ÉPISODE DE LA VIE D'UN ARTISTE

Okay, this story is a bit on the wild side. This is my attempt at adapting Hector Berlioz's programmatic Symphonie fantastique (an episode in the life of an artist) into a story format utilizing D.N.Angel characters. It's a huge departure from my previous story set strictly inside canon events. Only the core story is the same as in the symphony, but I've elaborated immensely on the foundation of the original to make it pretty much original throughout, while following the music itself and the emotions within. So you may consider it a songfic of a kind. Characters are free to be OOC and everything is set in an Alternate Universe setting, so don't go comparing too much with the original characters. Everything is written from Satoshi's POV.

Disclaimer: I don't own Satoshi or Risa. They are just good friends. Pretty much everything else is mine, though, except the Symphonie fantastique.

Premier Chapitre:

Rêveries – Passions

Morning

A time of day that is always as terrifying and hard to withstand than any other point of time during the rest of the day. The point where painful dreams subside to reveal an even more desolate and painful reality... a reality that keeps on throwing me from one side of a stormy sea to the other with slight regard to how seasick it makes me feel.

Urh, if it only were just sea sickness. At least then I could find a remedy, but no, this always has to be about some damned psychological question waiting to burst forth with a mocking sneer over my misery.

I so wish I could be able to pinpoint exactly where my source of wretchedness stems from so I could rectify the situation at least somehow.

Could it be my habitat? Well, I wouldn't be surprised. Blank, white walls; messy floors; dust everywhere; only little crevices for light to come through; a place that kind of reminds me of a mortuary; in short, a pathetic place to live... But no, that's too simple. I can always tidy up, but it's hardly going to make me feel any better.

My work? Definitely not! If there is one thing that at all keeps me sane is my art, my reason for being. Take that away and I might as well be dead. Or could it be just because it is all I have? Should I have more? What more should I have? Why do I have to ask myself when I don't know the answer? Why did I just ask a stupid question like that, since I perfectly well know what the answer to that one is? Questions, questions, questions...

What about the way I look? I wonder whose fantastic idea it was to give me naturally blue hair that can't even be dyed? Do I really want to draw attention to myself, like a freak of nature or the like? And, oh my God, do I hate my eyes. They are too piercing, that when I look through the mirror I feel like I could stab myself with them. My body is fit, but thin in a sickly sort of way... And my constant trouble with low blood pressure doesn't help matters.

No, that's not really it, either.

Companionship? Hmmm... could it be I'm just lonely? Is the possible answer to the problem contained within this simple equation? True, I can't really say I have many friends. Acquaintances yes, but I wouldn't really be prepared to call them friends. But even then, friends come and go... maybe it's deeper than that. A closer companionship perhaps? Could that be what I'm hungering after? Maybe I should do something about it...

I know! I'll paint.

An exquisite painting of my wants, needs and hopes... All expressed through nothing but colours and textures, soft hues and shades, the perfect companion... Yes, there and there, a soft touch there, a bit of depth over here... A ha ha, Satoshi, this will be a masterstroke of an idea you have ever had. A little more for the finishing touches... a gentle smile, understanding eyes, flowing hair, a gently curvaceous nose... perfection in every way... but... but...

Perfection yes... but only an ideal. ARH, will you listen to yourself! You're painting a picture of a girfriend to take out and have lunch with! As if you need to sound any more of a lunatic you already are. A fantastic painter you are, fast and precise... well, what did I expect being a descendant of a long line of genius artists... but no matter how lifelike you can make things, this is hardly a substitute for the real deal.

DAMN IT!!!

Do I seriously need all of this? I so enjoy torturing myself. Could it be that this way I at least feel like I'm still alive? Pitiful masochist, that's what you are.

Well, I might as well go outside. Better feel fresh pity than stagnant pity, at least that's what I say. Or so I tell myself. But it might just be another excuse to just do something. Though I have to admit I do kind of enjoy the sunny warmth against the exhausting gloom of my apartment, to which even that outer door looks like it's been ripped from a horror movie. I should have it painted, but then again what's the point? It's not as if I'll find any satisfaction out of it after the deed. Blergh, I really should start looking for more positive things in life; not that there are any, but still... it would keep me occupied for 15 minutes at least.

Step, step, step, step, step... where to go, where to go? Well, truthfully, who cares? Where ever my feet lead me, that's where. After all, isn't the journey more important than the destination? Particularly as I'm not too keen on reaching the destination any time soon, since I already know what will be waiting for me there.

The park... good enough place as any to stroll towards. Birds in trees, wind in the leaves, sunshine filtering through... It is all rather nice I have to admit. Enough for a fleeting moment of feelings that don't make me want to rip my own head off and have it all over and done with. So calm... so peaceful... so quiet... but...

Not so quiet and peaceful as I thought. A sound. A human sound. I'm not alone? Well, this is a public park, of course, but it is still pretty early for a Sunday morning.

Soft giggles, a high pitched voice... definitely a female. Who is she talking to? No other voice? Wonder what she looks like...

Just behind this corner... on that bench... talking on a cell phone...

The most perfect creation I have ever seen!

Perfect, long brown hair, gently flowing in the wind with a layer of it tied up with a yellow ribbon... Large, amber-coloured eyes full of life and vivacity... a perfectly proportioned nose... soft-looking, luscious lips from which melodious and clear tones emanate from like a Mozart symphony... smooth, peach-coloured skin... a perfectly proportioned chest-area, a tiny waist and all of this ending with a pair of shapely legs... a masterpiece if there ever was one. Well, maybe not exactly Botticelli's Venus, but that painting has never made my heart start doing these arrhythmic turns and twists before. Or am I just having a heart-attack; either would make me die happy right now. Surely if life imitates art, then I really wonder from what museum this piece has just escaped from.

But of course I'm in no position to be content and happy. I mean look at what I've been doing for the whole morning. I'm in constant struggles to avoid committing suicide for no real apparent reason, my mind is a total wreck, and still my heart pounds like it wants to escape the confines of my chest and run off to swim in a pond or something.

What did I promise to do just a few moments ago? Look for more positivity in my life? Could I look at this as a positive thing? Or will it slap back at me for apparent reasons? I guess there would be no harm in trying. After all, the worst that can happen is that I'll just kill myself. Yeah, right! I'd be lucky to actually get that far.

Well, here goes nothing... just walk past... nonchalantly. Oh, whoopie, she just ended her call, too. Inch, inch, inch... should I whistle something... maybe not... Hmmhmm dum da dum...

Oh, great. She noticed me. Now what do I do? Doesn't anybody have any brilliant suggestions on the next course of action?

"O-hayô!" she says suddenly!

She talked to me! Now what... Answer back! Answer back! Answer back! Answer back, you dunce!

"O—O-O- ha-yô..." Did that come out sounding like what a human being is supposed to sound like? I just can never tell.

Oh, and now she smiles at me! Ummmh... how did you do that again? Oh, yes, to smile is an action requiring for the facial muscles to contort upwards so that it causes one's mouth to resemble a deflated letter U or a banana... let's try that. Hmmhmmh... there. I don't really feel like this is exactly a smile, though. More like a gringe! And why must it be so difficult to keep your mouth in this position? Ooooh... I can't do it. Better give up before you completely freak the girl out.

Wait, what's this? She starts making noises... talking noises. Concentrate on the translation.

"Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Who cares about the morning? I'm suffering here and she asks about the morning...

"Hai..."

My, Satoshi, 10 points for a wonderful answer! If my feet just bended a certain way, I'd just kick myself in the groin.

More sounds: "Out on an early stroll, are we? Enjoying the pleasures of quiet before the rushes of the day?" And giggling sounds. "Harada Risa." Well, that last sentence makes no sense at all, so I suppose it's her name. Okay, she's extending her arm and probably wants to know who I am now. And no escape routes visible anywhere. Man, this is not working at all the way I planned it!

"Hiwatari Satoshi" I hear myself say while lightly taking her offered hand. Oh, how the contact makes me almost lose my mind. Not that I can compliment myself for being totally sane currently anyways. But her touch is like a surge of electricity flowing through every fibre in my body. And now she smiles again. This is becoming almost unbearable. The pressure on my heart is turning it into mincemeat. This was a bad idea. I have to get away now before I really do have a seizure.

"Ahh, I'm... that is, nice to meet – you, but I'm... busy and in hurry... have to go so... so long!" and now tally ho legs. Agh, just run run run run run run run run – leaving her behind on the bench watching behind me with confusion. Around the corner, out of sight. AAAAAHHHH! My head is spinning, my heart is beating like a jungle drum and my mind is a delirious mess. Is this what they call passions? The carnal lust of an animal in heat? Or would some know-it-all poet refer to it as "love at first sight?" Or something altogether more sinister? I don't know, and I don't have time to think it over. This is just too much for me to process right now. Talk to a woman just like that, what were you thinking Satoshi? You just can't do that!

There, my home; my door; through the door, my apartment; through my living room, my bedroom; in my bedroom, my bed; over my bed, sheets; under the sheets, escape from the visible world.

My heart finally settling down, finally rationality is setting in again. The adventure of the day is over. And yet that face continues to haunt me, those amber eyes melting me away. My religious consolations... art. That is what she was. Art. Sacred and hallow.

I'm really messed up...

Well, first movement done. It's surprisingly difficult to write psychological stuff while following a piece of composition and trying to make it work as prose at the same time. Oh, well. The seeds of destruction have been sewn now. Hopefully this is turning into something worthwhile.

As always, all feedback is welcome.