I took another swig of rum as I hunched over my writing desk. The ever-so-tacky demon day lamp was positioned in front of me, its plastic smile jeering at me and my attempts at song writing.
Hundreds of crinkled papers were lying around the floor, the desk; ink and various scribbling were on the walls. The words wouldn't flow, there was no hope. I couldn't think of anything to write about that was going to be worth listening to.
What the hell could I draw inspiration from? I hated all the fucking people I was stuck on this island with, I hated this bloody island, and I hated myself…
The moon was shining on the ocean and I took a step out onto the balcony and closed my eyes. Noodle, my mind whispered. I could write for her, a song for her, she'd never know; my secret song for her. I felt my eye twitch and I went back to fetch my rum bottle.
My mind was in a fragile state, I could feel it, paper thin and any moment I feared it would be shattered. I was unhinged, coming undone. My life was a ball of yarn, coming unraveled with each passing hour. I had nothing to live for; everyone I knew hated me, I was only an old man filled with self-loathing and regrets. I idly wondered where I had heard that line, a movie maybe? I didn't remember, and I didn't really care.
A gentle knock sounded at the door and I growled at it. "What the fuck do yeh want?" I yelled.
"Muds… it's meh-"
"DON' CALL MEH THAT!"
"S-sorry, Murdoc… it's meh, 2D, do yeh want anyfing fer supper?" he asked, his voice noticeably shakier.
"No." I stated flatly. Footsteps sounded, getting quieter until I could tell he was gone. I picked up my fountain pen and frowned at the piece of blank paper sitting on my desk.
You are my medicine… I said to myself. A light bulb appeared, that was good! I took a seat and began writing:
Plastic Beach tree
Come away with me get what you want… come with me.
Melancholy Beach
Beach of Sadness Plastic Tree…
Melancholy Hill. MELANCHOLY HILL!
Excitement bubbled up in me and for the first time in months true inspiration flowed onto the paper. It was her, Noodle. Her face, she was medicine to me, my heroine. I needed her like I used to crave all those soddy drugs, she was one of the last good things in my life. I couldn't give up on her. This was her song, this was for her. I smiled to myself, inspecting the first few lines, but my grin turned into a frown as it came out all wrong.
"Fuck." I grunted, balling up the piece of paper and hurling it at the wall. "Why is everything so hard!" I screamed at the lamp. It didn't respond but kept on with that fake little jeer of its.
I sat my head against the desk again, banging it. Tears flowed from my eyes and I sat up and took another bottle of rum from the crate.
Up on Melancholy Hill,
There's a plastic tree…
That was good. I could keep that… the pen began hesitantly moving again, copying it all down.
You are my medicine when you're close to me.
Now I saw it, now I saw the song. I got up and grabbed my bass, strumming out a few lines and seeing how it matched up. Maybe she would even hear this, wherever she was, and know it was from me to her. She would see that I wrote it for her, that I loved her.
I sat idly on the cruise ship when a song came on over the speakers, a new single from the Gorillaz. I turned my head sharply to the source of the sound and heard 2D's voice for the first time in many months.
Up on Melancholy Hill,
There's a plastic tree,
Are you here with me?
Anger rose like bile in my throat, obviously they weren't missing me too much if they were still making songs and carrying on like nothing had ever happened.
I eagerly listened to the finished track in the studio; as soon as we had finished it I'd sent it via email to Damon and ordered that it be put straight onto the radio waves.
So call in the submarine,
'round the world we'll go…
But when I saw her face for that first time I don't think she saw that it was to her, that the song was my secret love confession. I saw a broken woman.