Disclaimer: I don't own So Weird, and I'm not making any money off of it. Though, if anyone would like to give/sell me one of the SW hotties (particularly Erik and/or Eric), I'd be forever grateful! =o) (Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?) =o) Oh, and I also don't own the song "Yellow." =o( I'm borrowing it without permission for this story, but since I'm not making any money off of it either, please don't sue.
Warning (and Author's Note): This story contains lots of Carey-abuse. He develops a very disturbing form of self-abuse; so if you don't want to read about our poor cutie getting hurt, DON'T READ THIS. Heck, I had a hard enough time writing about it, and it's from my own mind. =o( Poor Carey. #sighs# Well, I'm sure he has loads of adoring fans who'd just love to help him overcome his problem (and, of course, live happily ever after with him…). #gets a silly smile on face and begins drifting off to Fantasy land# Oh, just read the story now. If you dare. (There's also mild cursing. Hey, it is rated R people.)
P.S. I'm trying out a different style of writing with this
story (or at least this part of it) so if you think that it's a little weird,
well, quite frankly, I agree. Oh, and I apologize if Carey or any other
character seems to be OOC (I mean, really, Carey, abusing himself?).
I've tried to dive deep into his (albeit, imaginary) psyche to give you guys a
logical explanation as to why he'd be driven to do such a thing, and I hope you
buy my explanation (no, not literally, and, oops, did I really just type that?
Darn. I'm too lazy to go back and fix it (jk)). And, before I forget, "Yellow"
lyrics (performed by Coldplay) were found at http://www.lyricz.50g.com/coldplay.html#yellow.
Okay. Read.
The night was chilly. The threat of frost was swiftly approaching the small, sleepy Southern town that the Molly Phillips Tour Bus had stopped in for the night. A solitary figure gazed out at the stars, those untouchable balls of soft, bright brilliance. The figure was long, hard, and lean. A passerby, if any passerby were to be had at such an hour, would have noticed the look of complete serenity and peacefulness on the figure's handsome face as he tilted it up towards the brilliant stars and bathed in their light. His eyes were closed; a small smile graced his full mouth. If one were able to delve into this fair-haired boy's thoughts at that moment, one would find visions of a lovely, petite beauty with long brown hair and warm brown eyes that had succeeded in melting the boy's heart. Ah, but alas, his happiness was short-lived. The long eyelashes that had rested so contentedly on the tan face fluttered up to reveal his incredible eyes, now clouded with sadness. The charming grin he'd worn only moments ago was gone. And why, pray tell, would such a one be inclined to feel sadness? It was because the stars reminded him of her. 'How so?' one might demand. Because she, like the shimmering stars, was so soft, so beautiful, so enticingly captivating…yet utterly unreachable. To touch one of such purity was to corrupt. Or so is the reasoning of this as-of-yet nameless protagonist. 'While we're on the subject,' one might begin, 'what exactly is the name of this lonely soul?' Carey Bell. 'And the girl?' Fiona Phillips. At this point it might be unclear as to why exactly this boy, this…Carey… is sitting out alone in the dead of night thinking about a girl he thinks is too good for him. Well, to spare one from once more having to ask, I'll explain. Carey has known this girl, this Fiona, for most of his life, and all of hers. Over the course of the years, he gradually fell in love with her and her unorthodox ways, clever wit, and all the other hundreds of millions of small, minuscule things that people find to be so wonderful in their 'other half.' The only problem is, love snuck up on him slowly, sneakily, unnoticeably. By time he realized that he was totally, helplessly, irreparably in love with the 'girl next door,' she wasn't there anymore. She was in Seattle. And he wasn't. He was stuck in the MP bus on the MP tour, traveling the country playing music. And while this was his dream, while he was living out what he'd thought he'd always wanted to do, he realized something: he didn't like his life so much any more. Sure there was Annie, the new 'paranormal magnet' of the group; Jack was still around, and still the skeptic; and Clu, the eternally clueless, still came around whenever he could. The adults were still there. He was still there. But Fi wasn't, and without her in his life, Carey found himself disliking existence less and less every day. Touring wasn't some big adventure anymore; it was tedious. The odd and unusual wasn't thrilling and exiting now; it was just odd and unusual. And as for having anything even remotely resembling a love life, well, needless to say, that was a laugh. Sure, girls still came up to him and made passes, still "accidentally" brushed up against him, but they never got anywhere with all their flirting. They just couldn't measure up to the pure, wonderful girl Carey had pictured in his mind on a pedestal: Fi. Unfortunately, a very serious, very deadly problem has resulted from his innocent, loving adoration. I can tell you no more now. Instead look to the object of our discussion. His thoughts and actions explain more than I ever could.
****Carey's POV****
As I sit here in the night, I can't help but think of her once more. I close my eyes and feel myself relax as I remember her, and all the things I love about her. I think about her lovely eyes, her soft, pink lips, even the way she parts her thick, long hair. I could be here all night, all year, all eternity listing all the things that makes Fi…well, Fi. Those small, wonderful little details about her that made me fall in love with her in the first place, without even realizing it. I'd stay here, if I could, thinking about her in the radiance of the glowing night, but I can't. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and I'll get back on that damn bus and ride all day long to another place, another gig, and another day of missing Fi. I open my eyes. She's gone. I have to live with it. I can't live with it. It's killing me. What the hell's the matter with me? She'll never be mine. I'm not worthy of her. Nobody is. I wish I were. I'm not, though. Not yet. But I'm working on it. She's coming for Christmas, which is only a week and a half away; I hope that maybe then I'll have the courage to tell her how I feel about her. I sigh. Thinking of her has brought back the memory of the day she left. Passengers were already boarding, and though we'd all said goodbye to Fi already, none of us could resist some more last minute ones. I'd been waiting for this moment; I wanted to surprise her with something pleasant on this day of goodbyes. As she turned to me for one last goodbye, I surprised her by handing her a long yellow rose. Roses are her favorite flower, and yellow is her favorite color. I hadn't been able to resist buying it for her. The delight on her face at the flower was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I recall dazedly making a mental note to give her yellow roses the next time I saw her. "Thank you Carey, you're the greatest," she said, smiling. She gave me a quick fierce hug, and when it was done our gazes caught and held for a brief moment of bliss. She was brave and tearful and unsure, and looking right at me. I felt the urge to beg her to stay, to grab hold of her and never let go, but then she turned and our moment was gone as she hurried away, and out of my life. As I sit here with my memories and my guitar, I feel the beginnings of a song form in my head. Yellow. Stars. Love. Fi. Blood. As I pick up my guitar I cradle it in my arms for a while. I am listening to the music play in my head. While I memorize the beat, the words come, unbidden. I begin to play. And then I sing, I sing for Fi.
Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow
I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow
So then I took my turn
Oh what a thing to have done
And it was all yellow
Your skin, oh yeah your skin and
bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know?
You know I love you so
You know I love you so
I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh what a thing to do
'Cos you were all yellow
I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow
And your skin, oh yeah your skin
and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know?
For you I bleed myself dry
For you I bleed myself dry
It's true
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine
Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And all the things that you do
****Narrator's POV****
And so we see this boy, this misled man-who-is-not-yet-a-man as he tucks his guitar beneath his arm and returns to the somnolent hotel that he and the rest of the MP Tour Bus are staying at this night. And now I shall depart and let him get some much-needed rest. But do not worry, concerned reader. This boy's tale will be told, and I have barely just begun to tell it. So come back another time, and together we shall discover if Carey is destined for happiness and bliss or tragedy and heartbreak.
Author's Note: Okay, I just want everyone to know
that I am not supporting self-mutilation in any way, shape, or form, so please,
please, please, nobody go cutting themselves, okay. Of
course, we savvy ff.net readers are way too smart to go and do something stupid
like that (no offense, story Carey), but you can never be too careful, though.
I actually don't understand why anyone would ever want to do something
like that (I mean, I cried last time I got one of those mandatory booster shots,
and those things are supposed to be "virtually painless" #rolls eyes#), but,
anyway, I'm off subject here. Just keep reading please! =o)
