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Old 28-12-11, 03:03 AM   #1
Crazy like a fox...
 
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Default Come on get happy. A songfic.

This is the unrevised version of the first part of a short story that I have been working on...before I lost all the progress when my laptop was stolen.

It's themes are set to this particular rendition of "come on get happy" I chose it for it's surrealism. It opened the opportunity for a more funereal theme.


Quote:
The world was a carnival of colour and lights. Nameless images danced across his blurred vision. He was swimming in a sea of ownerless faces, grating music, and disembodied voices, so many voices. It was all so loud, he couldn’t hear himself think. This was how he liked it. The physical numbness, the hampered thought processes, the raving lights, the music reverberating off his bones, the vitality pulsating from the mass of grinding bodies and even the knowledge that he would not recognize his new best friends he was sharing this special moment with tomorrow... This was euphoria.
Even under the spell of ecstasy, which by the way he thought was no misnomer, he was ever aware of one thing… the spell was not permanent and he had only until the stroke of midnight. His costume would fall away, his coach would become a pumpkin, and he would no longer belong in this place, surrounded by happy, pretty, people. Despite the high, and momentary lack of self consciousness, somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the pang in his heart. But for now, in this moment, he could pretend that he was apart of the world of the living, and that was enough to keep his body and mind dancing. He closed his eyes, because the joyous lights were beginning to sting.
When he would open them again, it would be morning, and the music would have stopped. He rubbed his weary eyes and realized that he was staring at his own ceiling, in his own room. This room never danced for him, and the walls, the piles of dirty laundry, the random clutter and the air were all stagnant. The silence was far too loud . Even the round faced clock that hung on the wall opposite his bed was silenced, hands frozen in place. The room was a dreary, monotone, dead space. He didn’t know how he got home, he didn’t know why.
It happened, as it always did, as he knew it always would. It started out small, like a clandestine, mocking chuckle, then it grew into a grand cacophony orchestra of voices. Virulent voices, spiteful voices, harsh, hateful, honest voices. These were unlike the cheerful voices of the intoxicated youth at last night’s rave. These voices were all variations of his own. They hissed insults into his ear, spat terrible truths that he could not deny.
"You are ugly" they cackled sardonically."You are wretched"."You are worthless"."You are alone in imperfection".
He couldn’t stop them, couldn’t will them away. His still expression did not betray the pandemonium taking place just on the other side of his eyes. He lay there, being devoured alive by the swarm. With a long sigh, he propped his body up on his arms, which felt to him like a lot more than 130lbs. He tousled his hair lazily as he made way for the shower, and for his first defense against his reality.
The hot water was scalding. Yet it was not hot enough to satisfy his craving for cleansing. It could not be hot enough for him, until his flesh was liquefied, and perhaps his bones as well. He closed his eyes as he reached for the soap rack. The voices never left, but on his eyelids he saw their bitterly mocking smiles. Such wicked smiles, he thought. His fingers clumsily felt the surface of the soap rack until they found their goal. His sword, his first defense against insanity, and the denizens of the dark.
Her name was Delilah and, she was beautiful. Her slender, mint-green handle, that ended in a razor-sharp, one sided blade. Not just a pretty face, she was also a great kisser. Anxiously, but slowly, he brought his lover, his comrade in arms up to his left wrist, and pressed her cold surface against his own burning one, the contrast was stark. He opened his eyes and looked at her lovingly. Just a little pressure... He slid the blade from left to right , effortlessly splitting the flesh. And so their torrid affair began. He breathed in sharply, he was fully awake now, and he sensed everything, as though his nerve endings were burning with new life and excitement. Reflexively, most people would let out a cry like “ouch” but he wasn’t most people. The first line of song poured out of his eerily peaceful smile.
“ Forget your troubles… come on get happy…”
His voice was sweet, light, not heavy with accent, and not very deep. It possessed a puerile quality.
He was so aware now. Of the individual beads of water bursting against his skin, of the almost pleasant steam in his lungs, of the sunlight shining in from the window just above his head, of the way that light was diffracted by the steam, and made a shimmering rainbow just before his eyes. It was all so beautiful to him now, almost as beautiful as the crimson trail leading down the shower drain. Then again, maybe it was the fact that he could still bleed that was the most lovely to him.
Delicately he bandaged them. The 47 beauty-marks that he had carved into his arm, not all completely shallow. Then he bandaged the other, cleverly integrating his injury dressings into his usual punk-rock attire. It blended in well with the ripped jeans, black t-shirt, sleeveless black hooded jacket, and black boots. He realized that he must have been such a stereotypical punk, minus the bandanna and mohawk, but that was only coincidental, he simply dressed the way he felt. He didn’t bother to look in the mirror. He never liked the person on the other side anyway. He hurriedly walked down the less than wide hallway, towards the almost entirely unfurnished living room, where the door was. Along the way, he passed the open door of his parents bedroom, and his father who was standing in the doorway, which he dreaded. For an instant their eyes met, and in that instant, he felt his father’s thoughts as though they were spoken clear as day. Helplessness, fear, distance, love, these were all reflected in his troubled, listless eyes. These were the reasons why he couldn’t face his father. He knew that he worried, but the distance and inability to communicate between them made it impossible for him to help. He continued toward the door and into the living room, where photos of his small family hung on the otherwise bare walls. Yet none of him. He had long since burned or removed by means of Delilah any semblance of his image. It was just too painful. He left into the dying day without looking back.
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Old 28-12-11, 03:08 AM   #2
There's No Compromise...!
 
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Default Re: Come on get happy. A songfic.

thats cool
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A Ship is Safe in a harbor indeedly , but .. thats not what ships are made for , right ?



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Old 28-12-11, 08:41 AM   #3
Crazy like a fox...
 
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Default Re: Come on get happy. A songfic.

thanks.
There are some things I wish to change or correct so if anybody has any critique it would be very much welcome.
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