MURDER MACHINE;; Mikey Way, 002

Putting my angel into a more physical form, a more literal appearance, it takes my breath away. I don't know, but tonight he just looks so...good. Under the dim ceiling lamp that hangs over mine and Gerard's kitchen table, his face glows even more angelically. More pure. So much more lovely.

He's got golden green eyes. He's got features of an infant but lungs of a chainsmoker.

"Oh, hey Mikey," Frank says as he notices me. "I thought if I'm going to crash your place I might as well bring food. Since it's all I can afford." And he ushers me over to the table, which is filled with cartons of Chinese takeout. The boy knows me so well.

I sit down with Frank as my brother gets distracted with something on the TV. Addicted, he is. Addicted to the never-ending plots of lives so unreal that there's no way in hell they could say the words "based on a true story" before the opening credits. But coming from someone like me, that's a long-shot. Gerard sometimes tells me my life would make good primetime drama.

I mutter a "Thanks" to Frank and pick up a plastic fork. I look up at Frank from time to time, and he doesn't move much. I feel grateful for the intense dialogue coming from the TV in the background. It's filling in all the stupid, awkward words for me.

But really, Frank's just waiting for the perfect moment to jump into his story. We all knew he was going to get evicted; it was only a matter of time.

And he suddenly jerks his head up from the noodles he'd been staring at and looks at me and he says, "You know I lost my job, right?"

His voice is so unbearably perfect sounding. Anything he says, he can make it sound beautiful, even if they're just a string of tragic words. Frank talks kind of fast, like he wants to get straight to the point, not wanting to waste anybody's time. "Yeah... I'm sorry," I say in my awkward voice. I hate my voice with a loud, burning passion. It's deep and shaky and slurred and just awkward, like I always have a cold. Even my brother has a magnificent voice. Luckily I don't even need to use my tongue and my teeth most of the time. I use my hands. I play dirty, remember?

Frank shakes his head, his expression disapproving in a way. It's quiet other than the television volume, but I can hear a new noise coming from my brother on the couch. It's the very light, steady breathing of Gerard's indicated sleep that I've grown quite familiar with throughout the years I've lived with him - which would be all of mine. I smile slightly then return back to my dinner and Frank, who seems to be watching me. I know when Frank's watching me. And it's not like that with anyone else.

I look at him and the light above us, the only light in the room, brings out the gold specks in his eyes. He's smiling a little devious smile, and I can tell something's on his mind. He says, "So how do you deal with it, Mikey?"

I get self-conscious. I don't like talking about it much. I don't like having to describe how I deal with killing people. Would you? No. You wouldn't.

"It's just kind of normal," I say quietly, flattening the hair on my forehead subconsciously. Nervous habits. Hair-twirling, nail-biting, serial-killing. It's all completely normal, the doctor says.

"Okay..." Frank says, fishing around in his head for a better question. "Then why?"

I start to wonder why he's suddenly so curious. But I guess he has a right to be. He's one of my best friends, and now he's going to be living with the horrors of my less than average life.

"I dunno..." I say in a continuous quiet tone, careful not to wake up Gerard. "I guess I... I do it for the silence. You know how some people like the silence? Well, they're never really ever in silence, are they? I mean, you can sit in your room and read a book but there's still the air conditioning flowing around you. You can go sit in the middle of the forest but there's still trees swaying around you. But after you shoot someone behind a drug store, and in those few seconds that you let them lay there on the ground... there's real silence. Because everyone who heard the gunshot freezes and even any nearby trees lose their momentum." I pause, thinking, realizing that that really is the climax of a murder. "I do it for the silence."

Frank, he understands. Anything that comes out of my mouth, he could probably understand. "That's all?" he whispers.

I shrug, feeling a little more comfortable. "Welcome to our apartment. Sorry for the smell."
spit shine your black clouds now, baby ->
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