Deeper into Despair
folder
Gravitation › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
1,418
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gravitation › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
1,418
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gravitation, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Deeper into Despair
I wanted to hate you.
Hate how I was forced to be like you, how I was always under your shadow. Always trying, but never perfect. Never like you...
I suppose I should be grateful. You’re the one who provided me with the job of being the keyboardist for that band, Bad Luck. My parents were so appreciative for your generosity.
I thought it was bullshit.
Do you know how many hours...days, weeks, years it took for me to play the remix synthesizer to Sleepless Beauty the exact same way you produced it? I can play all your music by heart.
But I’m not you...I’m me.
I don’t have your cold and sweetly detached smile, devilish and angelic look, your brilliance, your awful taste in clothes.
When I was a few years younger, I despised the way I looked. I would tug on my short green hair , wishing for the beautiful golden locks that cascaded around your perfect face. My eyes were a dull brown color, not the cool black flecked with turquoise. My short stature made me look like a child, skinny arms and legs with a tiny waist. You were tall and slender and graceful.
How I envied you...despised you.
But I...I couldn’t hate you. As much as I wanted to. Hatred turned to obsession, which turned to passion, and my fingers would fly over the keyboard as I wrote song after chilling song; your dark cold eyes haunting me, your face imprinted in my head.
There was no relief, no piece of mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blah, blah blah. Questions? Comments? Hungry? You hate my guts? I need to slit my wrists and claim that death is on sale?
Please review
(Dudes! Of course it's short! It's the friggid prologue.)
Toooohmaaaaa...whooo... *I'm a ghost*
Hate how I was forced to be like you, how I was always under your shadow. Always trying, but never perfect. Never like you...
I suppose I should be grateful. You’re the one who provided me with the job of being the keyboardist for that band, Bad Luck. My parents were so appreciative for your generosity.
I thought it was bullshit.
Do you know how many hours...days, weeks, years it took for me to play the remix synthesizer to Sleepless Beauty the exact same way you produced it? I can play all your music by heart.
But I’m not you...I’m me.
I don’t have your cold and sweetly detached smile, devilish and angelic look, your brilliance, your awful taste in clothes.
When I was a few years younger, I despised the way I looked. I would tug on my short green hair , wishing for the beautiful golden locks that cascaded around your perfect face. My eyes were a dull brown color, not the cool black flecked with turquoise. My short stature made me look like a child, skinny arms and legs with a tiny waist. You were tall and slender and graceful.
How I envied you...despised you.
But I...I couldn’t hate you. As much as I wanted to. Hatred turned to obsession, which turned to passion, and my fingers would fly over the keyboard as I wrote song after chilling song; your dark cold eyes haunting me, your face imprinted in my head.
There was no relief, no piece of mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blah, blah blah. Questions? Comments? Hungry? You hate my guts? I need to slit my wrists and claim that death is on sale?
Please review
(Dudes! Of course it's short! It's the friggid prologue.)
Toooohmaaaaa...whooo... *I'm a ghost*