Task: Good Night, Sleep Tight.
Setting: Getting ready for bed, Pennsylvania in Chris' home.
Mentions: Chris Cerulli, Megan Massacre, unnamed father.
Another long day back at home, but even though tour had ended, Chris had a hard time adjusting; the transition always being bit difficult in the beginning. Usually, when he got home from tours, he'd sleep for two days straight and then go out for wings and pizza with his band-mates -- the guys all living in Pennsylvania making that rather easy, but since Motionless was experiencing back to back tours, he was more tired than usual. Megan had been staying at his place lately worried that he'd forget to actually move or something. She'd also just clean up the house, making sure things were going smoothly.
His sleep schedule eventually returned to normal, but unsurprisingly, he still wanted Megan near him -- so she stayed, of course. He set his keys in a bowl beside the front door, his lanky figure making his way down the hall to his bedroom. Megan was sitting on his bed playing her Xbox and lightly, he greeted her with a soft caress before grabbing a change of clothes to take a shower. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, instantly relaxing.
Washing his pale thin body, Chris exited the shower. He stood at the sink, wiping the steam covered mirror while looking at his features -- feeling his chin for stubble. Luckily, it wasn't time for a shave yet.
How would he look with facial hair? He chuckled at the mere thought of Megan's reaction. She would definitely make him shave, no doubt about that, not that there was much worry. Chris wasn't Devin, and certainly, he wasn't Bigfoot.
He slid on the clean clothes and exited the bathroom, plopping onto the bed beside her, watching her play whatever video game she was playing. All he knew was that she was killing a lot of zombies -- probably Resident Evil or Walking Dead. There were her favorite games and had Chris not felt himself starting to nod off into a state of sleep, he probably would've asked.
Chris found himself sitting at home in the living room, his father sitting across from him. He was reading the paper and had a scowl on his face as though Chris' presence was the reason for his mood shift -- only, Chris couldn't even remember how he ended up at home. He got up and walked around the house, finding that it was empty. It literally was just him and his father. He ran upstairs and looked in every room. No one was to be found.
He opened his bedroom door and saw his posters were gone. Everything that had once belonged to him was just gone, as if he never existed. What had happened to him? Did he even exist anymore? Would his dad speak to him? He seemed to be the only one there. His sister was nowhere to be found, his brother wasn't showing up, and his mother seemed to have vanished. As he walked downstairs, he passed the family portraits that hung on the wall. It was then that he noticed he was the only one in the photos, or really his body was, for his face was cut away.
He felt his stomach drop as he looked at every picture. Even photos like his first grade school picture seemed to be missing his face. He rushed downstairs and saw his dad still sitting in his chair, reading the paper with the same scowl on his face as before. Chris slowly approached him. He knelt next to the chair and waved his hand in front of his dad's face. His dad turned to glare at him. Already, he could feel his heart stop.
"Dad… What happened?"
"Don't call me, dad. You're no son of mine. You failed me. That simple, Christopher." He hissed as he got up and went up the stairs, leaving Chris numb to the core.
Chris' worst fear had come true. He wasn't sure how or when this had happened, but the last thing he wanted was to let his father down -- his own flesh and blood. He sat in the chair and put his head in his hands, tugging his hair while doing so. He struggled to collect himself, taking a few deep breaths in a cheap attempt.
He woke up to find the the alarm clock beside the bed reading 2:35 AM. He looked around the room a bit and saw Megan was asleep next to him, peace written across her features. It had all been a dream, no matter how real such had felt only seconds prior.
He climbed out of bed, walking into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, splashing some cold water on his face. The water helped to clear his head, and almost immediately following, he crawled back into bed, pulling Megan to his body and closing his eyes once.
Task: Good-bye.
Setting: Apocalypse, Zombie Invasion.
Mentions: Megan Massacre, Oliver Sykes, Ricky Horror, Ronnie Radke, TJ Bell, and Ryan Sitkowski.
Note(s): Completely AU, Chris' Point of View.
I carefully walked towards the guy, peeking over his shoulder and instantly I became fucking horrified by what I saw. This man was eating another man, alive… Well he was alive. I could see the internal organs, or at least what was left of them. A gasp escaped my mouth. The homeless man turned around, blood and flesh stuck between his teeth, his bloody mouth pulled back into a snarl as a growl escaped. The eyes of this man were gone, glazed over and blood shot. The man lunged for me and tried to grab my jacket. I stepped back, letting my coffee hit the ground.
It was then that I suddenly realized there were more of these creatures roaming the streets. People were running in pure fear as a new terror took over. It was a sight from a horror movie, only I couldn't pause it, for I was in it. My first thoughts went to Megan and if she was okay. Before the creature could reach for me again, I turned and ran for my car. My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the metallic keys, but once inside the vehicle, I locked the doors -- course, this probably wouldn't have helped should my attacker have pursued his mission. Luckily, he was more worried about his unfinished meal than me.
Upon arriving to Megan's apartment, I saw her in the state of panic and fear. Tears welled in her eyes, and in an attempt to calm her down, I reached for the small female -- pulling her into my arms, holding her protectively against my chest, cooing and rubbing her back. She managed to calm her breathing, and naturally, I nuzzled my nose in her fiery hair before kissing her temple. She was safe for the time being, but just how long did we have before more outbreaks appeared? And just in God's name was fucking going on?
As Megan packed an emergency bag, I turned on the television in hopes of finding an explanation on the news. Only, there wasn't one. Not even a single -- just static, alerting us that our ordered cable had been disconnected. After some investigating, we also discovered that our internet connection and our telephones were also unreliable -- our cellphone signals so low, uncertainty of unanswered calls leaving us to wonder rather our beloved were harmed or simply temporarily under reach. Thankfully, we managed to contact a small group of friends -- some reaching us with the same mirrored panic we felt.
Megan decided to use her apartment for the time being as a safe house, the attic becoming a place of sleep.
Ronnie took on the leader role of the group, guiding everyone while also attempting to keep everyone safe at all costs. -- even if one of those costs was someone of the group.
Ricky had came back one day, clamping his left hand over a gash in his arm to cover gushing blood, or at least trying to, when Ronnie notified the group of his decision only an hour later. He had to be killed. There is no cure, no anti-virus. All we can do is kill him or leave him to die, then he'd just come back and kill us. Ricky had begged me not to let him, to find some way to convince Ronnie otherwise, but I couldn't. At this point, we knew we were the sole survivors and there wasn't a chance in hell that I was risking our lives.
Ronnie didn't want to, but he allow Ricky to say his goodbyes before taking him out back. It was like watching a lamb to the slaughter. We all knew he was physically walking back there, but we had had come to the realization that only Ronnie would be coming back. I almost wanted to give up right there. One of my brothers was being sentenced to death. TJ gave me a look and exhaled. Should I have fought to keep him here until he changed? Which of us would be the one to kill him then? What about Ryan? I couldn't find him. Surely, the guy wanted to be left alone. I know that was what I'd want if Megan was being taken out there . . . Then again, I'd probably hold her until we were torn apart. Ronnie wouldn't be killing just one then, but two. Till death do us part.
Ricky was quick on his feet, silent, and swift. The group had depended on him and Ryan for runs: such as getting medical supplies, food, water, and gas for whatever car they may have gotten, hot wired thanks to Ryan's quick wit. Ricky was quite good at sneaking around hoards and crawling up into high spaces, sometimes even managing to snag a pack of cigarettes just because they were there and why the hell not? He rarely took off with Ryan when it was a simple fast mission. He didn't have the time to be looking out for someone else or making sure someone else was okay. Ricky was about getting in, getting what they needed, and then getting out.
TJ was the one who managed to calm people down, but also stop a fight when need be. Ryan was known for having a temper, having almost been booted from the group for arguing with people a few too many times. Ricky managed to calm him quite often, but TJ however, was the one who kept a level head during all of this. Part of me wondered if he was as freaked out as the rest of us. Was he just putting on a brave face through all of this just for us? TJ was there to listen and to help, often helping us pack up as quickly as possible. I always knew he'd be a strong person to depend on, a reason why I asked him to stay with us. Plus, he will always be one of my best friends.
And as for Megan, she wasn't very violent. Come to think of it, I don't think Megan's ever hit anyone. It scared me a bit, because what if something happened to her and I couldn't get to her in time, or anyone couldn't get to her in time for that matter? I always kept an eye on her and kept her even closer. She was nurturing and good at dressing wounds. I guess you could say she was our nurse, and mother figure. She was scared shitless of all this. She was hopeful it'd end soon, but I highly doubted that. I think this is it. It isn't called apocalypse for nothing. She had been the one to wrap up Ricky's arm, thinking he had cut himself on broken glass while out on a run, until Ronnie broke the news. Luckily, he brought back medical supplies for her to use since we were running low. He smoked a cigarette while she bandaged him up, telling him how he had to be more careful when he went out -- he nodded carelessly and gave her a shrug.
As for me, I just followed along, I did my share of bashing skulls, playing look out, and driving late at night as we traveled. Going out on a run wasn't my thing. I didn't wanna be away from Meg or leave her to worry. I mostly scouted for safe places to set up camp with Ronnie. We had to make sure it was big enough, somewhat safe, and well hidden so we could secure it. Blunt things like bats and clubs were our main weapons, but we did have a few guns, thanks to Oliver.
Oliver was the one to gather guns. We didn't use them often but sometimes they were called for. Sometimes hoards, large ones, would attack and a gun is quicker and more effective than a bat or an axe. He also swiped ammo, finding it in cop cars, shops, and sometimes odd places. He just seemed to know what to do and none of us were about to complain about it. He knew what he had to do and how to get out of a sticky situation. He rarely came back hurt. He was pretty much unscathed. He attempted to teach Megan how to use a gun but she freaked out when she pulled the safety and dropped it. We all ducked for cover for fear it'd go off. He chuckled and set it aside. The rest of us were fine. Ricky could use some practice with his aim, but he's good enough. Maybe watching all those horror movies prepared us? No. This is nothing like those horror movies. This is scarier.
It must've been about a month since Ricky had died. Ryan was silent, not a word escaping his lips since that day. It was as if the world took his one reason to live. We were traveling, looking for a new camp to set up, when it happened -- a single gun shot rocketing. Ronnie and I took off towards the sound, thinking a hoard struck and Oli needed help. Megan was in the car where I told her to stay. We got to where we heard the sound, seeing Ryan's lifeless body laying on the floor. This was too much for him -- even I sometimes thought of putting the barrel to my own head but never could go through with it. Oliver found us and stopped when he saw. He kicked the gun out of Ryan's hand and picked it up. Ronnie turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose. The group was dwindling in size and both of those who were in charge of gathering food and supplies were dead. All we had was TJ, Ronnie, Oliver, Megan, and myself. Sadly enough, the only help Megan was good for was bandaging us up when we got nicks and cuts, sometimes give us stitches. Oliver decided to step up to not only gather guns, but also gather food and other necessities. TJ stepped up too.
My hopes for survival were dropping, much like this group.
Over time, I noticed Megan was starting to get sick. She was weak, wouldn't eat and all she really did was sleep. Ronnie said it'd be best to cut her loose now, but TJ managed to help me talk him out of it. I just wanted more time with her. She meant the world to me. She was gonna be my wife and now she was leaving me too. I held her cold hand and stuck by her side. I noticed her mumbling was starting to come to a stop. Her sentences were left unfinished and the light in her green eyes was fading. She reassured me she was fine, but I think that she was trying to reassure herself more. She was dying. I could see it. She was slipping away from me and all I could do was helplessly watch. Ronnie tried to help me, he tried to get me to let him kill her, to end her suffering. Some disease hit her, so naturally, it was only a matter of time before she would be lunging for me like that homeless guy the night this all started. But I couldn't do it. I was being selfish. I was making her suffer here. I didn't want to say goodbye; to her or anyone for that matter.
Later that night, Ronnie put his foot down. He was gonna end her life before she could suffer as one of those things. I know that if she turned, I wouldn't be able to kill her, and it'd be hard to watch. TJ kept me company while Ronnie and Oliver went to do end her suffering. Oliver carried her body out of the car and into the field. Like fore, Ronnie was gonna do the actual slaughtering. I managed to say goodbye somehow, I kissing her forehead as she stroked my cheek, telling me to stay out of trouble. She put her engagement ring in my hand and told me to keep it always. I put it on my coffin necklace. I gave her the coffin ring I always wear for I wanted her to have something -- anything, to remind her of me in death. She fought me on it, but eventually didn't have the strength to keep fighting and took it.
After that, I didn't focus on anything in particular. I just knew that now, I lost everything. It was gone. That's it for me. I wasn't meant to be happy, even in times like this. Originally, I'd lost Oliver to someone else -- having loved him before Megan and I decided to rekindle, having thought he was absolute walking perfection, a flashed smile from him and my heart would melt - and now, I had permanently lost the only person who'd restitched my heart when Oliver tore it open. I loved TJ on some explainable level but he'd always been dedicated to Cady. I also couldn't replace Megan - rather she was currently dead or alive.
A few days later, tragedy struck yet again. Oliver and I were left alone surprisingly, both Ronnie and TJ preoccupied in scoping. I'd decided to hang back. After all, I was still recovering. Such didn't just happen overnight. The conversation was short -- clipped replies transferring into a different question, someone looking in might think the event progressed slowly, but really, I don't remember every precise words exchanged but I do recall him asking me what being alone felt like. I snapped. Maybe, I blamed him partially. I don't know. Either way, I know that I hated him in that precise moment. He could have loved me in return and he refused to. Ronnie could have kept the others alive. So what if they killed us? We were going to die eventually. There was a knife in the bag we were carrying, and though I don't recall driving the blade through Oliver's ribs and up into his heart, I can't deny that I felt the cold metal in my hand. The next thing that's vivid clearly, TJ is sheltering me from a raging Ronnie -- blood soaking my clothing; my old guitarist inspecting every inch of my body to confirm I was still Chris Cerulli.
Type: Self-Para.
Location: London.
Mentions: Chris Motionless and the London Authority.
Bronze pools glared at the socket which fed electricity to the hotel lamp upon an oak-wood bedside table. The glass was a pale blue, the same as the paint upon the walls - which was surprising to the vocalist because most hotel rooms were an off-cream - and the shade upon the top contained a patchwork pattern. The model screamed cheap, which was probably why much thought wasn't given into his next action - or maybe, he was just too angry. Too angry at the fact that Ashley wasn't even the least bothered by the fact that he was suddenly hurt, that he was sorry, and that he really just wanted to be able to talk to his friend again. Either way, time seemed to fly once tattooed digits wrapped around the cord.
Both the mirror and the lamp shattered immediately, once porcelain met glass, the sound echoing throughout the silence within the room - fragments of glass falling to the carpet like descending snow. Some were large, but others? They'd become target to the barefooted, cutting and drawing blood as they embedded beneath the skin. Normally, the vocalist wouldn't be so careless - more sympathetic towards the innocent victim, but his mind had already succumbed to the rage, an invisible blackout only heightening as the seconds continued to tick by. Medication already forgotten somewhere within the confines of his luggage, the Goth turned his attention to the remaining furniture hosted throughout the room.
He had enough money, or really, the band had enough money. Whatever else become victim during his tantrum could easily be replaced. He could lie and say the record company requested more money, or perhaps, he'd say the bank messed up while transferring their funds. That happened all the time, didn't it? When the time came, he'd think of a valid excuse.
When he finally began to calm down partially, not only had the phone rang persistently in the background, but room service had also interrupted his self-therapy process by calling local authorities. Unfortunately for Chris, who could never just follow simple orders when given them, neither the hotel staff nor the police were very understanding. They handled the male aggressively when he refused to cooperate willingly, handcuffing his hands behind his back, one officer placing his knee into Chris' spine rather painfully while alerting Chris of his constitutional rights. The vocalist groaned, though was given no mercy, the officer patting him down as he searched for any weapons. Finding none, he did pull out the singer's ID from his pocket. "Is this you? Christopher Cerulli?" the officer barked into his ear. Chris nodded, remaining stubborn. "You ever get into trouble with the law before?" he continued to question. Again, Chris shook his head. The officer seemed to be momentarily satisfied because instead of questioning Chris further, he tugged upon the back of his shirt, leading him to the back of the police vehicle. Luckily enough, the male seemed to escape with only a minor glaze to the cheek, a sprained wrist, and a torn muscle within his back - besides being arrested, of course.
Mentions: Oliver Sykes, Ash Stymest, and Megan Massacre
Everything always starts and ends with you. It doesn't matter my current location - rather I'm touring or home - somehow, the events lead a trail back to you. I used to not care but now? I'm finally trying to move forwards. My heart can't take much more of this game - the lies, the empty promises, the wanting me one day but then the next it has to stop because you're supposed to be in a relationship. Face it. There's just something about me that which makes me an easy target sex-wise. But relationship-wise? I'm not good enough. Just like Megan said when we broke up. I'm disposable and easily replaced. I'd probably have more luck becoming a father for some hypocritical ministry.
Tour fucking sucked from the moment that it begun, which is saying a lot because the road always distracts my mind from unpleasant thoughts. I didn't have much energy during the beginning of this tour. It was mostly staying in the bus, trying to hide from all life, including the fans. I didn't even find the stage to be enjoyable - I couldn't deal with the fact that you might possibly hate me . . . that you didn't want to see me. The day that I finally found enough strength to wonder was the day of the carnival, and who did I just accidentally bump into? You. Things seemed to be back to normal for the most part. The teasing that I became so familiar with was back, you smiled and laughed, and then we fucked in the public bathroom - or really, you fucked me. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I don't sub for too many people.
Tour ending didn't change anything. I'm still alone for the most part. I returned to Scranton temporarily to see my family, and then flew out to download when the time came. I hate flying. Fucking terrified of planes, actually, but that was the only way I'd arrive on time. We signed at the Kerrang tent at 5:00, and then afterwards, I checked into a hotel. I was supposed to fly back - spend more time with my family before Mayhem, but Ash decided to take my invitation and stick around. I enjoy having him here. Probably a bit too much, since I'm already beginning to worry that this situation is going to manifest into Deja Vu. I never should've kissed him. Tongue against flesh, my mouth against his hip. What have you gotten yourself into, Chris Cerulli?
