So my friend and I went to the cinema today to catch a film and we ended up seeing Collateral Beauty, which was really fuckin' good. So then this happened, and yeah...
Words: 2429

It had been a year, exactly a year, a week ago. A year since Frank's life took a turn for the worse. A year since a car crash took away Frank's everything- his wife, his daughters, his son, and his purpose.

He remembered it vividly, as if it had happened just that day; and to Frank, it had. His entire life paused the moment he answered the door to the grave-faced cop.

He was sitting in front of the television, not paying attention to the reality program playing on the screen. His head was pounding and he could hardly breathe out of his stuffy nose, and his mood was made sour by the fact that he couldn't pick the kids up from school like he did every week day. Jamia had refused to let him go out and get the kids after he spent the day coughing so badly his throat was starting to bleed from going raw. So he was sat, wallowing in self-pity, waiting for his wife and his kids to get home.

But they didn't get home. Not fifteen minutes later, when Frank was expecting to hear the door open and three sets of little feet to come parading into the house. Not thirty minutes later, when his fingers were jumping on the couch armrest with nerves. Not forty-five minutes later, when he felt in his gut that something was wrong. And after an hour, three hard knocks on the door took Frank's hope away.

Frank's shaky feet carried him slowly to the door, where he opened it hesitantly to find two men in deep blue uniforms with solemn faces.

"Are you Frank Iero?" One of the officers- a tall, thin man with dark hair- asked. His voice was low and Frank's stomach dropped at the words. He nodded his head slightly, waiting for the man to continue. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm afraid there's been an accident. Your wife was involved, as were your children." Frank fretted the words he knew were coming. "I'm afraid they didn't-"

And Frank shut the door. He didn't wait for the officer to finish, and he didn't wait for them to offer their condolences. He just shut the door and turned around, his feet not carrying him a single step. His back slid down the wood and his knees pulled toward his chest. He crossed his arms on top of his legs and buried his face into the fabric of his jumper. His breath came out in shallow exhales as tears poured from his eyes, eventually soaking through his sleeve.

Since that moment, Frank lost his motivation. He lost touch with reality. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He spent his days in dirty clothes and dirty skin, withering away on the same couch he previously waited on.

After six months of eating barely enough to live and only showering every two weeks or so, Frank went back to work. Physically, at least. He wasn't really there mentally. He just sort of sat there, getting barely any work done- enough to not completely fail at his job, but not enough to truly get anything done.

A bit after the one year anniversary of his family's death, Frank's best friend took action. He had found Frank's letters that had never been sent. Except Frank didn't write to people; he wrote to abstractions.

Death, Time, and Love.

So, in a last-ditch attempt to help his friend escape whatever was going on in his mind, James Dewes made a deal with three starving artists. In exchange for James' financial support of their small production, the three young men would personify the abstractions that Frank had written to.

The tall, lanky boy with shaggy brown hair would be Death, who would be the first to confront Frank.

Then would be the tall, afro-haired one as Time.

Followed last by the one who seemed to be the group's leader. A boy of average height with slightly greasy black hair who would be Love.

-----

Frank Iero was sat on a bench at the dog park, watching the animals run around and play with each other. His half-focus was drawn away by somebody sitting next to him.

"You're wrong, you know," the man spoke, glancing only briefly at Frank before turning back to look at the animals. He hugged his black pea-coat tighter around his wiry frame. "About me, I mean."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not the antagonist of life," he spoke, still staring forward. "I'm just a result. I don't choose who goes, I just help them along the way," he paused. "I couldn't have made the trade. I couldn't have brought them back and taken you instead. I wish I could, but it's impossible. I'm sorry Frank."

At the mention of his name, Frank was knocked back into reality- or his reality, at least. He wasn't sat in a stunned, confused silence anymore. His thoughts raced forward faster than he was able to track, and his head was spinning.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how you know all this, but you need to fuck off," his words fell off his tongue and tumbled into the frosty air, floating unevenly to Death. "It's inhumane to mess with people like that, and I'm not afraid to throw punches with some punk who think he knows me. I'm from Jersey, and we don't fuck around there."

As Frank ranted at the composed man next to him, a woman and her child walked passed him. The child tugged on his mother's sleeve as he pointed in Frank's direction.

"Mommy, who is that man talking to?" The little boy asked, giving Frank an odd look. The mother just shook her head, grabbing her son by the wrist and dragging him away, muttering about "crack heads."

"They can't see me, not until it's their time or I want them to" the man answered Frank's unasked question. "And as to who I am, well that's a strange question. I mean, you're the one that wrote to me." With those words, the man pulled an envelope out of his pocket, the word "Death" written in sloppy penmanship on the face of the paper. He handed it to Frank. "I understand that you're upset with me. I mean, it's easy to blame me when these things happen. I'm the one who's there, and I'm the one who is named the same as what has happened to them. But it's not my fault. The sooner you understand that, the better."

Frank sat dumbfounded with the paper held loosely in his hand. He looked down at it before looking in the direction the lady and boy had walked off to.

"They were lovely, by the way. Their souls were very warm, and they were all very accepting. Every one of them was worried for you though; I could feel it," Death spoke again, this time speaking directly of Frank's family. Frank's gaze found the kind eyes instinctively.

"Fuck this," he muttered, standing quickly and leaving the park bench- and the man sat on it- behind him.

-----

Frank sat in his office at his work building, constructing a line of dominos on the tabletop.

"You're wasting me," a voice spoke from behind him. He turned around at the sound, faced with a young man with large hair sat on a tabletop. "I'm limited- and you know it- yet you waste me."

Frank shook his head quickly, as if he were trying to shake the man away. A small "not again" was heard quietly escaping his lips.

"You sit around, mad at me for not healing you, yet you don't let me," the aggravated tone of the young man seemed very out of character, yet it was suiting to his words. "You surround yourself with reminders of bygone times, doing things you used to do before everything changed. To you, I haven't existed in the past year."

Frank's weight fell against the table behind him, knocking the short line of the black and white toys down as his hands grasped at the edge of the wood. He simply stared at the man before him.

"Einstein once said something about me being an illusion- and he was right, in a way. There are no days, or weeks, or months. You guys created those, but it was for good reason. Look at yourself, man. You've been living without me for the past year and it's done you no good. It's made everything a muddled up endless cycle of pain for you." He drew a piece of paper out of the jeans of his pocket, this one with "Time" scrawled across the front.

Frank eyed the paper, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes squinted.

"You don't like me, and I guess I get it. There wasn't enough of me with Lily, Cherry, and Miles. There should have been infinite amounts of me frozen with Jamia. So much of me has gone without them, and it feels like I've stopped for you yet I keep moving for everyone around you. I can't help that, man, only you can." He tossed the envelope carelessly to the floor. "I can't fix what's wrong with you. Only you can."

Just as Frank opened his mouth to shoot some hot-headed remark at the curly haired man, James stepped into the office.

"Hey, Frank," he smiled, paying no attention to the smart-mouthed man leaning against the glass wall opposite of him. "I'm going on a coffee run and was wondering if maybe you wanted something this time. How about it?"

Frank stared at James, then quickly looked behind him at the figure leaning casually, then looked back to James.

"Go ahead," Time spoke again, "ask him if he can see me."

Frank simply stood there, conflicted and confused. The silence seemed to drag on forever around the three men. Frank eventually shook his head- so little movement was there that James was hardly able to even catch it. James smiled sadly at his friend before nodding and exiting the room.

"Just think about it, okay. I get where you're coming from, but see it from my perspective," and with those words, Time walked passed Frank and out of the building.

-----

Frank was doing something unusual. He went out for a meal- a proper meal- instead of sitting alone in his flat with half a sandwich in front of him. And about half-way through, a man with shoulder length black hair made him regret that decision.

"I'm sorry," Frank heard the voice before he saw the person attached to it. "I'm sorry that you feel like I betrayed you because you were so comfortable with me, and I'm sorry that you feel like I've been ripped away from you, and I'm sorry that you think this is goodbye."

Frank rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, dreading the lecture he would receive from the man in front of him.

"We can't help who loves us, or who we love, or why we love. Those things just happen. So many things just happen," the man had tears in his eyes as he spoke. "But I am inescapable. I refuse to let this," he slammed his hand on the table, pulling away to reveal a worn piece of paper. Each side contained one word; the downturns a side had "Love" written on it, while the upturned side simply read "goodbye," in matching handwriting, "be goodbye. I refuse to let you leave. You need to learn to trust me, or-"

"Trust you?" Frank's voice rose to cover the man before him's. "Trusting you is what got me in this fucked up situation in the first place. I saw you in Cherry's eyes when she looked at me! I heard you in Lily's laugh when I tickled her! I felt you in the grip Mile's tiny hand held onto mine with! I tasted you on Jamia's lips every fucking time we kissed! I trusted you because you were there in all of those moments, and you left me!" Frank's voice had drawn attention from other guests at the establishment by this point, but he didn't care about their burning gazes.

"But I didn't leave you!" Love's voice was at his prior volume, but there was angry passion distinguishable in his voice. "I'm still here, even though you refuse to accept it. I'm everywhere. The books you read, the songs you play, the program's you watch. I'm in you, Frank, you just need to acknowledge me!"

The seething man that had sat across from Love mere moments ago seemed to disappear. He was replaced by a shell of himself; a shell that radiated shame and sorrow and anger all at the same time. A broken "I'm sorry" fell from faded lips as a tear glided over smooth skin.

-----

The lights in the house went up with the audience, the applause ringing through the theatre. In the front row stood a freshly shaven man in a clean outfit, whose clap was loud and lively. He made his way backstage after a few moments of applauding the performance he had just sat through.

It didn't take long to find the dressing room he was looking for, and he quickly slipped into it. A man with shoulder length black hair stood before him, dressed in a white button up with a half-removed black waistcoat.

The man was momentarily shocked, but quickly masked it and spoke to Frank clearly.

"May I help you?" His words were shakier than he intended, but Frank didn't seem to notice.

"I believe you already have," Frank smiled a small smile as the words passed his lips. "You're a very good actor, Gerard. Though I think I prefer you as 'Love' over this role."

Gerard took a step back, raising his hands in an innocent gesture, "I can explain."

Frank shook his head. "There's no need. I'd like to thank you, actually. I'd still be in that slump that had taken my life over if it weren't for you and your friends," he paused, taking a deep breath as he considered his next words. "Y'know, it's funny that you played 'Love' for me. I think it might mean something."

Gerard raised his eyebrows, not sure of what was happening.

"Maybe you'd like to go out sometime? Except not as Love and the angry guy, but maybe Gerard and Frank?"

Gerard smiled as he nodded, "I think I'd like that."

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I actually quite liked this one. I hope you did as well :)

-xoMih