Living Off My Head
by silverweed (aka cantalyne aka ahleen): jelliclekashmir@hotmail.com
Yessireebob, despite the fact that I have welded the toast permanently to my writing hand, I have managed to escape it momentarily - for a fic which popped entire out of one phrase: it was indigo, the sky. Nice, huh? ^_- Anyway, in this fic, I explore Melfina's sometimes blankness - is it just a lack of expression, or has Melfina fallen prey to a dangerous mind - her own? The song is one you wouldn't know- because it's by me. ^_- No, I dun own OLS. Shocking. In the immortal words of Adam Carolla, enjoy! P.S. If you want more toast, just let me know.
It was indigo, the sky - well-worn jeans, the Hope diamond, the rare moon. A dreaming sort of sky, the ocassional cloud lazily rolling past in a careless fashion; am I there yet? It doesn't matter. And the only thing to do on a day with a dream is to combine the two.
She daydreamed.
Obsess to make the most of things.
Perhaps I'm better dead?
It's dark outside, and candlelight
Will never do instead.
She could, like Alice, shut up like a telescope; she was always folding in upon herself, becoming smaller, fainter, an outline in the background - an inky shadow, maybe there, maybe not. Was she proud of it? Each time she could feel herself pull away a little farther, and the trek home was just a little longer than she remembered it to have been the last time. She drew all her comfort from her own self.
But anyway it's heated,
And fire's always red,
And if that's what keeps me breathing,
Then I'm living off my head.
If she kept this up, would she dislocate completely?
I can think incessantly,
And ignore so completely
This thing you call reality,
I'm living off my head.
It was dangerous, she supposed; not that that mattered either, she was used to danger, to pain. To all pain - the physical, the spiritual, the mental. Nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love - and is a mere friendship, just one trustworthy friend, too much to ask? It was so much easier to retreat into her own mind. If she sounded so distant and detached - stupid? - what did it matter?
Retreat to my own labrynth,
Where anything I dread
Can't penetrate my mind elate
The tunnels I have led.
Yes, she was safe within herself - the mighty fortress that no man could conquer, or even fathom. How could she be so weak, and yet so terrifyingly strong?
It was cold on the deck; she shrugged her shoulders to lift her cape higher on her neck. She knew the kind words she heard were only prefunctory, yet they still brought her happiness. She needed to toughed. That she had decided, new for a fact. She was far too soft, and the world was far too hard for her to lay exposed in.
Puff of cold air accompanies
Everything they've said.
Ringing ears withdrawing me,
I'm living off my head.
So she had to close herself off entirely - not these half-hearted little shells that she erected to ward off pain, but truly sealing herself away. This was safety. She didn't like it, but then, what were her alternatives? She could kill herself - or live off her head.
She was decided.
She was in the ship, but Melfina was gone.
I can think incessantly,
And ignore so completely
This thing you call reality,
I'm living off my head.
well? likey? no likey? please r&r! -silverweed