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Ivory Skulls.

This Is Only Beginning.


One moon equals about twenty-eight days, and there are on average thirty days in a month. So if my math is correct, six moons would be about five and a half months, give or take a few days. Now with that settled I can conclude that I have about two and a half weeks left before the “happening” comes about. During these few weeks I have before my world ultimately comes crashing down on me like an obese fan-girl jumping onto the stage from the balcony above, I have decided that these past few months of touring have been quite a splendor, although living up to my complete standards? Questionable. So in order to make up for the wasted time I have allowed to accumulate over the countless weeks, I hereby promise to live these next few weeks to the best of my ability—Don’t underestimate me, I’ve got the head of a genius and the heart of a partier.


It was one o’ clock in the morning and the bar was completely empty, which shouldn’t really be a surprise seeing as how it was the tour bus’ mini bar which was stored in the upper cabinet above the sink. Drunk up to his ears in Bloody Marys and gin, a mess of black hair lay dazed on the couch, his notebook sprawled across his bare chest and inkwell pen stuck behind his ear. Deep blue eyes stared up at the bus ceiling; his chest moved slowly as he breathed shallowly, possibly transfixed by the fly that was—as it had been for the last hour—trying to break its way through the window. Possibly. Sitting up on his knees now, the man watched the fly with hungry, animal-like eyes. Pressing his nose to the glass, the man looked up at the scurrying fly, raising a hand to try and catch the terrified insect.

“Come here lil guyyy,” he cooed, swaying his pale hand back in forth in an effort to snatch the bug. “Andy won’t hurt youuu, don’t you worryyy.” But after one minute of strenuous work, the alcohol caused the drunken anger to kick in, and the hand was no longer a friend. “God damnittt, you stupid fly! Come here!” Bringing his hand down on the bug, he succeeded in squishing the insect into oblivion, smearing its guts across the window with the palm of his hand. He cheered to himself quietly as if some his fans were congratulating him, switches between his voice and a high pitched imitation of what he figured a fan-girl sounded like.

“Oh, Andy, you did so well!”

“Why, thank you. I like to consider myself a… Professional.”

At that point he made a swooning sound, one he would have expected the fan to make, before switching back to himself, grinning wide and sticking out his tongue, pressing it against the bus window. He rubbed his tongue back and forth on the window, laughing quietly to himself, careful to avoid the bug juices on the glass. Soon he mellowed out, humming along to some song he couldn’t remember the name of to save his life. Dropping back to the couch, he snatched up his notebook from the floor, almost falling off in his drunkenness. He flipped through the notebook mindlessly, continuing to hum the unnamed tune. Plucking the inkwell pen from behind his ear, he turned to a blank page in the book, scrawling out the following in big, bold, messy letters:


Next page.


Next page.


Next page.


Sounded right and fitting to him.

Tossing the notebook back to the floor and allowing the pen to roll mindlessly from his hand, he sat up, stretching momentarily before looking to the clock. Two o’ clock. He held his head in his hands; why did it hurt all of the sudden? Burping alcohol laced breath, he wiped his lips with the back of one of his hands, whining to himself. Alcohol always seemed to turn on him, causing more unhappiness than comforting. That’s when he got a cigarette.

He stood up shakily, holding onto the edge of the couch like an disabled elder, shuffling his feet towards down the bus’ short hallway of bunks. Upon clambering up to his bunk, nearly stepping on Jinxx’s head in the process, he lifted his pillow to reveal his “hidden” stash of cigarettes, although he never seemed to understand why there always seemed to be less than there were the last time he needed a smoke. Wasn’t the whole “under the pillow” thing pretty secretive? Pulling out a single cigarette, he started to make his way back to the couch, but halfway there he realized he still had the pack in his hand. Grumbling and sticking the unlit cigarette between his lips, the man scuffed his way back to the bunk, sticking the pack back in its hidden place. As he made for the couch once more, he walked by a candle near the sink Ashley must have left burning, and soon it became a lighter for his cancer-stick.

Once he was back on the couch, he took a deep breath, feeling as if the fumes had calmed him almost immediately. Upon his second drag, he grinned, watching the smoke leak out from between his teeth that had somehow stayed white after all of his continuous bad habits. He felt so… So peaceful. These bad boys sure did the trick. As he sat there, cigarette hanging dumbly between two fingers, his mind drifted off, bringing back his topic of worry from hours before. Those kids.

His next drag was long; his blue eyes fixed on a white smear on the opposite wall. What if they were telling the truth, not just trying to frighten him? He snickered to himself, eyes still staring straight ahead as he sucked at the end of his cigarette. Yeah right, like they would even have the candy money to get to him. But it continued to gnaw at him, and it wasn’t going to stop until he figured this out. He didn’t know what they wanted, let alone why they wanted him for whatever twisted event that had planned. It made him… nervous.

Smoke sputtered from his lips as he coughed, beating his chest a few time with a fisted hand, hoping to fight the painful heaving in his chest. Someday, he thought, someday this lifestyle was going to kill him. Hell, that was if those kids didn’t first. God, did they want to kill him? Perfect, that would be just perfect. Mind the sarcasm, ladies and gentleman, it bites.

Groaning, he tapped off the ashes of his cigarette into the soda can Jake had abandoned. Two and a half weeks. He had two and a half weeks left to devise a plan to avoid those kids. Well. He took a final drag from the cigarette before stuffing the stub into the can. Let the games begin, kiddos, no one fucks with Andy Biersack.


{Disclaimer: I do not own Andy Biersack or Black Veil Brides}

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TurnTheClockBack, 2009-2013©


This seems pretty good so far. I'd love to read more

whoa this seems epic! updte PWEEEEAASEEE!!???