Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Crazy like you, lollipop
6) Kitchen Karma
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Chapter 6) Kitchen Karma
.-.-.
When he entered the dinner room he saw Ray sitting on end of the table. The King had been right, a big guy. Frizzy curling hair and his eyes focused on his plate. Sarah sprinted around with stuff to drink and ketchup. She gave him a quick smile when he entered. He pretended not to see it and he sat down next to the big guy. ‘Better next to Big Foot then next to that Tasmanian Devil.’
Bob walked in, a bit sheepish scratching his wrists and he took some things over from Sarah that gave him a relieved thanks. Then he sat down facing Ray. Frank suppressed a moan.
‘Fuck now I gotta face the creep the entire time.’
“Has anyone seen Gerard?” Sarah called from the kitchen area.
Bob was the only one answering. “No.”
“Damn it.” She came back with a pan filled of macaroni. Frank rolled his eyes from under his hood. ‘Where even going to eat as prisoners. Can’t wait till someone steels my jelly…’
“Frank?” Sarah huffed. “Can you please call Gerard, I think I will kill him if he doesn’t show up in one minute.”
“That’s not very professional, Sarah.” Bob told her. She gave him a sharp look.
“I had to cook, I can’t cook. Fuck I hope that they hire a new cook very fast...” She huffed and rushed back into the kitchen.
Bob observed how she nearly dropped a bowl then he turned towards Frank. “Let me give you a good piece of advise, do what the staff sais. Makes things a lot easier.”
Frank gave him a meaningful mind-your-own-damn-business glare but got up when he heard something fall in the kitchen. If merging in would help him get out then why not. He was screwed senseless anyway.
So for the forth or fifth time that day he scampered through the hall. Cranky he stopped at Gerard’s door. ‘If I hurry up I don’t even have to see him.’ He knocked on the door: “Gerardwheregoingtoeatsohurryup!” He rambled in one fast breath. He turned around took a few steps then waited. ‘He is not coming.’ He turned back. ‘Just fucking great.’ Angrily he shot daggers at the door, some mutt kind of music came from behind it. ‘How hard is it to open a damn door?’
He sighted rubbed his eyes, he felt a migraine come up. ‘This place is so going to eat me.’ For the second time he knocked on the door. No answer, not even a sound of someone being alive.
Frowning he watch the wood. The silence was near terrifying, that guy was hyper and bouncy. And licked, so why was there no sound other then the mute music.
‘Maybe he has a TV in his room.’ That made sense. ‘Maybe he is in there just waiting to scare the living crap out of me.’ Right now that wouldn’t be much of an challenge, he would launce if someone tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I bet he is staring at the door waiting for me to open and then- Shit Frankie your going really paranoid.’ He tiptoed closer to the door. ‘C’mon men, don’t be such a poof. Your depressed not mental! You better show that to that Doc- AND STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF!’
He snapped back in reality, his hand slowly moved towards the doorknob. His fingertips brush the iron first before circling around it. Then it comes, the click, slowly the door goes open, the music becomes louder. Frank whispers a prayer before entering.
He could have slapped himself in the face. The guy that could be a cousin from Jason Voorhees lay motionless on his bed, sheets covering his bare legs. His left hand is tangled behind his head and his other hand held a teddy bear. His Ipod goes up and down on his chest with every breath while his eyes are close and his mouth close to drooling.
‘Cute, a sleeping psycho. What’s next, dictators doing ballet?’ He got a very disturbing mental image from Hitler in a tutu. ‘Never mind!’ Now that the danger lay fast asleep he had some time to spy-… look at his room.
As his the wall facing the door had two large windows, painted crimson. The other walls where painted purple, aubergine. His closet door was partly open and half of the inside had been littered on the floor. Not only clothes but CD’s, comics, shoes, socks, books, trash all kinds of junk where spread through the room. Large posters covered about 80% of the wall near a desk. There was no mirror above his desk, but a large dash in the wall. ‘Guess he’s never heard of anger-management. He noticed a pair of dirty socks on the desk. ‘Or hygiene.’
“As I quote: No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honor and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.” Someone suddenly broke the silence.
Frank jumped up and starred at the creep who yawned, rubbed his belly and whipped off his mouth. “It’s a quote from the Civil’s Right of America, bout privacy. Right now your violating that right. Your in my room and you stand on my favorite band shirt.”
He felt how his cheeks lit up. “I wasn’t, she… Sarah told me to go get you. Dinner. Thing-“
“-Yeahyeahyeahyeah.” The creep waved away his stammering. “Don’t worry I violated close to every written ‘facility’ rule. ‘T was about time Karma kicked back, that stupid bitch…” He nearly caressed his Ipod and lay it on a small cabin next to his bed, the only piece of furniture that wasn’t vandalized by trash or clothes. The creep stretched again, both his arms and cracked his neck.
Then he dug forward and whipped some dust and remains of chips off a shirt. He pulled it over his head. “’M sorry I licked you.” His apology turned the atmosphere in the room into awkward. His peroxide blond hair peeked through the shirt and he pulled his shirt down.
“Let’s see, paints.” He muttered, eyes running over his Tasmanian underwear. “Can you throw me something? Anything as long as it fashionable and not suede, or leathery, or pink or- I don’t even have those kind of clothes.” Sleepy he blinked his eyes got up and dragged himself to his closet.
“So Frrrrank, what do you think about Monroeville so far?” He asked throwing some clothes out of his closet onto a big pile on the ground.
Frank got a bit put off by the sudden hint of interest towards him. And there was that other thing, right now the creep didn’t seem that freaky or crazy. More like the type of guy you have a quick chat with while waiting for the bus.
His habit of pushing his hands in his pocket and starring at the floor turned up. Some kids at school call it the ‘emo-march.’ But honestly he didn’t do it to draw attention, more like the opposite. For a boy his age he was pretty shy if it came to talking to strangers and lowering his gaze gave him some sort of safety, no-one would see his eyes because his eyes always betrayed him. His mouth could lie, but his eyes gave him away.
“’S alright I guess.”
Gerard pushed himself back from his digging through his closet and chuckled. “Yeah right no-one come in here unwillingly and then things it’s alright.” He must study his bearing because he got quiet for a few seconds. “You absolutely hate it don’t ya?”
“Pretty much yes.” Frank replied honest.
“I figure, everybody hates this place the first few weeks. Some even the first few months, years.” He saw his shocked look. “Mweh, not that you’ll stay here for years, your probably out in a few months. Lucky bastard. -OEW, they finally washed my fave jeans!” he dug back inside his closet and pulled out a rather shitty pair of jeans, knees ripped and the legs raveled.
The color had faded and it looked like something you would find in a dumpster. But to Gerard it seemed like a treasure, he stepped in the jeans and pulled it up.
“Did Sea cook?” He asked when he zipped his jeans.
“Sea- O you mean Sarah?” The creep nodded. “I think she did.”
Gerard moaned and drew his head between his shoulder. “Fucketie-fuck, it’s quit disturbing no-one has died from food-poisoning in this section, I swear.”
He kicked some clothes away and closet his clothes. “C’mon let’s go and get it over with.”
.-.-.
.-.-.
When he entered the dinner room he saw Ray sitting on end of the table. The King had been right, a big guy. Frizzy curling hair and his eyes focused on his plate. Sarah sprinted around with stuff to drink and ketchup. She gave him a quick smile when he entered. He pretended not to see it and he sat down next to the big guy. ‘Better next to Big Foot then next to that Tasmanian Devil.’
Bob walked in, a bit sheepish scratching his wrists and he took some things over from Sarah that gave him a relieved thanks. Then he sat down facing Ray. Frank suppressed a moan.
‘Fuck now I gotta face the creep the entire time.’
“Has anyone seen Gerard?” Sarah called from the kitchen area.
Bob was the only one answering. “No.”
“Damn it.” She came back with a pan filled of macaroni. Frank rolled his eyes from under his hood. ‘Where even going to eat as prisoners. Can’t wait till someone steels my jelly…’
“Frank?” Sarah huffed. “Can you please call Gerard, I think I will kill him if he doesn’t show up in one minute.”
“That’s not very professional, Sarah.” Bob told her. She gave him a sharp look.
“I had to cook, I can’t cook. Fuck I hope that they hire a new cook very fast...” She huffed and rushed back into the kitchen.
Bob observed how she nearly dropped a bowl then he turned towards Frank. “Let me give you a good piece of advise, do what the staff sais. Makes things a lot easier.”
Frank gave him a meaningful mind-your-own-damn-business glare but got up when he heard something fall in the kitchen. If merging in would help him get out then why not. He was screwed senseless anyway.
So for the forth or fifth time that day he scampered through the hall. Cranky he stopped at Gerard’s door. ‘If I hurry up I don’t even have to see him.’ He knocked on the door: “Gerardwheregoingtoeatsohurryup!” He rambled in one fast breath. He turned around took a few steps then waited. ‘He is not coming.’ He turned back. ‘Just fucking great.’ Angrily he shot daggers at the door, some mutt kind of music came from behind it. ‘How hard is it to open a damn door?’
He sighted rubbed his eyes, he felt a migraine come up. ‘This place is so going to eat me.’ For the second time he knocked on the door. No answer, not even a sound of someone being alive.
Frowning he watch the wood. The silence was near terrifying, that guy was hyper and bouncy. And licked, so why was there no sound other then the mute music.
‘Maybe he has a TV in his room.’ That made sense. ‘Maybe he is in there just waiting to scare the living crap out of me.’ Right now that wouldn’t be much of an challenge, he would launce if someone tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I bet he is staring at the door waiting for me to open and then- Shit Frankie your going really paranoid.’ He tiptoed closer to the door. ‘C’mon men, don’t be such a poof. Your depressed not mental! You better show that to that Doc- AND STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF!’
He snapped back in reality, his hand slowly moved towards the doorknob. His fingertips brush the iron first before circling around it. Then it comes, the click, slowly the door goes open, the music becomes louder. Frank whispers a prayer before entering.
He could have slapped himself in the face. The guy that could be a cousin from Jason Voorhees lay motionless on his bed, sheets covering his bare legs. His left hand is tangled behind his head and his other hand held a teddy bear. His Ipod goes up and down on his chest with every breath while his eyes are close and his mouth close to drooling.
‘Cute, a sleeping psycho. What’s next, dictators doing ballet?’ He got a very disturbing mental image from Hitler in a tutu. ‘Never mind!’ Now that the danger lay fast asleep he had some time to spy-… look at his room.
As his the wall facing the door had two large windows, painted crimson. The other walls where painted purple, aubergine. His closet door was partly open and half of the inside had been littered on the floor. Not only clothes but CD’s, comics, shoes, socks, books, trash all kinds of junk where spread through the room. Large posters covered about 80% of the wall near a desk. There was no mirror above his desk, but a large dash in the wall. ‘Guess he’s never heard of anger-management. He noticed a pair of dirty socks on the desk. ‘Or hygiene.’
“As I quote: No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honor and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.” Someone suddenly broke the silence.
Frank jumped up and starred at the creep who yawned, rubbed his belly and whipped off his mouth. “It’s a quote from the Civil’s Right of America, bout privacy. Right now your violating that right. Your in my room and you stand on my favorite band shirt.”
He felt how his cheeks lit up. “I wasn’t, she… Sarah told me to go get you. Dinner. Thing-“
“-Yeahyeahyeahyeah.” The creep waved away his stammering. “Don’t worry I violated close to every written ‘facility’ rule. ‘T was about time Karma kicked back, that stupid bitch…” He nearly caressed his Ipod and lay it on a small cabin next to his bed, the only piece of furniture that wasn’t vandalized by trash or clothes. The creep stretched again, both his arms and cracked his neck.
Then he dug forward and whipped some dust and remains of chips off a shirt. He pulled it over his head. “’M sorry I licked you.” His apology turned the atmosphere in the room into awkward. His peroxide blond hair peeked through the shirt and he pulled his shirt down.
“Let’s see, paints.” He muttered, eyes running over his Tasmanian underwear. “Can you throw me something? Anything as long as it fashionable and not suede, or leathery, or pink or- I don’t even have those kind of clothes.” Sleepy he blinked his eyes got up and dragged himself to his closet.
“So Frrrrank, what do you think about Monroeville so far?” He asked throwing some clothes out of his closet onto a big pile on the ground.
Frank got a bit put off by the sudden hint of interest towards him. And there was that other thing, right now the creep didn’t seem that freaky or crazy. More like the type of guy you have a quick chat with while waiting for the bus.
His habit of pushing his hands in his pocket and starring at the floor turned up. Some kids at school call it the ‘emo-march.’ But honestly he didn’t do it to draw attention, more like the opposite. For a boy his age he was pretty shy if it came to talking to strangers and lowering his gaze gave him some sort of safety, no-one would see his eyes because his eyes always betrayed him. His mouth could lie, but his eyes gave him away.
“’S alright I guess.”
Gerard pushed himself back from his digging through his closet and chuckled. “Yeah right no-one come in here unwillingly and then things it’s alright.” He must study his bearing because he got quiet for a few seconds. “You absolutely hate it don’t ya?”
“Pretty much yes.” Frank replied honest.
“I figure, everybody hates this place the first few weeks. Some even the first few months, years.” He saw his shocked look. “Mweh, not that you’ll stay here for years, your probably out in a few months. Lucky bastard. -OEW, they finally washed my fave jeans!” he dug back inside his closet and pulled out a rather shitty pair of jeans, knees ripped and the legs raveled.
The color had faded and it looked like something you would find in a dumpster. But to Gerard it seemed like a treasure, he stepped in the jeans and pulled it up.
“Did Sea cook?” He asked when he zipped his jeans.
“Sea- O you mean Sarah?” The creep nodded. “I think she did.”
Gerard moaned and drew his head between his shoulder. “Fucketie-fuck, it’s quit disturbing no-one has died from food-poisoning in this section, I swear.”
He kicked some clothes away and closet his clothes. “C’mon let’s go and get it over with.”
.-.-.
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