Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, nor Chad Michael Murray, but I'll be legal in a couple of months- five in fact- so CMM, we could hang out then. It'd be fun, esp. if you only wear your basketballs! And I don't own the Beatles or their songs, but it doesn't matter, because I'm a girl and Michael Jackson would never come after me.
Happiness is a Warm Gun:
There's a kid, a little boy, who giggles happily as he races after the retreating shoreline and runs back into His arms as the water changes directions and begins to chase him. His blue eyes sparkle and his chest swells as She blows kisses at him and whispers in his ear that She loves him. His blonde hair sticks up from his round head (after he'd shaken it like a wet dog), his cheeks look oh-so-pinchable (the smile now foreign to him) - his smile carefree- and his skin was pink with exertion and tan with exposure. His short legs waddled before him as he was enveloped by the large, fluffy blue towel, being wrapped in its warmth.
In reality, he sits straight backed against a large, broad, straight- backed chair. A boring tie chocked his young neck, a stiff jacket constricted his youthfully animated muscles, and the sober atmosphere painted a straight line across his chubby face. The brilliant twinkle that his eyes could produce had never been seen, because it had never resided in him. His blond hair was combed back severely, giving the impression of a mature child (if that isn't an oxymoron, I don't know what is). He sat at one end of the insanely long dining table, and She sat opposite Him. They didn't speak, exchange pleasantries, or smile. They ate as if strangers, never betraying an emotion by showing one. Not speaking . . . just eating.
In truth, he wasn't a happy surprise- a bringer of joy. He wasn't the source of their smiles and loving touches (if they'd ever had any).
He was conceived of a business deal and raised of obligation. He was not the product of love or lust like so many of the newborns lying in their fancy bassinets being cooed over by their adoring parents. His being created, born, raised and expelled were all calculated before They were even married. He was a thought, a strategic piece on the chess board, ready to be played whenever They saw fit. He was planned, preconceived. His birth wasn't a joy, neither a surprise.
He was an appointment.
I reread the computer screen over and over in my head until the letters blurred together and formed a juxtaposition of black and white characters. Without thinking, I highlighted the entire page and deleted the words.
I couldn't submit that.
It wasn't me . . . or at least what people perceived to be me.
It was way too personal, too open. It revealed my inner child that they'd never known. It showed my yearning for what normal people have experienced. It opened their eyes to what lay in my . . . heart, I think. It exposed me as being normal, a teenager. It made me too real.
It uncovered my ennui.
I am tired.
Tired of being someone I'm not. Tired of playing the part of Mr. Apathetic and Mrs. Narsasstic's son. I'm tired of being the person everyone depends on for determining their self worth. I'm tired of being the child of money. I'm tired of playing the part of the playboy, the chauvinist, the sex god. I was tired of never being happy. I was tired.
Just . . . plain . . . tired.
I looked back into the screen and sighed.
Maybe I would submit nothing, my grades would suffer, but it wouldn't matter. I could be sold to whatever school they wanted me to attend. Maybe I would submit something. I could scrape up as much superficiality as is left in the box. Or, I could submit what I really thought:
Happiness is a warm gun.
Tristan DuGrey
. . . the computer screen read for a whole week.
TBC . . .
A/N: I hoped you liked my beginning. And I hope you read this fic also. It's important to know what goes on in Tristan's head because to understand why he's a jerk and why he acts like one will sort of help Rory. R&R please. And if you're a little confused, this is set about a week or two before Rory actually gets to Chilton. Just like "Strawberry Fields" this is going to play off of those chapters and recount their lives and how they feel about one another.
w/ luv, Yo-yo