Story is based off and written to only Mad World Cover by Michael Andrews ft Gary Jules (original artist is Tears of Fears but I love the Gary & Michael arrangement of the music)
Summary: What's the point? Why survive? Why try? Isn't this the end? Shouldn't we just stop? Why do we continue even though hope doesn't seem to exist – that there will be no end to this suffering…we're the only ones left…the only ones…"The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had," – Tears for Fears
Warning: Character Death, Gore, Language, Yaoi, Self-Mutilation, Violence, Oc, Oc love, Insanity, Dark Humor.
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Post Mortem
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All around me are familiar faces
A creak followed the whispered words. Followed by continued shuffling until a light cut on to reveal a white haired male walking around the small space – that could easily be identified as a tour bus. The white haired male shuffled towards the far back where a desk was set up. There were a bunch of pictures and papers strewn everywhere. The pictures were of various people in various scenes. Most of the pictures were of the white haired male and two other males who shared similar features as him.
Worn out places, worn out faces
The bus began to rock and the white haired male's gaze shifted to the window.
Bright and early for their daily races,
Going nowhere, going nowhere,
He whispered as he walked towards the window. Low hissing and growls could be heard as he continued to walk towards the window.
Their tears are filling up their glasses,
No expression, no expression
His gaze traveled across the many rotten faces that he could tell – from his spot – were surrounding the vehicle he was current in. Some of the faces were missing eyes, skin, and bits and pieces of flesh were hanging – or even missing. Black tears trailed down from their glazed over white eyes. The white haired male closed his eyes and turned away as they began to bang on the window, the rocking of the bus growing in intensity.
Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow
The white haired male walked back towards the dresser. He stared down at the pictures for a moment longer, the hissing and moaning from outside growing louder as the banging increased. The white haired male picked up one of the pictures – a picture of two other white haired males including himself. The larger of the two was standing behind them with a large grin on his face that mirrored the smaller of the three. The white haired male smiled slightly as a single tear trailed down from amber eyes. He turned his gaze to the closet next to the dresser. Walking towards it, he turned slightly when he heard banging starting at the door of the bus. He opened the closet and reached for the box at the top of the closet and pulled it down.
He made his way the few paces back to the dresser and sat the box on top. Opening the box, he pulled out a single thing from all of its contents: A silver gun.
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
He whispered as he pulled the gun up to the light. He smiled up at it as another tear escaped.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
He walked towards the middle of the bus and sat down. The banging increased. He heard a crack and looked up to the front of the bus. The glass was beginning to break.
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
He whispered again. He clutched the picture in one hand and the gun in the other.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
The white haired male pulled the gun up to his temple, choking on his next words.
When people run in circles it's a very, very
He whispered, cocking the gun. He closed his eyes, the moaning and hissing fading away into the back of his mind as memories flashed through his mind.
Mad world
BANG!
The gun dropped to the floor with a clatter.