Disclaimers and summary on first chapter.
Notes: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I know nothing has really happened so far, I'm trying to make my chapters longer so we can get to some real action sooner. I'm trying! Bear with me, I update rather frequently. Thanks again and enjoy!
Chapter 6 -Blasphemy Against The Goddess-
+Mark's POV+
When I get to my room I throw my backpack in a corner and pick up my camera. It's really not a very nice one, I bought it at a resale store last year for $20. I point it out the window for a moment, then turn it on myself.
"Close on Mark, who's life is pointless." I shake my head. "It doesn't have to be, but I don't know how to make it worthwhile." I turn off my camera and throw it on my bed. I lay down beside it on my back.
Everyday is so monotonous. I do nothing of any importance. I don't make any sort of impact on the world, or on anybody, or even on myself. I used to feel something when I held my camera and captured the world around me on film. That used to mean something. Building sets or working the lighting and giving the talent on stage their microphones used to make me feel like a part of what they created. Now I just do it because I feel I have to. It's something I used to enjoy, maybe if I keep it up someday it'll get better. Nothing really seems to matter anymore though.
The phone rings but I ignore it until my mom knocks on my door.
"Mark? Sweetie, it's Maureen."
I roll my eyes. "I don't want to talk to her."
She opens the door and hands me the phone.
"Fine, you tell her that." She says, closing my door.
I hold the phone up to my ear.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, you have to come over here! I just made another adjustment to my costume for tonight! I want to know what you think!"
I sigh heavily. "I'll see it tonight, Maureen."
"Please, Marky? I don't know if I should keep it or not."
"Why don't you just tell me what you did?"
"No! You have to see it! Please?"
"Fine. Whatever."
I hang up and toss the phone onto the floor. Damn, I don't want to see her. Slowly I pull myself off of my bed and pick up the phone.
"I'm going to Maureen's." I yell into the kitchen. I hang up the phone on my way out.
+++
Maureen opens the door wearing her pink sequined bodysuit. Around her waist is a bright blue sash, but that was new last week. Her character shoes are the same, and she still has the same enormous silver hoops and the feathers in her hair.
"So what's new?"
She holds up her right hand. There's an enormous gaudy ring with a fake blue stone that gleams at my unbelieving face.
"You called me here to look at that?"
Her face falls. "You don't like it."
"It's a ring, Maureen, a fucking ring!"
"Marky!"
I roll my eyes and turn around to leave. She grabs my arm.
"Please don't go."
"Maureen, what do you want from me?"
Her eyes get all big and round and then her lower lip starts to tremble. Fuck. I hate it when she cries.
She pulls on my arm and I follow her inside the house. I sit on the couch and she sits next to me then wraps her arms around my neck. I try to recoil, but her grip is too tight.
"Maur. . ."
She pulls away slightly and looks into my eyes. Her mascara is starting to run a little bit and her lashes glisten with tears that haven't yet fallen. I've never seen her look more beautiful. Maureen is one of those rare girls that looks pretty when she cries. Which is why I hate when she does. No one should be their most beautiful when they're sad. But I think that might be where all the beauty in life is. In pain.
"Please Marky, tell me you're going to watch me tonight." She looks down sadly. "They're not going."
"Who's not? Your parents? They can't go?"
"No, they're not going! They could, but they're not!" She falls against me again and starts bawling. So much for the stage makeup she had caked all over her face.
"Please, Mark. I want to know someone's there. That someone cares about me."
I sigh and wrap my arms around her body. Somewhere, somewhere inside I do care about her. I let her cry into my chest, knowing my shirt would be disgusting afterwards, but not really caring. I guess apathy is useful.
I know how her parents can be, they never go to any of her plays or performances. They want her to be a doctor or something that she just doesn't have the ambition for. It doesn't matter to them what she really wants. I know that I'm really her only friend. Those other girls, the ones she'll talk to during class or sit by at lunch are just her fellow choirgirls with hopeless ambitions. They only associate because of their talent. I see them everyday and brand them; receptionist, cashier, store manager, stay-at-home-mom, any mediocre existence for a middle aged woman. All they have in common is their dreams, but what they lack is the ability to chase them. In ten, fifteen, twenty years they'll have children, husbands or failed marriages. A job they have to do, a house they have to work to pay for, pets they have to feed. Wrapped in their family life and their career they'll only remember that they had a pretty voice, that they were complemented by the director, they had a solo in the top choir. And they might regret it, it might make them bitter that what they have isn't what they wanted, but then again it might not.
Maureen won't be like them. She'll make something of what she has. She might never be on Broadway, but she will be an artist. She'll share her talent and do what makes her happy. I feel my indifferent shield to the world crack a little bit. I respect her for it.
"Alright Maureen. I'll watch you." I'm sure someone can check mics and organize shit backstage for a few minutes.
She pulls away and smiles at me, a smile that used to make me feel special. Now it's all I can do to return it.
"Oh, your shirt!" She gets up and walks toward the kitchen.
"Maureen, it's fine." It's really not that bad. I swipe my hand across the stains a few times.
"Stop! You'll rub it in. God Marky, I'm sorry." She wipes at it with a wet cloth.
"It's not a big deal."
She smiles again. "We have to go soon. Will you walk with me?"
"Not if you're wearing that."
She laughs. "Fine, I'll change." I watch her walk up the stairs, she turns for a moment and smiles at me. I force one back and she lets out a giggle and runs the rest of the way. I'm still alive, cause I feel something for her. I know she's my friend, that I'm more to her than she likes to express, I saw that just now and I knew it already. I do care about her, but I don't understand why. Does the goddess just need followers? But I don't worship her anymore. I would never talk to her if she stopped bothering with me. I remember what that guy said about asking her out. I don't feel that way for her, I don't think. I never have. In the past I just wanted to know her, to be on the receiving end of her perfect smile, or have her laugh fill my head and heart with warmth and joy. She is beautiful, and I care about her, I might even love her, but anything else is blasphemy against the goddess. I prefer to think of Maureen as asexual. If she's just a person, not a girl, if she doesn't have sex, she just flirts. I think it's safer that way.
She comes back down the stairs, the ring and her smile winking at me, catching the rays from the slowly setting sun that seep through the window. She has a bag over her shoulder I can only assume holds her costume. She gives my arm a tug toward the door and I follow. It's better just not to think.
+++
Notes Continued: Sorry I sort of rambled on in this chapter. I've decided to make Maureen a large part of this and April eventually will be too. Fear not children, there will be slash yet, but I shall make you squirm and wait! HA!
Notes: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I know nothing has really happened so far, I'm trying to make my chapters longer so we can get to some real action sooner. I'm trying! Bear with me, I update rather frequently. Thanks again and enjoy!
Chapter 6 -Blasphemy Against The Goddess-
+Mark's POV+
When I get to my room I throw my backpack in a corner and pick up my camera. It's really not a very nice one, I bought it at a resale store last year for $20. I point it out the window for a moment, then turn it on myself.
"Close on Mark, who's life is pointless." I shake my head. "It doesn't have to be, but I don't know how to make it worthwhile." I turn off my camera and throw it on my bed. I lay down beside it on my back.
Everyday is so monotonous. I do nothing of any importance. I don't make any sort of impact on the world, or on anybody, or even on myself. I used to feel something when I held my camera and captured the world around me on film. That used to mean something. Building sets or working the lighting and giving the talent on stage their microphones used to make me feel like a part of what they created. Now I just do it because I feel I have to. It's something I used to enjoy, maybe if I keep it up someday it'll get better. Nothing really seems to matter anymore though.
The phone rings but I ignore it until my mom knocks on my door.
"Mark? Sweetie, it's Maureen."
I roll my eyes. "I don't want to talk to her."
She opens the door and hands me the phone.
"Fine, you tell her that." She says, closing my door.
I hold the phone up to my ear.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, you have to come over here! I just made another adjustment to my costume for tonight! I want to know what you think!"
I sigh heavily. "I'll see it tonight, Maureen."
"Please, Marky? I don't know if I should keep it or not."
"Why don't you just tell me what you did?"
"No! You have to see it! Please?"
"Fine. Whatever."
I hang up and toss the phone onto the floor. Damn, I don't want to see her. Slowly I pull myself off of my bed and pick up the phone.
"I'm going to Maureen's." I yell into the kitchen. I hang up the phone on my way out.
+++
Maureen opens the door wearing her pink sequined bodysuit. Around her waist is a bright blue sash, but that was new last week. Her character shoes are the same, and she still has the same enormous silver hoops and the feathers in her hair.
"So what's new?"
She holds up her right hand. There's an enormous gaudy ring with a fake blue stone that gleams at my unbelieving face.
"You called me here to look at that?"
Her face falls. "You don't like it."
"It's a ring, Maureen, a fucking ring!"
"Marky!"
I roll my eyes and turn around to leave. She grabs my arm.
"Please don't go."
"Maureen, what do you want from me?"
Her eyes get all big and round and then her lower lip starts to tremble. Fuck. I hate it when she cries.
She pulls on my arm and I follow her inside the house. I sit on the couch and she sits next to me then wraps her arms around my neck. I try to recoil, but her grip is too tight.
"Maur. . ."
She pulls away slightly and looks into my eyes. Her mascara is starting to run a little bit and her lashes glisten with tears that haven't yet fallen. I've never seen her look more beautiful. Maureen is one of those rare girls that looks pretty when she cries. Which is why I hate when she does. No one should be their most beautiful when they're sad. But I think that might be where all the beauty in life is. In pain.
"Please Marky, tell me you're going to watch me tonight." She looks down sadly. "They're not going."
"Who's not? Your parents? They can't go?"
"No, they're not going! They could, but they're not!" She falls against me again and starts bawling. So much for the stage makeup she had caked all over her face.
"Please, Mark. I want to know someone's there. That someone cares about me."
I sigh and wrap my arms around her body. Somewhere, somewhere inside I do care about her. I let her cry into my chest, knowing my shirt would be disgusting afterwards, but not really caring. I guess apathy is useful.
I know how her parents can be, they never go to any of her plays or performances. They want her to be a doctor or something that she just doesn't have the ambition for. It doesn't matter to them what she really wants. I know that I'm really her only friend. Those other girls, the ones she'll talk to during class or sit by at lunch are just her fellow choirgirls with hopeless ambitions. They only associate because of their talent. I see them everyday and brand them; receptionist, cashier, store manager, stay-at-home-mom, any mediocre existence for a middle aged woman. All they have in common is their dreams, but what they lack is the ability to chase them. In ten, fifteen, twenty years they'll have children, husbands or failed marriages. A job they have to do, a house they have to work to pay for, pets they have to feed. Wrapped in their family life and their career they'll only remember that they had a pretty voice, that they were complemented by the director, they had a solo in the top choir. And they might regret it, it might make them bitter that what they have isn't what they wanted, but then again it might not.
Maureen won't be like them. She'll make something of what she has. She might never be on Broadway, but she will be an artist. She'll share her talent and do what makes her happy. I feel my indifferent shield to the world crack a little bit. I respect her for it.
"Alright Maureen. I'll watch you." I'm sure someone can check mics and organize shit backstage for a few minutes.
She pulls away and smiles at me, a smile that used to make me feel special. Now it's all I can do to return it.
"Oh, your shirt!" She gets up and walks toward the kitchen.
"Maureen, it's fine." It's really not that bad. I swipe my hand across the stains a few times.
"Stop! You'll rub it in. God Marky, I'm sorry." She wipes at it with a wet cloth.
"It's not a big deal."
She smiles again. "We have to go soon. Will you walk with me?"
"Not if you're wearing that."
She laughs. "Fine, I'll change." I watch her walk up the stairs, she turns for a moment and smiles at me. I force one back and she lets out a giggle and runs the rest of the way. I'm still alive, cause I feel something for her. I know she's my friend, that I'm more to her than she likes to express, I saw that just now and I knew it already. I do care about her, but I don't understand why. Does the goddess just need followers? But I don't worship her anymore. I would never talk to her if she stopped bothering with me. I remember what that guy said about asking her out. I don't feel that way for her, I don't think. I never have. In the past I just wanted to know her, to be on the receiving end of her perfect smile, or have her laugh fill my head and heart with warmth and joy. She is beautiful, and I care about her, I might even love her, but anything else is blasphemy against the goddess. I prefer to think of Maureen as asexual. If she's just a person, not a girl, if she doesn't have sex, she just flirts. I think it's safer that way.
She comes back down the stairs, the ring and her smile winking at me, catching the rays from the slowly setting sun that seep through the window. She has a bag over her shoulder I can only assume holds her costume. She gives my arm a tug toward the door and I follow. It's better just not to think.
+++
Notes Continued: Sorry I sort of rambled on in this chapter. I've decided to make Maureen a large part of this and April eventually will be too. Fear not children, there will be slash yet, but I shall make you squirm and wait! HA!