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.

The bass drums strike their final heartbeats before flatlining into silence. It's getting close to dark; it's so late. Gerard calls company halt, we all breathe out a long breath. Blood, Chemical and Amp sections throw some hats in the air. They're always so happy when we stop; I've never understood why, they get to be so close to our heroes all day. Maybe something about setting the pace, I don't know. We're always tired, way back here in Romance Formation, but it's GOOD-tired. We picked up 5 marchers today, Romance didn't get anyone but that's OK. More Marchers means more confusion and new kids are always in shock anyway.

It looks like we can have a normal night. But, since when have things EVER been as they seem?

We're about to unload the storage float and get the tents; it's always pitch and sleep on whatever hard ground we've got. The line for tents is actually forming when someone from Funeral section notices something. It's a building, tall and dark gray. You can't imagine how weird that is to us. None of us had ever seen one untouched by flames. Most of us hadn't even seen wreckage in Deadworld. My section, Romance, is too far back to see closely, but it looks like an old insane asylum to me. I shudder.

Gerard calls all the way back to Murder formation; the rest of us get it secondhand. We're staying in there tonight. Sarah finds me, she looks like she wants to cry. The place is scaring most of the girls. I, Leader Jenny from Lovesick Formation, Leader Kevynn from Sin, and Leader Cordelia from Knives all exchange worried glances. Something is a little bit not right about a group of us not feeling well about this place. Nevertheless, Gerard calls it back again. Our orders are just to  put the stuff in Float Three and change out of our dress uniforms.

Romance formation shares the burden of a few extra formations between us and 2, where we have to go to get our downtime clothes. When I finally get through the line, Fear hands me my bag and strokes my hair in that way she has. She's always loved my hair.

"Gerard was complaining about how you snubbed him, every time he took a break to walk."

She rubs my hair between her fingertips. I hear the scratching noise.

"I didn't snub him. I was heading Romance today. I couldn't."

Fear laughs and kisses me once on each cheek, her lips like ice right below my eyes. "You could have been HAVING romance."

I shrug her away and leave to find Sarah. I do not. Instead I crash into Frank. He's holding a coffee, coming back from the other side of Float Two. Half of it spills on me. I won't go into a lot of detail about the incident... just that I'm not sure I knew half the cusswords we both used exsisted prior. Today I found out that Frank Iero drinks iced coffee. I also found out that my dress uniform's jacketfront is rather thin when met with liquid. And wind is cold.

He apologizes all the way to Three, where I have to take off my jacket and clean off the worst of it before I give it to Mother War.

Mother tsks. "Again, my dear?"

"I'm sorry Mother, it's all my fault, I wasn't watching my step," Frankie says.

Meanwhile, as I'm feeling rather naked without my jacket, Sarah comes up behind me. Her is breathing calculated so as not to seem odd when Frankie hears it. Sarah idolizes him; she'd do anything to impress him.

"Miss lady, where are your flute gloves?" Mother War asks Sarah, and she hands them to her. She smiles, but Sarah's twirling her hair at Frankie. He smiles dazedly and then goes back to explaining to Mother War why she has to wash my uniform jacket again.

"I spilled my coffee on her, it was entirely my fault, you shouldn't be angry with her."

Mother War, always stubborn, disagrees. "This is the second time I've had to wash this girl's jacket with the special soap, the second time in two weeks, how do you explain that? This is coffee, at least, not blood."

Frankie frowns. "Blood?"

I look at my feet. "His... his arm was bleeding... I... I wrapped my jacket around it..."

Sarah bouncily says, "She means Gerard. When the microphone stand caught his arm last week after-hours when we were packing up, do you remember, Frankie?"

He nods, breaking from his transfixation with Sarah. "Ohhh. So YOU'RE the girl from Romance Formation he keeps talking about."

I am suddenly quietly livid. "I'm sure he doesn't talk that much about me; Mother, may I go?"

Mother War waves a hand. "Go, child, change into your down clothes."

My brain is running like an overheated engine. "TALK about me? How could he TALK about me? I have no fucking NAME! What in all the hells...?"

All I say aloud is, "Thank you, Mother War."

Sarah stays and chat with Frankie. I collapse on the back bumper of Three, then begin to change into my downtime outfit. Off come my uniform pants with the two white stripes down the legs, my black marching shoes, my black under-jacket t-shirt. My pride and joy, my jacket, was already with Mother War. It looks almost exactly like Gerard's, but since I'm in Romance Formation I have a single red rose medal on my right breast, and since I am a leader my collar stripe is red. I love my jacket, and it usually stays with me, but not tonight.

Since I haven't got it, I throw on the red tank top, then a black t-shirt shirt reading "Romance" in red. Then I put on my old zip-up sweater. It's red with black pockets, sleeves, and hood. In place of my uniform pants, I wear dark jeans. My feet slip into battered tennis shoes. I'm thinner, shorter, overall smaller here in the Deadworld than I ever was in the Livingworld, yet stronger and curvier. Here, I might pass as pretty, if anyone cared about that sort of thing. Well, actually, I'm pretty sure they do... but I like to say it isn't so. I keep myself under the delusion that in the Parade, nobody ever loves, and only new marchers like my friend Sarah are still operating under the Livingworld wants of love and desire and infatuation.

I can't explain to my mind what I feel, so most days, I don't.

I throw my uniform pants, shoes, and shirt into the laundry hatch on the other side of Three. By now I'm so late nobody's around. Most of the kids have gone to look at, with morbid curiosity, the huge building.

The sky is darkening into a murky black now, illuminated in a strange round patch by the moon behind the ashes. There has been ash in the sky for as long as I've been in the Parade. Regret, Fear's twin sister, tells me of nights once every few decades when the sky clears completely, and you can see the moon and the stars. It's due to happen again sometime soon. I don't believe her.

I haven't seen stars since I died.

As I walk closer to the building, I come out of the shadow of Float Three and I see that the building is bigger than I thought. So much bigger, in fact, that I have to crane my neck back to see the roof. It's tall, and water stains, rust stains, blood stains drip from it at the seams, like a horrific painting. The kids who are inside seem to be all right; it's dry and there seem to be no demons or deserters inside. I near the doors, and I hear talking. Laughing. It's really rather comforting.

There's already a line of marchers lounging around waiting to get in; Regret is assigning rooms or floors while Ray leans against the door chatting idly with Bob and some marchers from Undertaker, the last formation in the Parade. I'm distressed; I may have missed the Romance room assignings. I wouldn't know if anyone was calling me, and besides nobody would, I have no name.

I've not had a name, because in the Parade you're rechristened the moment you join with a name that truly fits you. Many people had tried to name me when I first came, but nothing seemed to fit. I don't quite care. 

In any event, Regret waves to me and I walk over. "Listen love, Romance is on the top floor with the boys and the officers tonight."

"What the fuck?" I ask, and take her list to see for myself.

So far this day, I've been inspected then asked to ride float by the Parade leader, seen a building, and had coffee spilled on me by high-ranking officer. Now, suddenly, my formation is staying with them. I'm telling myself that I'm wondering what gives, when in the back of my head I know. I just can't let myself realize that.

I'm trudging up a million flights of stairs.

My bag is becoming heavier on my shoulder, but I can hear the voices of Emiline and Tan, two Romance new marchers we got about three days ago, so I know I'm getting close. I then hear a sound that stops me dead, mid-step: Gerard's melodic laugh. I shake my head and carry on, angry at myself for stopping. I push open the creaky wooden door, and I see that the dingy hall has only two doors branching from it, and is a very short hall. The common room at the end is filled with Marchers, several of which turn to greet me.

"Hey, where were you?" Sarah asks me. She's sitting with Frank on some kind of large, round chair. Their legs are intertwined. I am almost annoyed at the sight for some reason.

"I was walking," I say to Sarah, who shrugs and she and Frankie continue to be distracted with each other as I sit uncomfortably on another of the round chair things.

This room, unlike the rest of the building, does not smell like mildew and dust, or bandages and blood. It has the unique smell of people. The chair is not that uncomfortable, and soon I am dragging my bag up to rest with me and I'm drawing. I draw things I saw today; the rushing black river, the ash snowflake that broke into a small mist of the back of the helmet of a marcher named Ream. I draw Sarah flirting with Frankie, I draw Fear as she kisses my face with her glass-cold lips, I draw my jacket with a coffee stain on it.

A scent like what I've always imagined morphine must smell like, heavy and male and deeply exciting, envelopes me as I draw. I don't realize what it is until I feel two hands on the back of my chair, a pair of eyes that aren't mine staring at my notebook. I whip around, my short dark hair flying out as I stare into the handsome face of Gerard. My breathing sticks, then doubles.

He grins at me winningly. "Did Mother War get you in trouble for my blood on your jacket, is that why you're avoiding me?"

I stammer, "I'm n-not avoiding you, I'm... I'm... I h-had to lead form-mation today."

"Right, and that's why when we stopped in the afternoon, you didn't eat on your normal side of Three-"

"Are you stalking me?" I accuse him, and he laughs and goes on unabashedly. I glower.

"You walked the opposite direction around Two when you snagged that bandage for one of your marchers, and you haven't gone NEAR One all day," he said, still not angry or accusing, merely... smug.

I sigh. "Don't know what you're talking about," I say shortly, going back to my drawing of his brother chasing him.

He shakes his head, and without warning steals my pen, drops down right next to me on the oversized chair, and hands the pen back.

I sputter. "Do you mind??"

"Mind what?" he says sweetly, and it almost infuriates me how the little smile he's giving me is keeping him out of trouble.

"There's... there's more than enough chairs for everyone!"

All he does is move my bag gently to the floor so he's not mashing it between us, and he looks at me like he's inspecting me. It's disconcerting. "What are you looking at?"

He doesn't stop looking, but he answers "Your eyes. They're brown, I couldn't remember today what color they are, it was driving me nuts."

I ask "WHY are you so fascinated with me?"

"Because you don't like me. Or you do. Or you don't. I can't tell. That's why," he says cheerfully.

He's so sweet and nonchalant, I almost want to touch him for a second. I mentally slap myself. Then, as he stares at me some more, I want to take his face in my hands and look at him, just look at him like he's looking at me. I mentally smack myself again. I'm debating moving on from mental slaps to real ones.

He looks me in the eyes, and for a second I'm scared he read my thoughts. "Are you all right? You're very quiet."

I nod. "I'm fine; just kinda tired. Those stairs are killers."

"Tell me about it," he laughs, and suddenly he's stretching and yawning and lounging back in the chair with his shoulder on me, relaxed and loose and so utterly sexy that my mind admits how attractive I find him and god, oh dear god he's too close to me, he's too close...

I gulp and shift so that he's forced to sit up again, not touching me. He then looks at me. "You're a Nameless, aren't you?" he asks, and I nod.

"I never got renamed, and I don't go by my Livingworld name, so nobody calls me anything."

He looks at me and suddenly a light comes to his eyes. "Vhena. Like Venom, but twisted. I don't know why, but that's what I'd name you. Well, wait..." he turns his head to the side, looking at me again. "Wait. I lied. That's too weird. I'd go simple... Mary. Mary is a perfect name for you. What's wrong?" he asks, because I've looked down at my lap and I want to scream, cry, hit things. I just stare at my lap. And try not to cry.

"Mary was my Livingworld name... I never liked it, I never thought it fit me..." I say as I grab the loose fabric on the leg of my jeans and squeeze it.

"I'm sorry..." he says quietly. "I think it's a pretty name, though, and I think it fits you."

The little tone of sympathy and sweetness in his voice melts me a little. My hand releases my jeans. "Well... thank you... Mary it is then, I guess." I smile weakly, and Gerard touches my face with his fingertips. He blushes.

He looks so sweet; he isn't wearing his uniform. He has on faded jeans, he's obviously kicked his shoes off and has been padding around in his black socks, he has on a black shirt with long sleeves and on a silver chain around his neck there is a pewter charm of a gun. His eyes, I just notice, are a dark green. They're quite beautiful. I shake the thought out of my head, only to somehow focus on his lips, how since he's been blushing, his mouth has become a sort of soft, pretty pink. The phrase that enters my head is 'nibble-able', but after a few mental slaps I think I'm over it, until I notice how his ghost-white hair is mussed up a little, how it just makes him look touchable, cuddly even. That mental slaps vs. real ones debate starts up again for me, and I shake Gerard's touch away. He looks a little injured.

That was not the best time for Tan to accidentally blow the lights out.

As soon as it happens, the room goes ink dark and cursewords bounce around with the screams. Gerard laughingly wastes no time knocking me down and holding me against the chair in the dark, holding my wrists above my head. I gasp, I can feel his chest touching mine, his mouth by my ear. I pray to god he's just messing around, why I'm hoping that I don't know, but when he starts to talk all thought departs from my head.

"Ha ha! This is lucky. I want you to tell me why you're avoiding me."

"I'm not!" I insist, and his hands tighten a little. There's no pain, he's just trying to be threatening. I try and grasp why my brain is equating it being sexual. His mouth is so close to my neck, and suddenly he's biting, nibbling, tasting my skin. I gasp and can't imagine how in all the hells he knows that's what turns me on, I'm trying to remember if I told him, but I just can't think.

"Oh god... fuck" I curse breathlessly and he growls playfully at me. The chatter rises and falls around us and I know nobody will hear or care about anything I say. Gerard attacks the other side of my neck, playing vampire, and this time I actually moan.

That makes him laugh and he settles his whole body on top of me. "You DO like me," he says, kissing my neck, my jawline, my chin. I want to protest, but inside I'm finally crumbling.

"Gerard... there's no reason for me to fight it anymore. I didn't want to even TRY... you know, love... because love hurts. I'm dead and I don't want to hurt anymore. So I just..."

Gerard shushes me, "Sssh. Mary, I know. But listen... all love hurts. It's the ability to heal each other in-between that makes love what it is." He nuzzles me. "And since you're so great at giving people medical aid..."

I laugh. "When the lights come back on and people see us like this, what happens?"

He grins. I can feel it against my neck. "Your Formation makes bad promotion jokes. Ray teases me about my 'emotional virginity' you know, how I've... never really... LOVED someone like... well, this... everyone else in my band catcalls, and the officers try to shut them up. Normal stuff. WHEN the lights come back on."

"Speaking of which, are the lights even going to come on again?" I tug my wrists out of his grip, and his hands immediately spring into action, zooming up the back of my shirt and stroking my back with warm fingertips, pressing the palms flat as he presses me to his chest.

"Do you care if the lights stay off?" he whispers to me.

"Not if I get to stay like this, I don't." I answer, and he chuckles in the back of his throat. It's almost a growl, and I shiver again.

"Good."

I feel a pair of lips, soft and searching, brushing lightly up my neck from my chest, to my cheekbone, the tip of my nose, my forehead. It's driving me nuts, not kissing him full on his mouth like I've wanted to for a long time.

It doesn't matter, though, because suddenly we're both sitting up, he's looking a little hurt because I moved his hand off my face, his pretty pink mouth is fading back to pale and the lights never went off in the first place. Frankie and Sarah are staring deep into each other's eyes while they talk and Lime, Kamden and Kiko, three more Marchers, are starting a small dance contest.

The plunge from fantasy to real is so nastily grating that I cough like I'm embarassed, not a total forgery, and then get up and walk to the other side of the room, where the blankets are piled, neatly folded in the trademark precision of Regret and Mother War. Gerard doesn't follow me. I didn't expect him to, and I'm telling myself I didn't want him to.

We only use our blankets on extra-cold nights, but they'll do for right now since Mother War, Fear, and Regret didn't feel like separating everyone's sleeping bags from the tents. Everyone's blankets are different. Mine is pure black with a rose clumsily embroidered in chunky red thread on one corner. It's a huge, fluffy blanket and it takes no time to locate it right under the pale blue of Sarah's blanket. I take mine up and dive behind the nearest couch, shrouded in dark and the blanket that smells like the Parade's laundry soap. I've never quite liked all the rumors about how the soap on your blanket is supposed to morph to smell like the place you died in, or if that's too grating, then it's just supposed to smell like a hospital room.

My blankets have never had a smell, save for just a soap smell. It makes me feel odd.

The blanket aggravates my clothes and I sit up carefully so the couch back keeps me hidden and I take off my sweatshirt, bunching it up so it can be my pillow. After a second's deliberation, I remove my t-shirt as well, and I lay down again in my red tank top, wrapping the blanket around me. The soft material feels nice on the skin of my shoulders and the cushiony layer of blanket under me protects me from the hard floor. My mind rushes back to my stupid fantasy and I feel the lips on me again. I move, turn, and toss, but when I smell the morphine cologne again I know I am in big trouble. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and draw a blanketed hand over my nose like a kitten does with his paw as he sleeps, just trying to block it all out.

"So you're hiding from me now?"

I jump, and he's right above me. I pull my blanket over my head and snuggle down, fine where I am in the complete dark. Somehow I find myself mumbling, "You're a cool guy and all Gerard, but this is really making you act like a jackass."

He laughs, that stupid little laugh I am falling in love with. "Ok, ok. I get it, I'll try tomorrow."

So not only is he incredibly sexy, an insane vocalist, amazingly sweet, and a bit stubborn, but he's a persistent, incorrigible bastard as well. "Greaaat," I say under my breath, and he laughs at me and pulls the blanket off my face.

"I do like you," he says, and kisses me gently on the cheek.

I melt into my blanket as he leaves.

Goddamnit.

The next morning the whole place seems to wake up as if invisible angels come and shake each of our shoulders, calling into our ears with lips black and poisonous "wake up, wake up." I stretch and feel a tension high in my shoulders near my neck, like someone had pinned my wrists above my head in my sleep and breathed down my neck. Like a vampire.

I shiver and draw my black blanket up over my shoulders, looking around as my marchers get up. They all looked fit and rested, but as I catch my reflection in the helmet of another Marcher I realize that I look, well, dead. And oh god, I'm so tired! It's like someone's replaced my bones with lead! I stagger up and Sarah, who'd risen like an angel, comes up behind me and steadies me, the zombie.

"Oh my god Mary, are you all right?"

It's the first time anyone other than the one who gave it to me has used my name, and I feel taken aback. "Y-yes Sarah, I'm fine. Just... just hold on a second." I try to walk on my own, sway, and steady myself. A crowd of worried marchers has drawn around me, their feet shuffling in loose blankets, and though I know they just want to assure my well-being I can't help comparing them in my head to vultures before the feed. I try to take a step forward, succeeded, and take another.

"See?" I tell everyone, "I'm FINE."

Then the room swims and I hear shrieks and swearing before I descend into black.

I wake up on one of the prop gurneys on the Performance Float. And we're moving. I sit up and look around; apparently we're between songs. I thought I would have for certain woken up during "Dead!" but I suppose I was out entirely. I look around some more, watching the bare ashen forest pass by on both sides, the chatter of the parade kids behind me, coming through dulled and softened like there's a layer of cotton batting filtering the air into my ears. I look around the float, and see Frankie walking, Ray sitting tuning his guitar, Bob sitting on the front of the float as it moves on, Mikey hanging over the side chatting to Fear, and Gerard is-

"Oh, Mary, you woke up! How're you feeling?"

Right beside me.

"I'm... fine, Gerard, why didn't you guys put me on Three, nearer to my formation?" I feel a little sad, and a bit angry. Little purple bat wings of guilt poke my lungs, my stomach, my sides. "I want to be able to see my Marchers! Did my Formation get any new kids yet?"

Gerard smiles at me, that ever-fucking-calm smile. God. It's so infuriating yet so beautiful! "You need to calm down. We still don't know why you fainted, Mary, now lay down. We're going out of order today, your marchers will be fine, and any new kids you get can sit up here with you, okay?"

I nod and slump back down. It's true, they don't know why I'd suddenly fainted. And the consolation that any kids I get will be safe with me is a fair trade. Gerard motions everyone back on the float for the next song. He's decided to go out of order so they'll play the songs in any arrangement they want to. It starts soft, Regret working the piano, and I know exactly what song they're playing.

"Turn away, if you could get me a drink of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded; call my Aunt Marie. Help her gather all my things, and bury me in all my favorite colors...."

Gerard stalls. That means that we're about to gain another Marcher.

Marchers come suddenly and in different ways. Sometimes, they just walk out of the mist. Some appear, standing in front of the floats after wandering for awhile across the wreckage of Deadworld. Some have materialized on the edge of a float, and once or twice one appeared on the shoulders of another Marcher in the middle of House Of Wolves or Teenagers, one of the energetic songs.

The Parade stands quiet for some reason. We don't quite know why the air hangs so thick or why the fog rolling from the roots of the white forest suddenly comes around our feet. It's like being trapped in a strange, white snowglobe as the ashes begin to fall again and a breeze blows through the Paradiers. What in Deadworld is this magic?

Then she falls out of midair onto the deck of the float, clothed in a generic karate uniform of black, what all the marchers arrive in. She lands with a crack and a torrent of swearing, and I sit up quickly to see if she's all right. Mikey gets there before I do.

"Oh my god, Miss, are you all right?"

A pair of blue eyes blinks up in confusion and pain, clearing sandy blonde strands from her vision. "D-Do I look all right to you? Where the fuck am I?"

"The Black Parade," I say quietly, and she looks at me. "The Black... WHAT?" She looks around, and I move to show her the sea of black-clad marchers behind me, whispering and rolling like the shadows she'd fallen from.

"My... my ankle hurts... fucking REALLY badly hurts..."

Mikey, without a word, pushes back the hem of her uniform leg and looks at the swelling. Quietly, he murmers "It'll be fine, Miss Claude, just a sprain. I'll carry you back to Mother War and get you bandaged up." He flashes her a smile, and she doesn't question why he's called her that or how he knows her name. "You'll feel fine in a minute. You scared me, falling like that."

"It scared me too..." she says, allowing herself to be lifted up, handed to Bob, who then gives her back to Mikey once he's on hard ground.

I shake my head.

Shit only gets weirder around here.

I wake up warm. Verrrry warm. I don't know where I am, but I notice I have my uniform jacket under my head as a pillow, but yes. That is not my tent wall. My blanket is over me, and I am very very very unnaturally warm. It's nice though. I yawn and turn over and bam.

Gerard.

I yelp and scramble against the wall of the tent, suddenly wide awake, and he rolls over in his sleep. My blanket has gone flying around me and I clutch it, and my jacket, in utter confusion.

Dammit he sleeps like an angel. His pale lashes are closed and flutter ever so softly as he breathes, once in awhile his eyebrows twitch and the corner of his mouth lifts up in a small smile. I wonder what he's dreaming about as he shifts again, his arm flipping over to where I'd been sleeping, on top of my sleeping bag.

His hand grabs at the material like it's searching for something. Me? Gahhh what the fuck am I doing in my leader's tent this late at night/early in the morning??

"Ummm", I say tentatively, "Gerard?"

He snores a little.

"Gerard?"

Now he's on his stomach, hugging the pillow a bit and nuzzling it.

"GERARD STOP BEING CUTE AND WAKE UP."

He snorts a little and wakes up, starting into a sitting position. He looks at me blearily.

"Mary, ish too early for this, you were sleepin so cute, go back to sleep, I'll see you in the mor-" he yawns "-morning."

He turns over to go back to sleep and then looks at me again. "Wait, what do you mean stop being cute? Are you admitting you find me cute?"

This whole time I just stare at him in slight horror.

"WHY AM I IN YOUR TENT?"

"It was night, it was cold, I didn't think you'd be comfortable on the float on the gurney, so go to sleep."

"WHY. AM. I. IN. YOUR. TENT?"

"I just told you, Mary, pleaseeee go to sleep I'm sleepy I was having a good dream!"

Now he's sulking like a five year old.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" he says.

"Like what?"

"Like you've just seen a monster."

I blink. "I... I'm sorry..."

He sighs. "Why do you act like you hate me so much?"

"Because I'm scared," I blurt out.

"Scared of WHAT? I'm not going to eat you."

I find my shoes at the end of the tent. I grab them and put them on.

"What? Mary, what is it?"

I walk out of the tent, taking my blanket with me. As soon as I'm on the float, out of earshot, and warm enough to exert the energy, I say

"I'm scared that I'll fall in love with you."

I've sat here on the float for at least an hour. It is so. Fucking. Cold. But I don't want to go back in the tent.

I'm being soooo stupid.

He likes me.

I like him.

I ADMITTED IT SAVOR THE MOMENT.

And yeah I'm too dumb to even sit there and talk to him.

It would have been NICE to fall asleep in his arms.

But no. And now I sit here.

I start to sing

"Well I was there on the day
They sold the cause for the queen
And as the lights all went out
We watched our lives on the screen
I hate the ending myself,"

I stare out towards Gerard's tent.

"But it started with an all-right scene..."

I think of the Parade. And how if I'm not true to myself I'll fall apart. But I just can't do it. I can't fall in love. It hurts too damn much.

"It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing
It was a lie when they smiled and said you won't feel a thing
And as we ran from the cops
We'd laugh so hard it would sting
Yeah, yeahh, whoaaa.
If I'm so wrong...
How can you listen all night long?
How will it matter, long after I'm gone
Because you never learned a goddamn thing..."

And I realize I haven't...
I also realize I'm crying.

It's a shock to me. The last time I cried was when I was still alive. It's been AGES since then.

Suddenly, I hear a noise.

Just a small noise.

I look up, and there's a girl. Dressed in the black, with pretty facial features, and pink-and-black hair. She's tall, and I look at her as she comes closer and closer.

What the hell. Marchers only come out when the Parade is marching. What the hell is this?

She sees me and walks up, unafraid.

For a moment, I'm scared she's a demon. Until she talks. Then I can hear the human in her voice.

"W... where am I?"

"The Black Parade's campground," I say.

"The... the fucking WHAT?"

"Listen, Jess," I say, naming her as easily as it comes. The name fits, and she blinks. "Go down to that third float you see, and Mother War will give you everything you need."

I'm being cold, I know, and she walks away muttering "Wank."

I just look out on the barren plain of Deadworld.

It looks like my future.


THERE WILL BE MORE COMING SOON!!! <33