Sweat poured from every single pore on his body. Drenching his tight, black clothing and dripping off the edges of his long black hair. The stage had to be a million degrees, or so he thought. Thousands of fans screamed, reaching a pitch so deafening, everything seemed to go numb. Gerard turned his back to the audience observing the other band members. Bob, so involved with his endless drumming, did not look back. His blonde hair dripping much like the observer. Mikey and Ray were simultaneously body banging to the beat screaming from the amps and microphones. And then there was Frankie, a stupid grin plastered on his face. His hazel eyes sparkling like every star in the sky. Eye contact. Gerard’s heart flipped in his chest as he turned back to the audience.
“Mama, we all go to hell. Mama, we all go to hell. I’m writing this letter and wishing you well, Mama we all go to hell.”
The addictive beat of the song gripped his body and tossed it around like a rag doll, no

     The night was cold. Every breeze that crept through the crevices of the tour bus tortured his shivering frame. Wrapped in blankets up to his strong, slightly pointed chin, little Frankie Iero shuddered at every chill creeping its way up his spine. Whether from the cold itself or the thoughts passing through his mind, he wasn’t sure. The darkness of the bunks themselves rivaled that of the icy stillness in the air. He was never a fan of the dark. Snores echoed through the small hallway, probably those of Ray, disturbing the eerie silence of nighttime. Frank peered out of the small curtains isolating him from the other members of the band. Why did he feel like he was being watched? Closing them again, he leaned up against the corner of his bunk letting out a frustrated sigh. That’s what you get for welcoming insomnia as a sick thrill. Leaning his head back against the plastic surface of his bunk, Frank wished for sleep, knowing fully well that it w