She should have listened to her mother. Above all, she should have listened to her mother.

Right off the bat her mother had seen Pink for what he really was. While he was left alone in the living room, her mother had taken her upstairs, where they'd spoken in private.

"What do you think, Mum?" she'd asked eagerly, eyes sparkling.

Her mother had gotten straight to the point. "He's not the right one for you."

All of her joy fizzled out. "What do you mean?"

"There's a look in his eyes that I don't like. He looks at you as if you mean nothing to him. Of course I might be overexaggerating, but I know that look and I've never trusted it."

She stood, staring at her feet. She hadn't been able to tell from her mother's actions that she disliked the man. In fact, she'd thought the two were getting along well.

"Never once has he suggested anything but love to me," she stated. "I'm afraid your interpretation is wrong this time."

Her mother touched her shoulder. "I just don't want you to make a mistake."

She was unable to heed that warning. She should have. By God, she should have…

They returned downstairs to where Pink was waiting. As soon as he saw her, he spread his arms, and she fell into them. As they kissed, she couldn't imagine that her mother had been right.

She never got to tell her she was right, either.

It was on a Monday that the news was broken, when she had just gotten to work. Her female coworkers were chattering and giggling about the newest display of affection on her desk, a bouquet of variegated pinks. She smiled when she saw them. It was the last smile she wore for the day. The phone rang.

With the telephone's news, the day became dire. She fell into shock, and left work immediately. It was too late by the time she got there. Her mother had succumbed to the stroke. She held on to her cold, stiff hand for a while, and thought she would cry, but she didn't. Not then.

All through the rest of the week, she stayed at home alone while the condolences piled up in the form of letters, phone calls, and baked goods. She didn't think it odd when Pink didn't call. He was probably busy recording his album, too busy to check up on her and ask if she was okay. However, he did reappear after the funeral, and let her cry onto his shirt, staining the fabric with salt water. His silence was comforting, and she was grateful for it. Little did she know what was causing it.

A month later, he proposed to her, unveiling a heavy-duty ring bought with the profits of his new single. Her wounds were still a bit raw, but she put a temporary Band-Aid over them to help heal. With this new lease on life, how could they not? She was determined to make a 180 in emotional health. Her mother would have been proud.

"Audrey Dorian, do you take Floyd Pinkerton as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"And do you, Floyd Pinkerton, take Audrey Dorian as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Pink turned tenderly towards her and gave her a soft kiss.

It was a low-key wedding, the way they both liked it, and not many guests attended. She saw neither head nor tail of the bridegroom's family before the service. Upon leaving the church, however, Pink stopped in his tracks. An elderly woman was getting out of a car. When her eyes fell on Pink, she rushed towards him, forgetting to close the door. "Babe!"

She assumed that the woman must be her husband's mother. She didn't get to talk to her, as she bustled her son off to talk alone in private. Only a smile was thrown the bride's way. She stood, watching the mother-son reunion, longing to be noticed, to pull Pink's crossed arms around herself, and most of all, to have her own mother there to watch the proceedings. It wasn't long before their talk was done. She found it strange that Pink seemed to be in such a hurry to leave- to distance the area between him and his mother- but only for a moment. She chalked it up to excitement for the honeymoon.

And yet the honeymoon turned out miserably.

She should have been able to tell it wouldn't be great when she emerged from the bathroom in the best lingerie she owned and found Pink curled up on his side, already in bed, fully clothed. She had lain down next to him and tempted him to her, pulling him in. He seemed confused about her intentions. At first she had been playful. "Come on you, don't you want your wedding night?" Then she'd gotten serious. As they crawled between the sheets, undressing each other until two finally became one, Pink seemed to have no idea what was happening at all.

When it was over she tried begging for more, but her new husband rolled over on his side and fell asleep quickly. She held her head in her hands for a moment. In that moment she thought of her mother. It was as if she was looking down from Heaven at her, saying, I told you he wasn't the right one for you. She crept back down beneath the blanket and listened to Pink's light breathing. Her heart felt like a rock. So what if they weren't able to make it in bed? At least Pink still loved her. Or so she thought.

All he'd ever wanted to do was get away from his horrible, overbearing mother.

The memories drowned him deeply, not letting him surface for even a second's breath of air. At least it was better than the pain. He liked the feeling of being washed in memories. It was comforting in an odd way.

Pink's mother had always been there, always, from the very start. He'd thought she was all he needed in the world. Then he found the death scroll. He would never in the rest of his life forget that day, the day he realized there had been someone else at the beginning, someone who would not be returning now. He'd dressed in his father's clothes, looked in the mirror, and howled in his head. Daddy, what d'ya leave behind for me?

Nothing but proof that he had left, that was the answer. The clothes didn't fit him right. Pink stole the bullets and hid them in his room, hiding too the knowledge he had just unearthed. Yet he never truly forgot it, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the remembrance.

Now his mother became an enemy, someone that was not to be trusted. She lied to him anyway, when he asked her questions. No matter how weighty the topic, she always dismissed it with a wave of her hand and an insignificant, "Hush now, baby, baby, don't you cry." Pink tired of this very quickly. He didn't want to be seen as an infant. He wanted to know these things, now. But she wasn't giving him any knowledge of the outside world, instead shielding him by pretending no such thing existed.

That was why he became defiant, he supposed- though it wasn't as much defiance as it was little victories he achieved in his head, victories that his mother knew nothing of. Still, she guarded him very closely, and he had to keep lookout. When the girl next door was undressing in her bedroom window, Pink would have liked nothing more than to enjoy the sight. However, when his mother appeared, he feigned studying with sadness and disappointment. His mother wouldn't allow any dirty girls to get through, certainly not the type that undressed in plain sight of their neighbors.

Why, he would have loved to ask his mother, don't you let me stay home from school then? If you want to protect me, why do you force me to go there? The injustices he suffered every day at school were far worse than anything else that his mother was supposedly shielding him from. What right did the teacher have to steal his poems, to physically injure him, to tell him that no matter what he did it was still wrong, do it again do it again do it again do it again…

That was why he wrote poems, and if the teacher were a student like Pink was he would understand the need to cope. Pink lashed out against the school system in his little black book. We don't need no education! We don't need no thought control!

All in all, they were just new bricks in the wall… The ever-growing wall! It was all Pink had to depend on, the only thing that would keep his enemies out and his emotions in. The answer to every problem, every new layer of pain and derision? Shove it behind the wall.

He knew that someday, these people would pay. And it came far sooner than he expected. As soon as school was over and everyone else were figuring out what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives that wouldn't make them depressed, Pink took his black book and a guitar and headed down to a recording studio, where he showed off what he hoped were musical skills. And apparently, they were. The executive loved it.

It was only a few days later that he met her. Her. She worked at the registry office where Pink went to see if he could get his name changed on his birth certificate. He was sick of being Floyd Pinkerton, the title of his childhood. His childhood was dead now. It was time for an inversion, and Pink Floyd just had that ring to it.

As soon as he entered that office, he could tell she was the one for him. She seemed to exude that certain charisma that he hadn't seen for so long, the type that made him feel delicious and ashamed and overall dirty. The way she smoothed her fiery hair with her hand made strange tremors run across his skin. He inquired about her, all thoughts of changing his identity abandoned. Yes, she would do. She would more than do.

Once the dating scheme was over with, they were married. Pink stared at the world beyond his wall and wondered at the meaning behind this ceremony. Surely his mother had gone through with something similar to this… and later, she had produced him. Now that he was married to this woman, would she produce a child too? It was an odd thought. He hoped not.

As the newlyweds left the church, a sight stopped Pink dead. He saw his mother flying towards him, her arms outstretched. "Baaaaaabe!"

She whisked him away before he could say anything and kissed his cheek. "My baby boy, married already! I'm so happy for you!"

Pink only stared blandly at her. He felt like pointing out that she had missed the ceremony, but it was pointless. His mother chattered on and on, and he crossed his arms in front of himself for protection. A few bricks piled up on the wall to barricade him further.

"…But why don't you ever call me? I miss you, Floyd. Please promise me that you'll call as soon as you can…" She gave him a sideways glance. "You're not listening!"

Pink wasn't. He wasn't focusing on anything, in fact. His mother blinked helplessly. "What's wrong?"

He wished to tell her everything was fine. He wished to just leave her there on the sidewalk. So he did. He pushed away from her and walked back to his waiting wife.

That night, at the honeymoon suite that Pink had booked at the urging of his wife, the woman in question wandered out of the bathroom in the low light, her hair flowing like a river down her shoulders. Pink wasn't looking at her. He was trying to fall asleep. She came to him and lay down in bed, rubbing at his shoulders. "Hi," she said in a low voice. "What're you doing?"

Pink tried to ignore her, but she wouldn't keep her hands off him. "Come on, don't you want your wedding night?" Her smooth voice was doing odd things to his body, and he didn't like it. Suddenly she slipped her fingers under his nightshirt and lifted it above his head, running her fingers down his chest. Pink gasped. She crawled on top of him, a smile on her face. From then on, Pink would hate that smile.

He didn't know what was happening to him, or what she was doing either. That was where the memory ran blank. He only knew it had been horrible, loathsome, disgusting… and dirty. Finally Pink could see that his mother, unfortunately, was right. Dirty girls were not good for him. He couldn't wait to fall asleep again.

The couple only stayed on honeymoon for a few days. During those days, to Pink's horror, his wife tried again and again to repeat the actions of their first night together. He took to hiding from her, or simply shoving her away. Finally, she ignored him in return, and that was good. Pink was called back home with the good news- "Another Brick In The Wall" had reached number one on the charts. It was time to start planning a tour. Pink couldn't wait.

All in all you're just another brick in the wall

All in all it's just another brick in the wall