AN: Wow, this is what, my third one of these? Perhaps I should just rename this account: Kurt_Hummel_Is_Actually_Someone_Else rather than SourSugarQuills. Anyways, I digress.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even this idea. Nope, this has been done before me, this is just my slightly less-insane Kurt and more cannon-like Kurt. Anyway, I digress.
Drumming Melodies by: SSQ
Kurt awoke, gasping for breath. His sheets were damp and tangled, sticking horribly to his sweat soaked skin. He crawled out of bed dizzily, creeping to the bathroom as quiet as he could. 1-2-3-4, something pounded in his brain. He groaned mentally, preparing for another migraine.
The shower turned on with a creek as he peeled himself out of his pajamas. Stepping under the lukewarm spray, he hoped it wasn't too early. He couldn't be tired for Glee Club that day…
He washed his hair and skin with precision, rubbing his temples when the pounding grew louder. 1-2-3-4. As the foam slipped into the drain, he tried his best to relax under the water falling onto his skin, to forget. He sighed, turning off the shower and stepping out. He tapped his fingers on the wall, 1-2-3-4, wrapping himself up in a fluffy bathrobe.
"No rest for the wicked," He muttered to himself as he stared into the mirror, picking out his every flaw in the pale features of his. His eyes were red and tired, probably from the lack of sleep in…forever. Once he had moisturized and plucked and a thousand other things, he returned to his room, tapping a rhythm onto his skin. 1-2-3-4.
He dug out a sketchbook and a pencil, before flopping onto his bed and drawing. He hardly even realized it, over the years of the same thing happening again and again. He just relinquished his grasp on reality and drew. When he finished it was a respectable time, the picture placed carefully into a folder, ready to be brought to school. Perhaps his art teacher would like it, he mused.
Kurt had always loved art, he'd been drawing beautifully since a very young age. Terrifying things, really. Yet some things were so beautiful…All things he had seen in dreams. So many colors, objects, anything and everything the human brain could dream up. Evil robots called the cybermen, screaming out 'DELETE!', and odd peppershaker things with what seemed to be a whisk and a plunger that terrified him to bits when he was younger.
He walked upstairs, sassy and normal as ever. If anybody noticed the rhythm he tapped onto his plate-1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4,-they didn't say anything.
He took the Navigator to school per usual, a noise of drums still sounding in his head. His fingers itched to find something, anything to take the drums away. They ached to pull out the drawing from the night before, his mind whispering in sleep deprived hope. The drums will go away, look, look!
He told himself no, that he was driving. Besides, it was just a drawing, what good would that do against the drums that he couldn't even remember a time without? Instead his hand played absentmindedly around an old fashioned fob watch in his pocket. The perfect accessory with his outfit, he had thought that morning. His thumb traced carefully over the odd circular engravings. He drove to McKinley, hoping desperately that the bullies would stay away that day.
-=OOO=-
The day passed nearly uneventfully and once Kurt walked into his Art class, he was thanking his lucky stars. Only a few scathing comments about his sexuality were passed, and while it hurt every time the lack in numbers were a relief. He wasn't even slammed into a locker or slushied once!
The class used pastels that day, and he smiled. He always did like pastels. So volatile, so easy. He took a deep breath in and began to work.
He hardly noticed the time passing, just measuring it in actions. Line hear, smear there and such. He noticed that he finished later than others, though he ended up thoroughly satisfied with his work when done, not nitpicking like some did.Always the perfectionist, he thought with a smile, staring at the picture.
Two boys sat in a field of crimson vegetation, the sky a deep sunset behind them. The picture seemed to grin back from the desk, and he had the sneaking feeling he had forgotten something. He searched back into his memory, and remembered the picture he wanted to show from last night. He frowned slightly, because though he remembered he had drawn something, he had no idea what he had drawn. He dragged the folder from his things, violet and shiny against the dull tan desktop.
Throwing it open, he found a drawing so perfect it could have been a photograph. Not that the quality mattered much, most of his art did. Yet there was something so different in this one, so different that he stared transfixed. Because for the very first time, the drums beat out not just a rhythm, but a word.
1-2-3-4
Theta-Theta-Theta-Theta
Theta will make the drums go away, something whispered inside of him, like a thought, or perhaps a memory of one.
He gripped the pastel tighter as he hit it against the desk.
1-2-3-4
1-2-3-4
Theta.
1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4,
Help me, Theta, please!
1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4
The drums grew louder, pounding and hitting against his cranium. 1-2-3-4
He didn't know a life without the drums.
Theta!
Theta, help!
The drums were everywhere, banging and echoing so-very-loudly-
The world went black.
AN: Three guesses who Theta is, if you all don't know already. I'll give you a hint, he's from Gallifrey. What Kurt encounters (The italics that aren't the drums,) are memories of thoughts/speech from a certain Time Lord's past. The reason he remembers without opening the fob watch is that there was a malfunction-I promise I'll place this all in another chapter, but just so you aren't confused.
Until next time,
~SSQ