag that all the Parade members carry on downtime. Soon I hear fanfare, and even though I know I should get up, throw my jacket on, and go get my uniform clothes for the day, I just wait for a little longer.

"OKAY BLACK PARADE MEMBERS, IT IS TIME TO WAKE UP NOW!"

And there it is. Just like that. The voice of Gerard, the Parade leader. He's the one with the hair the shade of cream and green eyes like nothing I have ever seen, living or dead. He rides on Float One with the four other men that lead the Parade.

There's Ray, the genius, who is constantly distracted by his guitar and anything having to do with it. He has fluffy dark hair that almost everyone in the Parade has asked to touch. I know I have. He's always very sweet about it.

Next, there's Bob, whom several people I know call 'Bobbert-sama', simply because you have to respect him yet at the same time he's almost cuddly. He's a drummer, and he takes his work very seriously, but lately he's become a little more crazy and freestyle. He's learned to keep an extra set of drumsticks in his back pockets in case he throws one. Or both. He has a lot more fun while he plays.

Then there's Mikey, Gerard's younger brother. He plays bass, and has dark hair and hazel eyes. He's always got a serious, pouting face on, but I know a few gals in my section who have seen him smile, and they don't talk about it because the mere memory makes them melt. He and Gerard barely look like brothers unless Gerard pouts. Then the resemblance is almost terrifying.

Last but not least, there's Frankie, the other guitarist. He's... well, notably he is rather short. He makes up for it with the biggest personality I have ever heard tell of. He's sweet and bounces around like he's spring-loaded.

Of course... I probably shouldn't talk about my leaders like I know them. Even though I lead my section once a week, I don't know WHAT I'm talking about. The only person who might know me on-sight is Gerard, and that's because he was playing around with half a broken microphone stand when we were packing up equipment late at night about a week ago, he gave himself a decent gash with the metal edge, and I wrapped my jacket around his arm and sent him to Float Two for first aid. Mother War had to wash my jacket specially with the extra-strength soap and all. She was so mad at me, but it was worth it just to watch Gerard wink and go, "C'mon, Mom, you didn't want me to bleed to death, right?"

I love his voice. He sings, you know, but he has a nice voice even when he's just talking. Or yelling, like he is into the microphone on top of Float Two now.

"PAAARAAADERS!!! WAAAKE UUUP!!! Shit, I'm gonna fall..."

The way he always wakes us up like that is funny. The guys try so hard to be open and likable and one-on-one and stuff, but there's so many of us in the Parade now that it's just not possible to know everyone, and we forgive them for it.

"Um... hey, come on!" my friend Sarah, a relatively new marcher, pokes her head in the door of my tent. She throws my uniform clothes on my face, a black shirt, black marching pants, a pair of socks. I sputter, laugh and sit up. She's already dressed, and I giggle at her. "Sarah-kun, you know until he threatens to move the floats and not give us breakfast, it's safe to still be in your down clothes, right?"

She tsked and threw my marching shoes at me. I dodged them and giggled.

Frankie's voice on the microphone, obviously forcibly taken from Gerard, said "GOOD MORNING BLACK PARADE. GET UP AND GET DRESSED OR WE WON'T FEED YOU!" Gerard's voice a few seconds later, "IGNORE FRODO BAGGINS, BUT GET MOVING ALL THE SAME!!!"

We laughed and I sent Sarah off to get our breakfasts, most likely a cup of oatmeal and some crackers, while I changed, put my downtime clothes in my bag, and collapsed my tent with my sleeping bag still in it. I'd given both bag and tent up to Float Three and was walking around with my jacket hung jauntily over my shoulder when Gerard, who ironically was atop the float missing his uniform jacket and his shoes, said something along the lines of "WE WILL BE DOING MORNING INSPECTION TODAY!!!"

The general reaction to THAT kind of announcement was typical of Sarah's, who appeared next to me with our breakfasts.

"Awww, shit. Tough luck. Looks like we're gonna get eaten by good ol' marshmallow hair."

I threw her a burning look and she cringed. "Um... marshmallow hair... or... you? You're gonna eat us??? Don't hurt me!"

I, as a leader, did the next best thing. I yelled at my formation while I buttoned up my jacket.

"HOLY SHIT EVERYONE. Get ready!!! Come on, guys, you know this, come on!!! Grab a flag, an instrument, a gun, something. No, LINE UP with the stuff. Okay, good, now let's get our feet in step, so we match, uniform, and smile. Gerard is coming by, it's inspection time this morning and we are going to DO THIS RIGHT."

When Gerard comes by, he's actually smiling. Apparently my whole formation is in perfect array but me. I've skipped buttons on my jacket.

He tells me to rebutton my uniform jacket, which I do, feeling sheepish. He then lets my formation go about their morning, but then he does the unthinkable: he smiles just for me and asks me to ride on the float.

I have to tell him no; I am heading my section today. He looks sad as he leaves, and I hold my hands over my heart. Sarah says we are lovers, she teases me and pokes me. I snap at Sarah, "Eat, we have to march correctly today, or Ray may have to yell again. You know how he hates that." Sarah nods, eats her breakfast.

"How's the new guy, that Patient?" she asks. We pick up new marchers every day. The last one of the day usually ends up a little lost in the rush, so even though he's a few sections ahead I'm going to keep an eye on him. I was a last marcher, so I feel for him.

"He's fine, a bit shaky," I answer, watching Gerard and Frankie play around on the float. Absentmindedly, I say "He'll be a good marcher someday."

The Parade straightens out into rank and file, down whatever winding road we've been set on. I am actually heading my entire block of marchers. This is my biggest rush, standing watching the band on the float, and hearing the four beeps of a heart monitor that set up our beat. We mark time, and then suddenly:

"Now come one come all to this tragic affair; wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair..."

And we're all marching, moving as a group, stiffly to the music. It's always so at first.

"So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot; you might wake up and notice you're something you're not..."

I look back at Sarah. She holds a French Horn, and though nobody knows the music or is playing together, it all sounds great.

"If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, you can find out firsthand what it's like to be me..."

I look up at Gerard, the overly theatrical gestures he's making so far up ahead I almost lose sight of him.

"So gather 'round piggies and kiss this goodbye, I'd encourage your smiles, I'd expect you won't cry!"

The boys come in with guitars and hell breaks loose all over the place.

I love the Parade.

We've marched long white roads, ashes gleam white feathers in a glass-gray sky. The float always ahead, as I bark at my section to stay in line and not drop their props. His singing, so far ahead, is like sweet water to us, not like the choked river we march by. Wet, black burned things stain the river ink, while Gerard's pale hair floats before us like a snowflake, or a peice of the ashes that fall on our helmets, hair and faces only to dissolve in a fine, smoke-scented mist.

Sarah sits next to me when the Parade rests, she whines about how her boots are killing her, and she chats about how Bob was talking to her when she'd gone to Float 2 to get our water. I am absentminded again as I spy Gerard, his hands spread with what looks like white boot polish, as he sneaks up behind Mikey near the drums and suddenly smears it all through Mikey's hair. Before I can cry out in surprise or warning, it is done.

His brother chases him and he laughs, having ruined Mikey's hair, which was the ink black color of the river before, and I have dropped my entire cup of water over my feet, simple distraction from watching him laugh.

Sarah laughs at me because now I have to march in wet shoes when the Parade calls up again. I drink half her water and then give her a hug, just because it confuses her when I'm sweet in the face of teasing. Besides... for some reason, I just can't be mad. It's impossible to be mad watching Mikey chase Gerard around the floats until Gerard screeches to a halt behind Ray, who stands there as a wall between the two brothers, looking like he's got a headache. As Mikey and Gerard fight, Bob sneaks up behind Gerard, a cup of water in his hands, and he dumps it all over the head of our lead singer.

The chase begins anew, and I can't help but giggle as Frankie breaks up the fight and they all trudge back to the float to start up the Parade for the long afternoon march.