Hello! I know it's been quite a long time, and I realize I'm not presenting you with
another update with OMR. Honestly, I am in the worst case of writer's block, and I'm
hoping a few short stories will release me from that. So please, please be patient.
Thank you. Anyway, I was inspired by Shawn Mullins, "Lullaby" so I wrote my very
first songfic ever! I hope the reception is warm.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Sailor Moon. Never have. Never will.
Email: Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
Lullaby
She grew up with
the children of the stars
in the hollywood hills and the boulevard
her parents threw big parties
everyone was there
they hung out with folks like
Dennis Hopper, Bob Seger, and Sonny and Cher
She'd never seen him before.
Silently, she watched as he diligently picked at the strings of his guitar, digesting each chord with each approval or disgust. His fingers were those of an artist: lean, long, beautiful. She had always longed for artistic hands, but hers were far too awkward and clumsy to attain such a gift.
"He's gorgeous," her friend breathed.
His beauty was annunciated with each chord that hovered majestically in the smoke filled air. There was a strange combination of tranquility and vibrancy, something that he easily communicated as he even tuned his guitar. And when he raised his midnight blue eyes to her, she felt his beauty wash over the customary tension in her shoulders, the coldness in her heart.
"Yes, he is," she finally responded. He held her gaze for a moment longer before he returned to tuning his guitar, and losing himself in the art of perfection.
"I wonder if he's any good?" her friend off handedly questioned while they seated themselves at the bar.
"Probably not. None of the musicians here are," she dryly retorted.
There was an admittedly beautiful stranger in her haven, and she couldn't help but feel contempt towards him. She came here to escape the hell of her life, to hide from the sounds of her mother drunkenly making love to a man half of her age, to forget from the images of her father sensuously kissing the neck of her mother's sister. She fled the scrutinizing gazes, the insinuating whispers, the knowledge that she could never be as beautiful as her mother, as charming as her father, as talented as her brother.
She came here to allow her shoulders to sag slightly, to breathe easier. Not completely, no never completely. But sometimes, if she lost herself in the faceless crowd, in the thick smoke that wrapped around her like a wispy ocean, in the shouts of emotion, only sometimes, the pain wasn't as torturous.
She feels safe now
in this bar on Fairfax.
Her friend laughed shortly before turning to flirtatiously smile at the stranger on stage. Shaking her head at such boldness, she hunched over her drink and sipped at it.
"He keeps looking at you. I think he likes you."
"He has extremely bad, distorted taste."
"Stop talking like that! You're so pretty, probably even more so if you smiled more often."
"I think my smiling would hardly make a difference." Despite herself, she slightly turned in her chair to see the beautiful intruder staring intently at her, his gaze remaining unflinching when her eyes narrowed threateningly.
Prying glances only triggered those many memories of her guardians' disappointment that she did not meet their expectations of beauty and fame. The knowledge tormented her endlessly, it invaded her nightmares, it attacked her while she was awake. Because she wanted to belong. She wanted to stroll by those whispering crowds and awe them with her pearly white smile and silky mane. She wanted men to worship her loveliness like men hailed her mother.
Even her friend, who was a good hearted person beneath the Hollywood façade, was tricked by her family's glamour. It saddened her.
and from the stage I can tell that
she can't let go and she can't relax
and just before
she hangs her head to cry
Her head bowed as the sadness returned to weigh on her shoulders, her soul. She never asked for the glamour and the deception, the wealth and the emptiness. It no longer mattered to her that every garment she wore was custom tailored to her figure or that her private jet could take her anyplace her heart desired. Because no matter where she traveled, her parents' disapproval would haunt her.
Her lips tightened as she felt tears collect in her eyes, blurring the vapors of cigarette smoke and the beer mug into a watery disarray of suppressed pain. She'd never escape the agony of failure, of worthless. Especially tonight, it seemed.
Fate timed her sorrow with the singing of the mysterious musician. Her back still turned from those compelling blue eyes, she felt his words swirl comfortingly around her, like the embrace of a beloved.
I sing to her a lullaby, I sing
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
rockabye
She blinked rapidly, pleading, willing those damned tears to disappear. A cover song? Obliged by an indescribable, but overwhelming emotion, she turned in her seat. And almost gasped.
He was unblinkingly gazing at her while he sang, his voice a rough baritone with the barest hint of huskiness. Those perfect, artistic hands moved across his guitar confidently, driven by memory, and in her opinion, driven by her pain.
Her friend elbowed her ribs several times, but she was too hypnotized by the tenderness in his stare, and the beauty of his face, the comfort in his music. For once, the bar grew strangely quiet as he continued the song. His eyes fluttered close, intensifying the pure emotion that pulsed with each chord, each pitch of his captivating voice.
she still lives with her mom
outside the city
down that street about a half a mile
and all her friends tell her
she's so pretty
but she'd be a whole lot prettier
if she smiled once in a while
`cause even her smile
looks like a frown
she's seen her share of devils
in this angel town
Oddly enough, the music continued to surround her, burrowing beneath her layers of emotional stone and touch something she had long forgotten about. For a brief moment, she felt like allowing those tears to fall, allowing herself to convulse with heart wrenching sobs. What was he doing to her? She furiously shook her head and ran trembling fingers through her locks. Only romantic imbeciles ranted of the importance of vulnerability. In her world, vulnerability lead to destruction, providing a pathway for the agony.
"I'm leaving."
"Are you kidding me? This guy is good!"
"I don't feel well."
"Do you want me to come home with you?"
"No…stay." She stumbled out of her seat and weaved almost drunkenly through the enthralled audience. Practically every eye was trained on this lone stranger, this man who had disturbed her with the feeling in his voice and the gentleness in his eyes. Just as she reached the door, she forced herself to cast a cursory glance towards his direction.
But, everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
rockabye
He was peering at her again, this time his tenderness mingled with warmth and perhaps…understanding?
Impossible! How could he possibly ever comprehend the demons that ravaged her nightmares, that released themselves from her subconscious and tormented her during her waking hours? He was only a stranger with beautiful hands and a poignant, coarse voice. Nevertheless, he did not know her. She would never allow him to know her.
With another self reproving shake of her head, the broken soul broke from his haunting gaze and strode purposefully out of the bar. She came there for refuge from the deceptive Hollywood glamour, to lose herself in a world that she was condemned to never know.
The atmosphere was decidedly colder than when she first arrived. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her, but it was not the nipping breeze that she was trying to protect herself from, but from the provocative music of a beautiful stranger. How was it possible that that nameless musician guessed at her torment?
Although it was fairly late, there were still faceless individuals roaming the streets, carelessly pushing past her to arrive at their destination. It was their rudeness that she reveled in, because for once, no one bothered that she was the reclusive daughter of two, legendary Hollywood celebrities.
I told her I ain't so sure
about this place
it's hard to play a gig in this town
and keep a straight face
seems like everyone here's got a plan
it's kind of like Nashville with a tan, but,
It was ridiculously late when she finally arrived home. The sun was peeking over the horizon's dark edge, casting wondrous shades of scarlet, indigo, and sapphire into the dark sky. No one was waiting for her arrival with a concerned expression, considering that her parents were too enamored with themselves and their reputations to devote any attention to their only daughter. She could have slammed the door shut and stomped up the massive, winding staircase, but still, no one would have roused. She had grown too accustomed to the indifferent silence to even think otherwise.
Mentally fatigued, the tormented product of every worldly blessing collapsed upon her plush, velvet covers, and with a single tear rolling down her delicate cheek, returned to her lonely nightmares.
With a groan, she awoke when the sunlight burst through her wooden Venetian blinds. Momentarily, her thoughts drifted to that disturbing stranger who had sung to her last night and tried to join her in her unspoken, but piercing pain.
She groaned again, this time at her ridiculous thoughts. Of course he had not sung to her, it was a selfish, outlandish concept. Her overactive imagination and loneliness only made her prime target for the overwhelming tenderness in his eyes. Muttering beneath her breath, she stumbled downstairs, gripping the polished banisters for support.
"Drink too much last night, darling?" her mother airily questioned as she paused to watch her daughter practically trip down the staircase.
"Would it matter if I said yes?"
"Don't be cross, darling. It is not becoming."
"Neither is cocaine."
Hardness glittered in her mother's compelling, verdant eyes. Parent and child glared contemptuously at one another, both belonging to the same, wretched world and slowly dying in it.
But they were destined to be divided, because one wanted to lose herself in it, another wanted to escape it. And she would always hate her mother for that weakness, that ignorance. She would forever despise her mother for her curvaceous figure and strikingly gorgeous face.
Disconcertingly familiar sound reached her ears, then swirled around her in that eccentric, comforting manner that made her forget lost loves and hidden anguish.
Wordlessly, she dashed towards the office and pushed the mahogany doors open with a resplendent bang.
With a heaving breath, she met the beautiful face of the very man who had serenaded her last night, who had musically begged to heal her. She recognized that very guitar that probably still stank of cigarette smoke and spilt beer. She acknowledged those powerful, lean fingers that easily strung each chord. And she remembered how that wonderfully baritone voice, with the barest hint of roughness, had touched her.
Suddenly, the song changed to a slower beat, and his voice deepened to a familiar pitch. His kissable lips opened, and those words simply radiated from his mouth. Words of comfort. Words of understanding.
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
What was he doing here, singing that same cover song? Her hopeful gaze immediately sobered when she met the questioning eyes of her father. The beautiful music came to a pause. With a cough, her father smoothly interjected, "This is my latest protégé, darling. I think he's going to make it big."
"You always say that," she cynically retorted.
"Glad to finally meet you, miss," he quietly greeted her, and neither offered a hand nor a name. "You forgot to mention how exquisite your daughter is."
Her body stiffened at his sincerity. Her cheeks flushed as those captivating midnight blue eyes wandered over her features, admiration apparent on his beautiful face.
"Oh? Yes, we still aren't sure who she takes after," her father critically commented.
"I thought it was fairly obvious."
"Really?"
"Yes," he turned to her, tenderness twinkling in his endless sapphire gaze. "Neither."
Silence suffocated any possible sound from her father's lavish office chambers. A hesitant grin tugged at her mouth, and suddenly, it matured into a full, confident smile. For once, in the presence of her guardians, she felt genuinely lovely.
"Thank you. I couldn't have agreed more." With a shaky breath, she loftily declared, "I'm going out."
"Of course, darling. Have fun."
"I suppose I will be seeing much more of you later. Goodbye."
"Yes, I suppose so. Take care of yourself," he smiled a gentle, compassionate smile that weakened her reservations.
She silently brushed past her mother, who had standing at the entrance with a confused expression on her stunning face. Her jade green eyes slid from her daughter to her husband, then to the beautiful musician seated to her left.
"He was discovered last night at a bar at Fairfax."
She paused beside her mother and turned to cast another glance at the appealing stranger.
"I'm surprised. The artists there are never good."
"Do you think he's good?"
Smiling magnificently, she shrugged her shoulders and strolled out of the mansion.
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye,rockabye, bye, bye
bye, bye
Well, and there it is! Hopefully, the woman in this story managed to speak to my beloved audience. She definitely spoke to me. Although we might not share the exact issues, the emotions are all the same. Email me comments!
~Dreamwriter
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Sailor Moon. Never have. Never will.
Email: Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com
She grew up with
the children of the stars
in the hollywood hills and the boulevard
her parents threw big parties
everyone was there
they hung out with folks like
Dennis Hopper, Bob Seger, and Sonny and Cher
She'd never seen him before.
Silently, she watched as he diligently picked at the strings of his guitar, digesting each chord with each approval or disgust. His fingers were those of an artist: lean, long, beautiful. She had always longed for artistic hands, but hers were far too awkward and clumsy to attain such a gift.
"He's gorgeous," her friend breathed.
His beauty was annunciated with each chord that hovered majestically in the smoke filled air. There was a strange combination of tranquility and vibrancy, something that he easily communicated as he even tuned his guitar. And when he raised his midnight blue eyes to her, she felt his beauty wash over the customary tension in her shoulders, the coldness in her heart.
"Yes, he is," she finally responded. He held her gaze for a moment longer before he returned to tuning his guitar, and losing himself in the art of perfection.
"I wonder if he's any good?" her friend off handedly questioned while they seated themselves at the bar.
"Probably not. None of the musicians here are," she dryly retorted.
There was an admittedly beautiful stranger in her haven, and she couldn't help but feel contempt towards him. She came here to escape the hell of her life, to hide from the sounds of her mother drunkenly making love to a man half of her age, to forget from the images of her father sensuously kissing the neck of her mother's sister. She fled the scrutinizing gazes, the insinuating whispers, the knowledge that she could never be as beautiful as her mother, as charming as her father, as talented as her brother.
She came here to allow her shoulders to sag slightly, to breathe easier. Not completely, no never completely. But sometimes, if she lost herself in the faceless crowd, in the thick smoke that wrapped around her like a wispy ocean, in the shouts of emotion, only sometimes, the pain wasn't as torturous.
She feels safe now
in this bar on Fairfax.
Her friend laughed shortly before turning to flirtatiously smile at the stranger on stage. Shaking her head at such boldness, she hunched over her drink and sipped at it.
"He keeps looking at you. I think he likes you."
"He has extremely bad, distorted taste."
"Stop talking like that! You're so pretty, probably even more so if you smiled more often."
"I think my smiling would hardly make a difference." Despite herself, she slightly turned in her chair to see the beautiful intruder staring intently at her, his gaze remaining unflinching when her eyes narrowed threateningly.
Prying glances only triggered those many memories of her guardians' disappointment that she did not meet their expectations of beauty and fame. The knowledge tormented her endlessly, it invaded her nightmares, it attacked her while she was awake. Because she wanted to belong. She wanted to stroll by those whispering crowds and awe them with her pearly white smile and silky mane. She wanted men to worship her loveliness like men hailed her mother.
Even her friend, who was a good hearted person beneath the Hollywood façade, was tricked by her family's glamour. It saddened her.
and from the stage I can tell that
she can't let go and she can't relax
and just before
she hangs her head to cry
Her head bowed as the sadness returned to weigh on her shoulders, her soul. She never asked for the glamour and the deception, the wealth and the emptiness. It no longer mattered to her that every garment she wore was custom tailored to her figure or that her private jet could take her anyplace her heart desired. Because no matter where she traveled, her parents' disapproval would haunt her.
Her lips tightened as she felt tears collect in her eyes, blurring the vapors of cigarette smoke and the beer mug into a watery disarray of suppressed pain. She'd never escape the agony of failure, of worthless. Especially tonight, it seemed.
Fate timed her sorrow with the singing of the mysterious musician. Her back still turned from those compelling blue eyes, she felt his words swirl comfortingly around her, like the embrace of a beloved.
I sing to her a lullaby, I sing
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
rockabye
She blinked rapidly, pleading, willing those damned tears to disappear. A cover song? Obliged by an indescribable, but overwhelming emotion, she turned in her seat. And almost gasped.
He was unblinkingly gazing at her while he sang, his voice a rough baritone with the barest hint of huskiness. Those perfect, artistic hands moved across his guitar confidently, driven by memory, and in her opinion, driven by her pain.
Her friend elbowed her ribs several times, but she was too hypnotized by the tenderness in his stare, and the beauty of his face, the comfort in his music. For once, the bar grew strangely quiet as he continued the song. His eyes fluttered close, intensifying the pure emotion that pulsed with each chord, each pitch of his captivating voice.
she still lives with her mom
outside the city
down that street about a half a mile
and all her friends tell her
she's so pretty
but she'd be a whole lot prettier
if she smiled once in a while
`cause even her smile
looks like a frown
she's seen her share of devils
in this angel town
Oddly enough, the music continued to surround her, burrowing beneath her layers of emotional stone and touch something she had long forgotten about. For a brief moment, she felt like allowing those tears to fall, allowing herself to convulse with heart wrenching sobs. What was he doing to her? She furiously shook her head and ran trembling fingers through her locks. Only romantic imbeciles ranted of the importance of vulnerability. In her world, vulnerability lead to destruction, providing a pathway for the agony.
"I'm leaving."
"Are you kidding me? This guy is good!"
"I don't feel well."
"Do you want me to come home with you?"
"No…stay." She stumbled out of her seat and weaved almost drunkenly through the enthralled audience. Practically every eye was trained on this lone stranger, this man who had disturbed her with the feeling in his voice and the gentleness in his eyes. Just as she reached the door, she forced herself to cast a cursory glance towards his direction.
But, everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
rockabye
He was peering at her again, this time his tenderness mingled with warmth and perhaps…understanding?
Impossible! How could he possibly ever comprehend the demons that ravaged her nightmares, that released themselves from her subconscious and tormented her during her waking hours? He was only a stranger with beautiful hands and a poignant, coarse voice. Nevertheless, he did not know her. She would never allow him to know her.
With another self reproving shake of her head, the broken soul broke from his haunting gaze and strode purposefully out of the bar. She came there for refuge from the deceptive Hollywood glamour, to lose herself in a world that she was condemned to never know.
The atmosphere was decidedly colder than when she first arrived. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her, but it was not the nipping breeze that she was trying to protect herself from, but from the provocative music of a beautiful stranger. How was it possible that that nameless musician guessed at her torment?
Although it was fairly late, there were still faceless individuals roaming the streets, carelessly pushing past her to arrive at their destination. It was their rudeness that she reveled in, because for once, no one bothered that she was the reclusive daughter of two, legendary Hollywood celebrities.
I told her I ain't so sure
about this place
it's hard to play a gig in this town
and keep a straight face
seems like everyone here's got a plan
it's kind of like Nashville with a tan, but,
It was ridiculously late when she finally arrived home. The sun was peeking over the horizon's dark edge, casting wondrous shades of scarlet, indigo, and sapphire into the dark sky. No one was waiting for her arrival with a concerned expression, considering that her parents were too enamored with themselves and their reputations to devote any attention to their only daughter. She could have slammed the door shut and stomped up the massive, winding staircase, but still, no one would have roused. She had grown too accustomed to the indifferent silence to even think otherwise.
Mentally fatigued, the tormented product of every worldly blessing collapsed upon her plush, velvet covers, and with a single tear rolling down her delicate cheek, returned to her lonely nightmares.
With a groan, she awoke when the sunlight burst through her wooden Venetian blinds. Momentarily, her thoughts drifted to that disturbing stranger who had sung to her last night and tried to join her in her unspoken, but piercing pain.
She groaned again, this time at her ridiculous thoughts. Of course he had not sung to her, it was a selfish, outlandish concept. Her overactive imagination and loneliness only made her prime target for the overwhelming tenderness in his eyes. Muttering beneath her breath, she stumbled downstairs, gripping the polished banisters for support.
"Drink too much last night, darling?" her mother airily questioned as she paused to watch her daughter practically trip down the staircase.
"Would it matter if I said yes?"
"Don't be cross, darling. It is not becoming."
"Neither is cocaine."
Hardness glittered in her mother's compelling, verdant eyes. Parent and child glared contemptuously at one another, both belonging to the same, wretched world and slowly dying in it.
But they were destined to be divided, because one wanted to lose herself in it, another wanted to escape it. And she would always hate her mother for that weakness, that ignorance. She would forever despise her mother for her curvaceous figure and strikingly gorgeous face.
Disconcertingly familiar sound reached her ears, then swirled around her in that eccentric, comforting manner that made her forget lost loves and hidden anguish.
Wordlessly, she dashed towards the office and pushed the mahogany doors open with a resplendent bang.
With a heaving breath, she met the beautiful face of the very man who had serenaded her last night, who had musically begged to heal her. She recognized that very guitar that probably still stank of cigarette smoke and spilt beer. She acknowledged those powerful, lean fingers that easily strung each chord. And she remembered how that wonderfully baritone voice, with the barest hint of roughness, had touched her.
Suddenly, the song changed to a slower beat, and his voice deepened to a familiar pitch. His kissable lips opened, and those words simply radiated from his mouth. Words of comfort. Words of understanding.
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
What was he doing here, singing that same cover song? Her hopeful gaze immediately sobered when she met the questioning eyes of her father. The beautiful music came to a pause. With a cough, her father smoothly interjected, "This is my latest protégé, darling. I think he's going to make it big."
"You always say that," she cynically retorted.
"Glad to finally meet you, miss," he quietly greeted her, and neither offered a hand nor a name. "You forgot to mention how exquisite your daughter is."
Her body stiffened at his sincerity. Her cheeks flushed as those captivating midnight blue eyes wandered over her features, admiration apparent on his beautiful face.
"Oh? Yes, we still aren't sure who she takes after," her father critically commented.
"I thought it was fairly obvious."
"Really?"
"Yes," he turned to her, tenderness twinkling in his endless sapphire gaze. "Neither."
Silence suffocated any possible sound from her father's lavish office chambers. A hesitant grin tugged at her mouth, and suddenly, it matured into a full, confident smile. For once, in the presence of her guardians, she felt genuinely lovely.
"Thank you. I couldn't have agreed more." With a shaky breath, she loftily declared, "I'm going out."
"Of course, darling. Have fun."
"I suppose I will be seeing much more of you later. Goodbye."
"Yes, I suppose so. Take care of yourself," he smiled a gentle, compassionate smile that weakened her reservations.
She silently brushed past her mother, who had standing at the entrance with a confused expression on her stunning face. Her jade green eyes slid from her daughter to her husband, then to the beautiful musician seated to her left.
"He was discovered last night at a bar at Fairfax."
She paused beside her mother and turned to cast another glance at the appealing stranger.
"I'm surprised. The artists there are never good."
"Do you think he's good?"
Smiling magnificently, she shrugged her shoulders and strolled out of the mansion.
rockabye, rockabye
everything's gonna be all right
rockabye, rockabye,rockabye, bye, bye
bye, bye
Well, and there it is! Hopefully, the woman in this story managed to speak to my beloved audience. She definitely spoke to me. Although we might not share the exact issues, the emotions are all the same. Email me comments!
~Dreamwriter
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com