[Midnight Nation] Fading Away. (1/1) PG
By Rossi.
Disclaimer: Midnight Nation and its concepts belong to J. Michael Straczynski and Top Cow/Image comics. 'On The Turning Away' belongs to Pink Floyd from their 'Momentary Lapse of Reason' album (Sony Music, 1987) No profit, only homage.
Rating: PG - what you might call 'disturbing themes'.
Feedback: Always welcome, no matter what shape. Rossifics@yahoo.com.au
For Indigo, for getting me hooked on Midnight Nation in the first place, and Seraph, for telling me to put this CD on last night.
Yes, it is sort of a songfic. I'm sorry.
__________________
They are the ones who slipped between the cracks. The dispossessed. The forgotten. The unimportant.
The hopeless.
***
Howdy. You're new around here, ain'tcha? Yeah, it's that easy to tell. You've got that look about you, like you're not sure if you're waking or dreaming. Like this is some kind of nightmare.
"On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we don't understand
Don't accept that what's happening
Is just another case of others suffering
Or you'll find that you're joining in
The turning away."
That? Oh, that's Jake. He used to be a musician. Got a nice voice on him, hasn't he? From what I hear tell, he grew up in a small Midwest town, came to LA with nothing more than his guitar and a dream of the big-time. By all accounts, he tried hard, got himself thrown out of just about every recording studio and record label in town.
"It's a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting its shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware of how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we're all alone
In the dream of the proud."
In the end, trying wasn't enough. Talent wasn't enough. Not in a town where everyone wanted a piece of the limelight, their fifteen minutes of fame. Jake wasn't greedy enough, wasn't hard enough, to claw his way up the greasy pole. He was too nice, I guess.
But he had to stay. He'd burned all his bridges to come here, couldn't go home a failure; young pride's a terrible thing. Soon enough, his money ran out and he got thrown out of the rat-hotel that was the cheapest accommodation in town. But Jake was resourceful. He started hanging out at the malls, the bus stations, busking. He'd ask people for requests, make a game out of it; if he knew the song, they had to give him something. If not, well, they could go their way. A lot did any way.
"On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
And mesmerised as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night."
He did okay at first. Made enough to keep body and soul together, keep himself in guitar strings. But after a while, the requests stopped coming in. The coins stopped coming in. It seemed folks were too busy, too important, for music. The novelty had worn off, in a town where everything has to be shiny and new, the Next Big Thing. Jake would sit there, playing until his fingers bled, singing until he went hoarse, but it didn't matter. It was like they couldn't see him, after a while. And that's how he came to be here, in the place between. Just sort of. faded away.
"No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside."
No, it's not a new story. Not for this place. People stopped seeing us, until no-one _could_ see us any more. The papers talk about the invisible population, but they don't know the half of it. All of us here, all our stories are the same. No-one cared. No-one noticed. And we just. faded away. Came here, where we scratch out a living on discarded junk.
"Just a world that we all must share
It's not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that there'll be
No more turning away?"
It's getting dark. You'd better come with me. I've got a place you can stay, at least for tonight. It's not good to be out at night, In Between.
It's not safe.
The End.
By Rossi.
Disclaimer: Midnight Nation and its concepts belong to J. Michael Straczynski and Top Cow/Image comics. 'On The Turning Away' belongs to Pink Floyd from their 'Momentary Lapse of Reason' album (Sony Music, 1987) No profit, only homage.
Rating: PG - what you might call 'disturbing themes'.
Feedback: Always welcome, no matter what shape. Rossifics@yahoo.com.au
For Indigo, for getting me hooked on Midnight Nation in the first place, and Seraph, for telling me to put this CD on last night.
Yes, it is sort of a songfic. I'm sorry.
__________________
They are the ones who slipped between the cracks. The dispossessed. The forgotten. The unimportant.
The hopeless.
***
Howdy. You're new around here, ain'tcha? Yeah, it's that easy to tell. You've got that look about you, like you're not sure if you're waking or dreaming. Like this is some kind of nightmare.
"On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we don't understand
Don't accept that what's happening
Is just another case of others suffering
Or you'll find that you're joining in
The turning away."
That? Oh, that's Jake. He used to be a musician. Got a nice voice on him, hasn't he? From what I hear tell, he grew up in a small Midwest town, came to LA with nothing more than his guitar and a dream of the big-time. By all accounts, he tried hard, got himself thrown out of just about every recording studio and record label in town.
"It's a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting its shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware of how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we're all alone
In the dream of the proud."
In the end, trying wasn't enough. Talent wasn't enough. Not in a town where everyone wanted a piece of the limelight, their fifteen minutes of fame. Jake wasn't greedy enough, wasn't hard enough, to claw his way up the greasy pole. He was too nice, I guess.
But he had to stay. He'd burned all his bridges to come here, couldn't go home a failure; young pride's a terrible thing. Soon enough, his money ran out and he got thrown out of the rat-hotel that was the cheapest accommodation in town. But Jake was resourceful. He started hanging out at the malls, the bus stations, busking. He'd ask people for requests, make a game out of it; if he knew the song, they had to give him something. If not, well, they could go their way. A lot did any way.
"On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
And mesmerised as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night."
He did okay at first. Made enough to keep body and soul together, keep himself in guitar strings. But after a while, the requests stopped coming in. The coins stopped coming in. It seemed folks were too busy, too important, for music. The novelty had worn off, in a town where everything has to be shiny and new, the Next Big Thing. Jake would sit there, playing until his fingers bled, singing until he went hoarse, but it didn't matter. It was like they couldn't see him, after a while. And that's how he came to be here, in the place between. Just sort of. faded away.
"No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside."
No, it's not a new story. Not for this place. People stopped seeing us, until no-one _could_ see us any more. The papers talk about the invisible population, but they don't know the half of it. All of us here, all our stories are the same. No-one cared. No-one noticed. And we just. faded away. Came here, where we scratch out a living on discarded junk.
"Just a world that we all must share
It's not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that there'll be
No more turning away?"
It's getting dark. You'd better come with me. I've got a place you can stay, at least for tonight. It's not good to be out at night, In Between.
It's not safe.
The End.