Talk Show Host

by mewsomniac

Sunset, notes floating in the water, cigarette drags, people out to get me, a gun pressed to my temple and so far it's looking like the perfect assisted suicide. SoRoku yaoi, AU, songfic, disturbing themes and much more...

Going on like a damn

Talk Show Host

-+-

I want to

Take a deep drag.

Exhale.

Dance of smoke.

Unconsciously, my hand jots something into the yellowing, slat-stained pages of a tiny leather-covered notebook.

I want to be someone else or I'll explode

Why then,
O brawling love,
O loving hate,
O anything of first create,

I scribble on the small space of the line; holding a lit cigarette between my index and middle finger as I write.

O heavy lightness, serious vanity
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms…

Floating upon this surface for the birds

Convex lines, concealing strokes in the upper zone, upright slants. A graphologist would say I loose interest in things fast, and that I'm secretive and independent.

I tear out a page, drop it into the sunset-tinted water and watch it float against the waves.

Think to myself, 'Someone's bound to find it.' and do it again.

The birds, the birds

I set my notebook beside me on the pier. Reach for the glinting object next to it and my heart rate increases.

You want me?
Fucking come and find me

I grip the handle of the black 9mm and click the safety off. Press the cancer stick's filter between my lips. Inhale sweet nicotine; clog my lungs with a kiss of death. I lean foreword and rest my elbows on my knees, loosely holding the gun as I flick ashes into the shallow waves beneath me.

I'll be waiting
With a gun and a pack of sandwiches

"T-minus," I murmur and take a shorter drag before feeling a light weight on my back.

"They won't do it," a voice mutters, "You do this every Sunday while your parents go to church. They won't kill you, Sora. They never do." A soft sigh, "You're not going to shoot yourself, either."

I twist my head to see him transparent, leaning his back against mine, head titled upward, neon blue eyes half-lidded. Turn my gaze to the gliding pieces of paper below me. Squinting, I read a large passage on one:

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

And nothing
Nothing
Nothing

"They're here again today, Roxas," I tell him, "They've been circling the beach for the past hour or so. And today, if they don't do it," I eye the gun, "Then I will."

"So it's either you or them?" I nod, he chuckles. "This game of Russian Roulette is getting tedious."

Nothing

His weight is momentarily lifted before it returns, followed by two arms around my shoulders. I feel his breath warm on my left ear as he whispers,

"If you want to, I'll help you this time."

Another paper drifts by and noncommittally, my eyes skim over it.

Why, such is love's transgression.

You want me?
Well come on and break the door down

I watch our reflections in the rolling waves as I lift the near-forgotten cigarette to my mouth. Deep drag. Exhaling, I speak,

"Know why we come here every Sunday?"

"No?"

I smile, "Lucky sevens."

He turns his head and I feel him kiss my temple. "Not quite." I laugh before taking another puff. "So?" he urges.

Flicking the cigarette into the ocean, I whisper, "Okay."

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

You want me?
Fucking come on and break the door down

I hear the soft sound of tires turning against concrete and watch as that same black SUV that was circling the lot makes another lap.

Perfect timing.

Slowly, I lift the gun up and press the barrel to my right temple. I feel Roxas' hand steadily embrace my own as he holds the 9mm the same way I do.

"Ready?" He asks after a short peck to my cheek.

I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready

I feel his hold on the gun tighten and as the SUV rolls by, I look down at our reflections in the water. Roxas' eyes are closed tightly in fear and everything but his hand over mine is trembling. I smile, and just as we squeeze the trigger, I read a passing note in my own interest-losing, secretive, independent handwriting:

Farewell.

I'm ready
I'm ready

And all we receive is the click of an empty clip.

-+-

MHC: …yeah it's one of those deeper-meaning things (I guess). I was inspired by the one scene in Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet where Romeo (Leonardo DiCaprio) appears for the first time.

The plot behind this is, Sora thinks whatever is in the black SUV is out to get him and believes that darkness waiting to devour him. So, he carries a gun around, just in case. Roxas keeps trying to make sure Sora doesn't kill himself or others over nothing, so he always empties the clip in Sora's gun. This time around, he must have forgotten whether or not he emptied it and panicked a bit.

In reality, there really is an SUV full of "darkness" out to get Sora. However, every time it swings by at sunset on a Sunday, Sora holds the 9mm to his head and pulls the trigger to show he isn't afraid of death. It turns out he knows Roxas empties the gun and this adds to his unhesitation to blow his own brains out. He's also prepared to pop a cap in another person's ass if he needs to.

As for the Shakespeare bits, Sora loves poetry and has memorized quite a bit of Romeo and Juliet. Writing certain scenes down in the notebook and dropping them into the ocean is his method of a suicide note just in case he really does die.

And finally: why does Sora smoke? I love Smoker!Sora. Bite me.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave a review for they are the fuel to a writer's flame and let us know you still care.

Inspiration:
The movie Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet, the movie Fight Club, Radiohead's song "Talk Show Host", Radiohead in general, Joe Anderson's version of "Happiness is a Warm Gun" written by the Beatles, cornwallace, style xx, William Shakespeare and Chuck Palahniuk.

Passages in bold are from the play Romeo and Juliet; act 1 scene 1.