White Shadows
{Coldplay, 5:28}
Total Word Count*: 1421
*excludes song titles, song timings, and artists.
{Balaclava, Arctic Monkeys, 2:49}
Run run run you're running running eyes are bleeding bleeding attack dodge it's fast, fast, so fast, there's a drum beat it's beating fast fast, it's thundering in your head you can't breathe, breathe, it's difficult there's a slice and blood's flowing, flowing, you're falling, you're falling and everything spins, and you're dancing now, there's a laugh a laugh it's all around you you can't see, blind, blind, run run run you're bleeding so much, ohsomuch it's bleeding the slice is widening and there's nothing there's nothing, and now it's all okay because-
{Micro Cuts, Muse, 3:47}
It's okay, it's okay you can breathe, and you stop, bend over, clutching your chest, it's okay, you can stop now everything's okay okay okay, clutch your chest there's a slice but the blood has slowed down, and you can breathe, everything's okay. Everything's still spinning, still spinning, but slower, like you're standing in the centre of a whirlwind but it's all in slow motion so you can see, you can see what's going on, and it's so much colour, there's black and blue and purple and light shades of green, and you realise with a start that although you're away now, away from the danger, you're still not safe, because you're lethargic and you want to sleep, but you can't because you're at the centre of a whirlwind, and what do you do? You do- you- you- you- you-
Fall.
Fall.
{Never Gonna Be Alone, Nickelback, 3:47}
You're standing in the stadium now and everyone's clapping and cheering and you can't help but feel so sad, so sad, so hollow and empty and nothing is working why why why why I don't understand it's so difficult it's so difficult what's going on why isn't this working stop clapping screaming cheering it's not good its bad so bad so bad so bad nothing is working why why why? You don't understand and you're so close to falling and you're swaying and you hear them screaming and then you give up and you scream back so loud so loud and all of a sudden there's a silence a dreadful silence, and you can't deal with it and you fall to the ground you're on your knees crying into the ground and you think distantly that maybe the barren pitch will take your tears and use them as sustenance as water and then you're back to yourself and the swirling-
{Song Of The Century, Green Day, 0:58}
It's so silent. Everything's quiet as they process what the fuck is going on. You can hear nothing but your own hoarse voice, whispering into the silence of what happened, and when you finish there's another sil-
{Face Down, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, 3:12}
And then they understand and it's dreadful. They're on their feet again screaming and crying two names- yours and his, like they were before, but bad now, it's dreadful and you're crying again, it's difficult, and you want to scream with them, their outrage and their grief and the sheer terror of what has happened, because he's lost, he was lost, and now it might be you or someone else and no one knows what to do, so they do the simplest thing and scream and scream and scream and you can't help but cry with them, pouring your own grief and terror and shame and hot hot hot fear and cold cold grief and sadness and it's so bad and what do you do? There are sympathetic hands now, gently lifting you, holding your face to them, holding you and giving you a semblance of comfort-
{2.99 Cent Blues, Regina Spektor, 3:34}
And oh, it's difficult. What do you do? And you can't take their comfort, so you push away, weakly, gently, because you know that it might possibly be your fault so you push away, you don't want to take what someone else might need more. You take a step forward, you need help, you can't walk, you've lost too much blood. It's like you've been in a war, when they see you taking a staggering forward they stop, but unlike before it's not an immediate silence, it's gradual, until everyone is silent, and they watch you as you take staggering, faltering steps to the white tent, watch you as you fall to your knees, and collapse into the dirt, because you're so weak with fear, and you can't move, so you lie face down in the dirt, a pathetic child, wracked with paroxysms of terror and shame and fear.
{Dear Agony, Breaking Benjamin, 4:18}
You're in the dirt, and it's soaked with tears. There's a silence. No one speaks. It all hurts so bad. What's happening? You don't understand why you? Why him? Why anyone else? And so you're in the dirt, and it's turning to mud, and you're shaking with agony and pain and wishing for it all to end, but you can't stop it because you're only fourteen and you don't know what to do or what to say. Distantly you can hear murmurs, a swelling crowd, beginning to pity you, fear for your health, and soon there are footsteps, shaking the earth, shaking the dirt you lie in; practically comatose. A tentative hand on your back. They whisper your name. More hands lift you up, prop you up to lean into the person who calls your name. You recognise her. She's a familiar warmth. You cry even harder, leaning into her shirt and clutching at her. Behind you, warm hands rest on your back, gently trying to comfort you. A whisper. They beg you to talk them. You shake your head. You're so sorry. Sorry-
{Someday, Embrace, 5:38}
You're silent. You're alone. You look over green fields, with blue skies and a yellow sun shining down. It's perfectly picturesque.
A light touch on your shoulder. Harry?
You nod distantly, reach back and place your hand on top of hers. I'm alright.
It's been two months. Two months since- then. Yeah. You're surviving. Not well... There are nightmares, and chills, and you dream of so much suffering. But you're with friends. It heals. Their love helps. You're not with your relatives. You'll survive.
It numbs the pain, when you see them. And it's not dreadful. The Ministry tried to pretend it wasn't real. Didn't work. There are preparations, and war looms, and someday you'll have to fight- you're preparing yourself, mentally.
You know this.
But you still think of it, and it still hurts. But you'll heal. Hopefully. In the end.
The sub brightens in intensity. You shield your eyes from the glare.
Maybe. Soon. Hopefully.
{Romeo And Juliet, Dire Straits, 6:06}
Listen. You tell her. Not today.
Tomorrow? She asks.
Probably not. You don't want her anymore.
You and me, she says, why not?
No… sorry. Her face crumples, and she understands that no matter how much she begs, you won't be coming back. Not to her. She pretends to be okay. A veneer of happiness.
There's a dream, you say, an amazing dream, and it's got gold and silver and beautiful promises. It's full of laughter, and staring at stars, and so much love.
But not for us, she says.
No, you reply. Not for us. I have to fulfil this… thing. I have to. I can't be for you, but I can be for everyone else.
She smiles. Pretends to be strong. She cries a little bit, but you both pretend not to notice. The time's always wrong, she supposes.
Yeah. I'm sorry.
Turning away. Go heal. Fix everything. Try to come back.
I'll come back. You say.
But not for you. You don't say.
{The Kids From Yesterday, My Chemical Romance, 5:25}
You're broken, and bleeding, and bruised, and bloody and torn, and hurting, and crying, and maybe hallucinating a little bit.
It's over. You think you've won. You're not really sure. He's dead. Your nemesis. The one who's hurt you and taunted you and traumatised you and persecuted you since you were a child. You've won, you think.
But at what cost? So many. An expensive price to pay. You're not sure what to think.
There are so few of your loved ones left. Only two who actually care for you.
But you're free. Free at last. And you'll live forever, forever young, forever free, forever in your glory and fame and brilliance.
You shine like a bright star. People stare as you walk past.
You slowly lift one leg and place one foot in front of another. You lift the other leg and repeat the process. You continue this action until you reach your home, where you're greeted by pale, fearless faces and voices hoarse with screaming and tears.
They smile, a little bit, when you tell them the news.
Your loved ones. A shared star.
Hm. So... It's been a while. Sorry about that. My darling parents locked my computer because of exams... and lack of sleep... and shitty marks. Not that had anything to do with that. Psh. Not at all.
I'm not entirely sure what to think of this. I wouldn't be so obscene as to call it a song fic, because, to be honest, it's not. It's a collection of short snapshots inspired by ten different songs. On my computer I call it 'tensonginspiration' :). Also, any clever person who understands the meaning of the title (also a song by Coldplay :P) will win lots of admiration and love from me. :) Oh, and it's a lot more fun if you've heard the songs used, as it makes a bit more sense- and there are lots of little insertions and hints about the songs in each snapshot. Also (gosh, all these conjunctions are tiring me out) all of the songs were randomly generated from a playlist of 658 songs, so it was more of a 'recognise-the-song-write-like-hell-then-stop-with-the-song'. I tired to be as fair as possible. :)
But yeahs. Anyway, it's definitely AU. I hope it makes sense. I think you might have to use your brainy just a leetle bit, to put everything together and make sense of it, but who knows? Maybe you lot are a lot smarterer than me.
Now, you silly children, just why have you been ignoring my desperateandslightlypathetic pleas to review? You disappoint me. I am very disappointed. See the disappointed face? I hope you can feel the disappointed aura wafting off me in tentacles and attempting to grasp you in its guilt-inducing suckers before bringing you back to feed my hungry Reviewmonster. Poor baby's all thin and starving. :/ I think that my favouritest person here is Taylor1991, because I have noidea who she is, and yet we have shared DMCs (Deep and Meaningful Chats), and she has been kind enough to review ALL my fics. Even the deleted ones. Next up would be AngelisIgnisRelucent, though I'm not sure whether I should use that penname because she changes it so much. Then it's... yeah, whatever. I'm bored. I want cake (OR DEATH?). It's 01:26, my friend is sleeping (sleepover-YESIHAVEASOCIALLIFE) and so are my family. No cake (OR DEATH?) for me. *cries*.
On the other hand, I did have the chicken. And it was excellent. :) x
DISCLAIMER: Nah... 'Snot mine. Unless of course I'm clever and remove any possible hints of HP. But yeah, Joanne can have it. I do love her hair. And she has nice lipgloss. :O Has anyone else noticed how shiny her lipgloss is?
I promise that I have not been diagnosed with any form of mental illness. ^_^