Author's Note: This fanfic is a very, very dark and graphic genderbent AU of Disney's Coco. Miguel (Michaela) will be 16 in the story as a result.

GRAPHIC VIOLENCE WARNING: ASSAULT, ABUSE, RAPE, MURDER, and MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS (NOT IN THIS CHAPTER)

Do not continue reading if such things make you uncomfortable. Unlike the movie, Dia de los Muertos will last three entire days. It's referred to as the Festival de los Muertos, but is more commonly called Dia de los Muertos. Ernesto de la Cruz is the scum of the earth (nothing new there), GB Imelda is a sad fiery marshmallow, and GB Hector is one protective bitter ass mom. I'm not even remotely exaggerating. I'm going to tear Ernesto a new asshole for all the shit he's made of.

Journal Entry 01, October 31st

Little journal, sometimes I really think my family is cursed or something. Our story begins a century ago, back in 1921.

In a quiet little town, there was once a small but happy family. There was a Papa, a Mama, their little girl, and the Papa's two brothers. The Papa was strong and smart and handsome, making a living for his family by making shoes. His shoes were of high quality, the best anyone in town could buy. While his two brothers joined him in the workshop his wife, the Mama, was a musician. She sang with the voice of an angel, danced as though she were a fairy. She even wrote and composed her own songs.

For a short while, the family was content. They were happy with each other and counted their blessings daily. The family sang and danced while they worked, their house and their town filled with unimaginable beautiful music.

The Mama had a dream however. She wanted to go off and perform for the world, spreading songs and smiles as she went. One day, she left with a suitcase and a guitar. After a few months, she seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. She never returned home. The Papa, his brothers, and daughter waited day after day for the Mama to return. Finally, the Papa realized that the woman who he had loved was never coming back. Love turned to hate.

Turning his back on that walkaway musician, he threw himself into caring for what remained of his family. He had no time or need to cry over that enchantress wench!

Banishing all music from his life, and his family's, he provided for his family in the one way he knew how. He made shoes. He advertised his workshop cleverly, his fingers and mind never resting from his work. He worked his life away at making shoes.

He could have made candy, fireworks, or even those really snug sparkly pairs of underwear for wrestlers! But no, he clung to the familiar, monotonous routine of making shoes. As his daughter grew from a toddler, to a child, to a young woman, he taught her how to make shoes as well. Eventually he taught the trade to his son-in-law as well, after threatening to bury the poor boy alive of course (if his daughter came to any harm).

Even his grandkids got pulled into the family business. As his small family grew bigger, so did the business.

Music had torn his life apart and stolen away his wife, but shoes had pulled them back together like leather strongly stitched together. The Papa was my Great Great Grandfather, Imelio Rivera. He died decades before I was born, in 1975. My father was only four years old then! Even now though, our family still tells his story and keeps his memory alive. The importance of his life is always emphasized, especially on Dia de los Muertos - The Day of the Dead.

His little girl? His little girl became Mama Coco, my brilliant and beloved Great Grandmother.

I tell my Mama Coco everything, from what I learn in school, to what I hear from my friends, everything. Mama Coco never judges me. I love her so much. She was born in December 1917, and is nearly 100 years old. Due to her age, she can't really remember much but she's always a keen listener. Did I mention how much I lover her?

Then there is Abuelita, Mama Coco's daughter. Her name is Elena. Abuelita is very similar, if not exactly like Papa Imelio. A complete slave driver merged with a drill sergeant. Abuelita is completely devoted to the family business (shoe making) and the family as well, though she isn't a great listener like Mama Coco. If Abuelita hears something she doesn't want to hear, she can get kind of scary...or angry like when it comes to music.

See, Abuelita worships Papa Imelio like avid church goers worship and praise god. She actually knew Papa Imelio when he was alive and he helped raise her, so I think that's part of the reason. Papa Imelio himself taught her how to make shoes, from the soles and stitches to a perfect and beautifully finished product. Papa Imelio was severely against music, and because she was around him all the time, so is Abuelita. She absolutely hates her grandmother (my Great Great Grandmother) because Papa Imelio hated her after she had left.

In the Rivera Household and Workshop, there is one almighty rule that takes precedent above all others.

"No Music!"

I can't hum, or tap my fingers on the tables, I can't blow air into glass bottles to make noise, god forbid if I even thought of singing. I know she means well, but Abuelita gets so much worse when she hears a radio playing or a band of mariachi's nearby. Any recording of an instrument is shut down really quickly, or else Abuelita will hunt down whoever was playing music and smack them with her chancla. Then she'd break whatever device they were playing music on. She never ever ever touches instruments though. Not even to smack or break them. 1) She knows they're expensive and people would hate her for breaking one and 2) even the sight of an instruments seems to make her think it will drag her into hell.

One time I think she scared a group of drunk mariachis so badly, they actually peed in their pants before running away.

Thanks to the music band, the entire block I live on is referred to as Santa Cecilia's 'Silent District". No music is ever played near here, lest 'Crazy old Elena" comes and beats you up with her sturdy Rivera brand boots.

We may actually be the only family in all of mexico that hates music so much, we've actually banned it not only for our family but for an entire section of our town as well. Sometimes I resent Papa Imelio for the ban, and my great-great grandmother for leaving in the first place. I wouldn't go as far as to call her a self-serving whorish prostitute.

Little does my family know of my little secret as cliche as that may sound.

Since I was little, around ten years old, I began sneaking off into the town's plaza. Music is played there everyday, and sometimes even late into the night. Some of my friends had convinced me to go with them, and I don't regret a thing. I saw women dancing in beautiful dresses and shoes (which didn't seem sturdy) and people played large shiny instruments like trombones and tubas and flutes. I saw violins and accordions too. People have beautiful singing voices too.

Eventually people noticed me, little Michaela Rivera watching from the shadows. Some people wanted to chase me from the plaza, in fear of Abuelita. It was a smart but mean choice. Others decided to teach me music. I learned how to dance and sing. There are different types of dance forms, like tap and jazz and hip hop. There's also so many different forms of music, like rap and pop and classical.

It was in the plaza I learned about Senor Ernesto de La Cruz. He's one of the most famous musicians in history and the world, up there with Michael Jackson and Selena and Elvis Presley. Some say he's the greatest musician of all time.

He was born in Santa Cecilia in the year 1896, which actually makes him a few years older than Papa Imelio. When he played music (some say as young as 7 years old) everyone loved him. He was the most popular musician in town and left for his first two tours in early 1921, though he didn't hit it big until 1922. He wrote his own movies and starred in them, sometimes playing a superhero that could fly. I was disappointed as I got older and learned that he was held up by strings though.

He even wrote his own songs! His most iconic song (and my personal favorite) is 'Remember Me'. He would only play 'Remember Me' if he had his iconic white and gold skull guitar though. The guitar was supposedly a precious gift from a very close friend. Some people speculate it was from an old performer partner, or even a childhood friend turned lover.

He lived a rich, successful life most dream about...up until 1942. On November 30th, he was performing a massive concert in Mexico City. The concert finale was "Remember Me". He had been on a light of escalator staircase while playing his guitar. Just as the song was ending and he reached the top of the staircase, he set down his guitar. The entire audience, and even some of his coworkers swooned at the sight of him.

Something went wrong backstage. People in the audience would later describe the sound of snapping ropes and creaking pulleys. A stagehand desperately ran out onto the stage, shouting for Ernesto to look out. Above him, a giant ornamental bell dropped down. He was crushed to death. I saw a video of the bell being lifted off his body once...the blood seeping out from beneath it. His body was so mangled it didn't even look human and I lost my lunch. So did the rest of my classmates. our substitute teacher was swiftly told to leave school grounds after that.

Besides being gruesomely killed by a giant bell, I wish I could be a musician just like Ernesto de la Cruz. Maybe, though this is probably just a pipe dream, he even knew my great great grandmother. They lived at the same time, and all I really know is that the last my great great grandmother was personally heard from, she was in mexico city. That's where Ernesto de la Cruz debuted! Far fetched I know, but a girl can dream.

Of course, I'm already busy helping out in the workshop and barely have time to sneak out to the plaza as is. There is no way, come hell or high water, that my family would ever let me perform on a stage. I think Abuelita would die of a heart attack first.

Michaela Helene Rivera

AN: Just letting you know, the entire story isn't going to be in journal format. I just couldn't decide how I wanted to start the story and just decided 'screw it' and put it in a journal format. Anyone want to guess where Michaela got her middle name, or who gave the teen her middle name? It's probably blatantly obvious to some people, but I want to hear (read) people's answers and reviews anyway. The story will start off really really slowly, and I have no idea where I'm going with this so you might want to prepare yourself for some really cringe worthy writing,