Post by mariachi on Sept 26, 2010 0:49:01 GMT -5
Jimmyis my first fanfiction that I think will go anywhere. It's pretty much St Jimmy's story from the American Idiot album. Hope you like it!
“Fuck this! I'm leaving!” I screamed at Brad, my mum's new boyfriend, before slamming the front door shut behind me. Blinking back tears of rage, I stormed towards the heart of Jingletown. Maybe the Underbelly will understand this shit I'm going through I sighed. How could they understand though? I mean, they were my friends and all, and they knew me more than anyone else in the world. But they were more of my followers than anything. Too brainless to think for themselves. They needed a leader, and I happened to be it. I went by the name of the Jesus of Suburbia. Only my mum called me by my real name, Jimmy, anymore. When she actually talked to me, that is. Mom hasn't really talked to me much ever since Brad came into her life. God, I hate that asshole. My teeth clenched together tightly, and I felt my hands curl up into fists, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. I needed to distract myself.
Walking through the streets of Jingletown was the only way to get to the 7-11 the Underbelly hangs out at. I tried to ignore the people staring at me. I must have been a sight. It wasn't just my ripped black t-shirt with the Anarchy symbol on it paired with torn jeans, a studded belt, and black converses that caught the attention of people. And my black hair spiking up in every direction forming a halo around me does make me noticeable in a crowd, but today I think it was the look of absolute fury on my face that made people stare at me like the mindless idiots they are.
“Mr. George Bush, how do you like your new role as President over the United States of America?” I heard a journalist ask. I looked around wildly to find myself staring at a T.V. shop, with many screens showing the exact same image; the new President of America breaking into his new role as President. I kept my eyes locked onto the screen, practically pressing my nose against the shop window.
“So far, so good. With my new role as President, I plan to do something about the wars in Iraq. What the Iraq's have done is simply terrible-”
“What fucking bastards voted for him as president?” I growled under my breath. Just like that, America's going to take a turn for the worse. I glared at the man I loathed so much. Were the people really that blind to his stupidity? How could they not realize that he's just going to fuck everything up? The interview switched to an advertisement. It was a new exercise product, covered in extremely fit, tanned people dancing almost robotically on stage, a hollow smile on their faces. I couldn't believe these American idiots I shared this country with. Tearing my eyes away from the TV's, I forced myself to make my way to the 7-11. I looked at the sky. It was just turning purple, but the golden streaks from the sun still danced vividly across the sky. My guess was that it was 6 pm. I passed a few more shops, catching my reflection in some of the shop windows. My dark greenish blue eyes were framed in slightly smudged eyeliner, giving me a dangerous, punk look. It was only when I looked at how my eyes were narrowed down and how my lips were set in an annoyed frown did I realize just how angry I was. I needed a drink. By the time I got to the 7-11, the sun was just touching the horizon. The car park was empty, where the fuck was the Underbelly? probably roaming Suburbia. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself before entering the shop. I could hardly walk in with a murderous glare on my face. Then people would ask what's wrong, and I just don't have the patience to put up with their shit right now.
The automatic doors slid open for me, and I walked through, looking around the shop.
“Can I help you?” A man in his late thirties called from the cash registered.
“No, fuck off and leave me alone,” I muttered under my breath. I shook my head, keeping my eyes down. I walked past the various canned products that lined the shelves, grabbing a 6-pack of my favorite brand of beer from the shop's fridge on my way to the stationery isle, where I picked up a day planner. I made my way over to the shop assistant guy, practically dragging my feet. Just because I spent half my time hanging outside the 7-11 didn't mean I enjoyed being in it. I didn't even know why I hated it so much. Maybe it was just the quietness, or the tense atmosphere. I placed the beer and day planner at the checkout, watching the shop assistant lazily check the price, and prod a few buttons with a chubby finger. I tapped my foot impatiently. I wanted to get out as soon as I could, and he was going out of his way to take as long as possible? I swear he did this on purpose.
“That'll be $15, please,” the guy droned in a voice that could easily put me to sleep. I stuffed my hand into my pocket and slammed down the required notes, and didn't even bother waiting for him to give me the receipt or anything. Grabbing the beer in one hand and the day planner in the other, I hurried out of there, going behind the store and sitting down on a step, taking in the empty parking lot. I set the beer beside me and opened up a can, swallowing an entire mouthful and feeling my problems lighten up a bit. This idiotic hell-hole that I lived in seemed just a tiny bit better. I flipped open the day planner, and pulled out a black pen from my pocket. Where it said “Property of:” I wrote in a neat handwriting: “Jimmy”. Then added, “So stay out!” and underlined it a few times. Then I turned the page and wrote the first thing that came to mind; American Idiot. Yes, that was perfect. The perfect phrase to capture what I was thinking. The words came effortlessly after that.
“Don't want to be an American idiot,
Don't want a nation under the new mania.
CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF HYSTERIA?
The subliminal mind fuck America.” I smiled to myself, and kept writing, until I had the page filled with my new song, “American Idiot”. I put a date to it, Feb 23.
___
There we go! Part one! Tell me what you think, should I continue?
“Fuck this! I'm leaving!” I screamed at Brad, my mum's new boyfriend, before slamming the front door shut behind me. Blinking back tears of rage, I stormed towards the heart of Jingletown. Maybe the Underbelly will understand this shit I'm going through I sighed. How could they understand though? I mean, they were my friends and all, and they knew me more than anyone else in the world. But they were more of my followers than anything. Too brainless to think for themselves. They needed a leader, and I happened to be it. I went by the name of the Jesus of Suburbia. Only my mum called me by my real name, Jimmy, anymore. When she actually talked to me, that is. Mom hasn't really talked to me much ever since Brad came into her life. God, I hate that asshole. My teeth clenched together tightly, and I felt my hands curl up into fists, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. I needed to distract myself.
Walking through the streets of Jingletown was the only way to get to the 7-11 the Underbelly hangs out at. I tried to ignore the people staring at me. I must have been a sight. It wasn't just my ripped black t-shirt with the Anarchy symbol on it paired with torn jeans, a studded belt, and black converses that caught the attention of people. And my black hair spiking up in every direction forming a halo around me does make me noticeable in a crowd, but today I think it was the look of absolute fury on my face that made people stare at me like the mindless idiots they are.
“Mr. George Bush, how do you like your new role as President over the United States of America?” I heard a journalist ask. I looked around wildly to find myself staring at a T.V. shop, with many screens showing the exact same image; the new President of America breaking into his new role as President. I kept my eyes locked onto the screen, practically pressing my nose against the shop window.
“So far, so good. With my new role as President, I plan to do something about the wars in Iraq. What the Iraq's have done is simply terrible-”
“What fucking bastards voted for him as president?” I growled under my breath. Just like that, America's going to take a turn for the worse. I glared at the man I loathed so much. Were the people really that blind to his stupidity? How could they not realize that he's just going to fuck everything up? The interview switched to an advertisement. It was a new exercise product, covered in extremely fit, tanned people dancing almost robotically on stage, a hollow smile on their faces. I couldn't believe these American idiots I shared this country with. Tearing my eyes away from the TV's, I forced myself to make my way to the 7-11. I looked at the sky. It was just turning purple, but the golden streaks from the sun still danced vividly across the sky. My guess was that it was 6 pm. I passed a few more shops, catching my reflection in some of the shop windows. My dark greenish blue eyes were framed in slightly smudged eyeliner, giving me a dangerous, punk look. It was only when I looked at how my eyes were narrowed down and how my lips were set in an annoyed frown did I realize just how angry I was. I needed a drink. By the time I got to the 7-11, the sun was just touching the horizon. The car park was empty, where the fuck was the Underbelly? probably roaming Suburbia. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself before entering the shop. I could hardly walk in with a murderous glare on my face. Then people would ask what's wrong, and I just don't have the patience to put up with their shit right now.
The automatic doors slid open for me, and I walked through, looking around the shop.
“Can I help you?” A man in his late thirties called from the cash registered.
“No, fuck off and leave me alone,” I muttered under my breath. I shook my head, keeping my eyes down. I walked past the various canned products that lined the shelves, grabbing a 6-pack of my favorite brand of beer from the shop's fridge on my way to the stationery isle, where I picked up a day planner. I made my way over to the shop assistant guy, practically dragging my feet. Just because I spent half my time hanging outside the 7-11 didn't mean I enjoyed being in it. I didn't even know why I hated it so much. Maybe it was just the quietness, or the tense atmosphere. I placed the beer and day planner at the checkout, watching the shop assistant lazily check the price, and prod a few buttons with a chubby finger. I tapped my foot impatiently. I wanted to get out as soon as I could, and he was going out of his way to take as long as possible? I swear he did this on purpose.
“That'll be $15, please,” the guy droned in a voice that could easily put me to sleep. I stuffed my hand into my pocket and slammed down the required notes, and didn't even bother waiting for him to give me the receipt or anything. Grabbing the beer in one hand and the day planner in the other, I hurried out of there, going behind the store and sitting down on a step, taking in the empty parking lot. I set the beer beside me and opened up a can, swallowing an entire mouthful and feeling my problems lighten up a bit. This idiotic hell-hole that I lived in seemed just a tiny bit better. I flipped open the day planner, and pulled out a black pen from my pocket. Where it said “Property of:” I wrote in a neat handwriting: “Jimmy”. Then added, “So stay out!” and underlined it a few times. Then I turned the page and wrote the first thing that came to mind; American Idiot. Yes, that was perfect. The perfect phrase to capture what I was thinking. The words came effortlessly after that.
“Don't want to be an American idiot,
Don't want a nation under the new mania.
CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF HYSTERIA?
The subliminal mind fuck America.” I smiled to myself, and kept writing, until I had the page filled with my new song, “American Idiot”. I put a date to it, Feb 23.
___
There we go! Part one! Tell me what you think, should I continue?
