Inspired by lily-fox on Deviant Art. Seriously, her pictures make me so jealous.
I don't own the Gorillaz; I'm just borrowing.
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The music plays on, and she desperatly wishes it would stop. Bullets pound on the walls, kicking up dust and plaster. She guards her head, flinching. So much dust. She coughs. It was a bad idea from the start. It stops, and she crawls towards the door, cutitng her pale hand on glass. Smoke fills her delicate nose, and she coughs again. The sunset is blood red; the clouds are charcoal. It seems to be the picture of death. Suddenly, her island tilts. They come again, parading her with bullets once more. She hides again. Going down. The music plays on, and her screams are drowned out by the creaking of wood, the rushing of air, and the burning. So much burning. The tears sting her eyes. They clear paths through the soot on her cheeks. Silent screams, but the music plays on. The canyon walls close in, and she closes her eyes. Why? Crash. The precious island is dead. The choppers come back, and they heartlessly drop the bomb. It hits, exploding into a cloud of soot and debris. The colours are beautiful. The sky has darkened, and they leave. Their job is done. All around the world is mourning. The princess is dead. So young. Tears fall. Only ash, but the music plays on.
Crickets chirp, and the stars twinkle. They don't shine on the princess. She is gone. Gone forever. We mourn. Her soldiers stare. They stare into the rubble, and their tears fall. The world is dead to them. They leave. Forever. Into the summer. Forever. The music plays on, echoing the loss of a princess. Gone.
2D's eyes stared into the sunset. It was red, tinged with orange. His fingers moved skillfully, flicking the switchblade. He never once cut himself. His heart ached. The cigarette in his lips died, and the singer sighed, spitting it into the landfill. The door opens behind him, making him jump. The switchblade falls, stabbing his hand. He cursed, dropping it. "Sorry." Murdoc's voice was soft, making the singer turn. They were both silent, then they turned, staring into the sunset. No words were spoken, but they didn't need to be. They both felt it: she was still there. Hiding? Maybe. She was in the ash. She was in the summer. She was the summer.
Author's note: Sad, eh? Yeah, I felt depressed when I wrote this. I was listening to Aqueous Transmission by Incubus, so it helped a lot. Praise the fallen princess.