Jesus Of Suburbia by Green Day
Author Note: Please make sure you've read the other stories I've wrote, otherwise you won't know whats going on for some of the time.
I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
From the bible of "none of the above"
On a steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin
No one ever died for my sins in hell
As far as I can tell
Steve leaned back into the couch as his mom walked into the room. She carried a plate of eggs and sausage, placing it onto the table in front of him as she sat down, while smoking a cigarette.
"What's wrong with you?" She asked.
"Your face."
"What are you, Jesus nailed to that couch, suffering for my sins? And I'm the loser?"
He smirked.
"Well that makes you the son of a loser," She said before taking a long drag of the cigarette, then putting it out on his eggs.
There was a brief pause before he smacked the plate upwards, flinging all the food at her.
At least the ones I've gotten away with
But there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don't believe in me
His mom sat there, unmoving; food stuck to her face and clothes. "You're pathetic," Steve told her before he got up and walked out the door. It was like this everyday- He always got into fights with his mother, ever since his father walked out when he was a kid. Now he was a teenager, and he didn't plan to stay in this town for long.
This town was full of such dreadful memories. He had pushed the memories deep down inside, buried them, but it was no use. He thought of her often and wondered where she was, probably with his ex best friend Darren.
Darren Shan. Life for Steve had been rough, always, but especially hard after Darren left.
Get my television fix
Sitting on my crucifix
The living room in my private womb
While the moms and brads are away
To fall and love and fall in debt
To alcohol and cigarette and Mary Jane
Steve had dark, black hair that had been hardened with gel, so that it pointed upwards. He was wearing jeans that partly covered his shoes, and a black T-shirt. Still angry, he paraded down the sidewalk, past stores, pushing through crowds of people. Most of the people knew him- they've either seen him spray painting the walls of stores, fighting- always doing something he shouldn't be doing.
To keep me insane
And doing someone else's cocaine
He entered the 7-11, now hungry because he hadn't eaten breakfast, because... Well, you know why. His mom just pissed him off so bad sometimes- well no, scratch that, everything pissed him off, all the time. He hated the world.
Steve walked to the back, grabbed a box of cereal, and opened it. Then he tilted his head back and dumped some of the food into his mouth. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah.
He tossed the box of cereal behind his head and kept walking. It flew everywhere and landed on the floor in a messy pile.
At the center of the earth
In the parking lot of the 7-11 where I was taught
The motto was just a lie
It says, "home is where your heart is"
But what a shame, cause everyone's heart doesn't beat the same
We're beating out of time
Ever since Darren and "what's her name" left, his life had spiraled downward. He picked a cup up and poured some soda into it from the machine, then made a face as he poured half of it onto the floor, and drank the rest. Steve walked into the bathroom, in which the walls were covered in black ink. He took a marker and began to add to the previously written words. Besides the cocaine, heroin, and needles, his life only consisted of researching vampires. It was the reason he breathed. He wanted to know everything about vampires, so that he could know how they lived, their weaknesses, everything. He was going to be a vampire hunter, and he was going to kill Darren and her. Then the rest of their race.
City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care
He walked out of the bathroom, stormed out of the store, and out into the parking lot. There were a few cars parked there, and in between, some kids he knew. One of them, about his age, was pushing a girl with dyed red hair into the side of his car, trying to kiss her as she screamed. Steve pulled the guy off and pulled his fist back, then hit him in the face. The guy tried to fight back, but Steve had him pushed into the car now, hitting him until blood seeped from the kid's face.
Some of the other guys there tried to pull Steve off, but were not successful. The guy pushed Steve done and began to hit him back. The red haired girl pushed him off, and helped Steve. A fight broke out.
I read the graffiti in the bathroom stall
Like the Holy Scriptures in a shopping mall
As so it seemed to confess, it didn't much
But it only confirmed that the center of the earth
Is the end of the world
And I could really care less
Blood oozed from his nose as he continued to punch somebody in the face. Someone else kicked him in the stomach. A few people grabbed him and held him back, another few held the guy back, and another few the red haired girl, who wore too much make up and growled at the guy.
I don't care if you don't
I don't care if you don't care
Everyone is so full of shit!
Born and raised by hypocrites
Hearts recycled but never saved
From the cradle to the grave
Steve was mad enough to kill someone now, and that was the thing about him- he could get mad enough to kill someone easily. Someone could look at him the wrong way and they would be punched out. He was a rebellious person, filled to the brim with angst. It wasn't long before he wrestled free from everyone's grip. In seconds, the knife in his pocket was in his hand, the blade out.
We are the kids of war and peace
From Anaheim to the Middle East
We are the stories and disciples of the Jesus of Suburbia,
Land of make believe
And it don't believe in me and
I don't care!
People were upon him, trying to push him away, but he took the knife and slit the kid's throat.
Nobody hit him. Nobody.
His pocket blade was covered in blood. The kid's eyes bulged. He died.
Everyone stared at him in disbelief.
"You killed him…"
Dearly beloved, are you listening?
I can't remember a word you were saying
Are we demented or am I disturbed?
The space that's in between insane and insecure
Oh therapy, can you please fill the void?
Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed?
Everyone backed away as he looked each of them in the eye, while pushing the pocket blade back into his pocket, not bothering to clean it first. The red haired girl who he had saved tried to grab him and hit him.
"Oh, what, you're gonna come after me now?" He pushed her into the side of the car, hard, then began to walk away.
Not even thinking, he quickly reentered the 7-11 and walked into the bathroom. With the knife he had used to kill someone, over the sink, he cut his own hand. Blood seeped through the wound. Then he pressed his hand against the wall, a mark of his own blood over everything he wrote.
Once Steve got home, he began to pack his things. He grabbed a few pairs of clothes from his dresser and shoved them into a bag, then the books he had read countless times, about vampires, including the one with the picture of Vur Horston, or "Mr. Crepsley."
His mom watched from the doorway, one arm folded under the other one, which held a cigarette to her mouth.
Nobody's perfect and I stand accused
For lack of a better word and that's my best excuse
In his dresser, underneath all the clothes, he found a picture of Ariel that he had forgot about.
I made a point to burn all of the photographs…
Steve examined it closely: She had long, blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Her smile was wide, and revealed all of her white teeth. Her eyes danced with laughter.
Ariel… Even though he thought of her often, he would always block out her name. But now he couldn't.
To live and not to breathe
Is to die, in tragedy
To run, to run away
To find what to believe
And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies
I lost my faith to this, this town, that don't exist
He turned the picture over.
On the back, it said: "I love you, you're beautiful." He had written that as a child.
Steve paused, unsure if he should rip the picture to pieces, or take it with him.
He stuffed the picture into the bag. He would have to forget her, but now was not the time. His mother's eyes darted from the bag to Steve as he stood and quickly walked past her.
So I run, I run away
To the light of masochists
And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies
And I walked this line a million and one fucking times
But not this time
He walked out of the house, leaving the door open behind him, then to his old, beat-up car. After opening the door, he threw his bag inside, then got in and closed the door. His mom came out and banged on the hood of the car once.
Steve started the car.
She banged on it two more times, a cigarette still in one hand. He opened the car door and got out. His mother hugged him tight, for the first time in a long time. He pulled away, taking hold of his mother's hands and pulling them off his shoulders. She tried to hug him again, but he got back in the car. It was too late for her to start being a mother now. She then stood there and watched as he pulled out of the driveway and drove away.
I don't feel any shame, I won't apologize
When there ain't nowhere you can go
Running away from pain when you've been victimized
Tales from another broken home