Secret Field

Chapter 3

The next day I sat staring at the screen to my laptop. The words that were typed onto it were glaring me right in the face. I re-read them over and over to myself, trying to come up with something more to write down. Rez was next to me, not being any help, but she was doing what she was good at; being annoying.

"No Rez, I don't want the ball." She put her ball on my lap anyway, and looked up at me, waiting patiently. Like I was about to do something godly. I however, ignored her as I always do.

This is bad writing. Besides, no one reads yaoi stories anyway.

"Everyone on Fanfiction reads yaoi. It's a good way to get noticed," I said back to myself.

But do you really want those types of people to notice you? The people that think that Cloud should get it on with Sephiroth?

I thought about what the voice was saying. I starting highlighting from the bottom where it said, "…and Sephiroth smiled at him." up to the top where it said, "Cloud reached up for his hand…"

You know what to do.

"Right, no crazy yaoi fans for me," and I hit delete. I looked over and smiled at Rez triumphantly. She still had the blank look she started with, eyes fixed on the ball in my lap, willing it to fly through the air.

I started off to the kitchen to grab a drink. My maid was in the living room swearing at the vacuum cleaner. As I walked by her, she looked up at me accusingly, like it was my fault that she got stuck in the job that she held. I don't know her name. She never told me what it was, mainly because she was the most unfriendly person in the world. She had a scowl that would make Hitler himself start crying. I never asked the agency for friendly, though. I asked for cheap.

I glanced at the table on my way to the refrigerator, and sitting there on the top where the papers that I had discarded the other day. I picked them up and turned them over a few times.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing going through my trash?" I yelled into the other room.

"It fell out. I thought it was one of your gay stories that you're so fond of writing!" came the answer.

"This isn't my gay stories. I mean, I don't write gay stories! But this isn't one of mine!" I replied.

"Then whose gay story is it? And if you're not into gay stories, why are you reading someone else's?"

"It says Sting on it! My name isn't Sting. And I don't read gay stories!" I shouted back, still looking through the pages.

"I thought it was a pen name, so people don't think you would write a gay story. Sting sounds like a gay author name."

I smacked my head and dismissed the conversation. Sat down, looking from page to page reading the song:

"Fields Of Gold"

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold

Yeah, that was the song that I remembered. I had moved into the living room, while reading it. I opened a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The maid started to come out of the bedroom and was walking out the door.

"Mr. Aquosus?"

"Yeah?" I said back to the maid, hiding my cigarette so she wouldn't see it.

"No matter what anybody says about your writing, it's still gay…and wrong. And from what I read, it's not even good writing."

"I don't write gay stories-"

"And put that cigarette out! I'm getting tired of cleaning up ashes and cigarette butts! There's a reason the English call them 'fags'." she said closing the door behind her.

"Blow it out your ass," I mumbled to myself.

I decided that I needed a walk out in the fresh air. I was following a path for a bit, up ahead it started to follow by a country road. There was a bench sitting there by the road, and on this bench sat a man. My eyes peered at the man, to see if it was someone I knew. I did know him; it was the wacko that claimed he was Sting the other day.

"Good day, Mr. Aquosus," he looked over at me.

"What are you doing here?" I answered him back.

"I came to speak to you about my bargain. You didn't leave me a chance to before, Mr. Aquosus. Did you read my song yet, I hope?"

"Oh yeah, I read your song. I heard it on the radio about ten years ago too." I said walking closer to him.

"Delightful! I'm always glad when someone enjoys my work. But you must have liked it too much, Mr. Aquosus. I know copying someone is the best from of flattery, but plagiary isn't something looked to kindly on." he said to me as he started to stand.

"God damn it! I didn't steal your song! I don't even write songs!"

"Ah, but you copied mine, Mr. Aquosus. But I think that my bargain will put everything fairly. After all, what's right is right."

"Look, I never copied your song-"

"Do you have proof, Mr. Aquosus? Because, if you had proof…well then, that would be a different story." As he said that I knew what I had to do to get this guy off my back.

"Story! Yes, story. I write stories!"

"You write stories? Well, I wouldn't see why an author would steal a song… Alright Mr. Aquosus, if you show me one of these stories, then I suppose that I'll believe you in saying that you didn't steal my song. Being as I couldn't see why anyone who writes stories would steal a song." he said looking at me with a bit of confusion in his eyes.

"Thank god."

"But, Mr. Aquosus, you only have three days." After that a car went by on the road, being driven by one of the locals. 'Sting' raised his cane and saluted the driver, as he went by. Then turning back to me, he said, "And remember, no outsiders." With that he turned down the road and walked away. As he was walking, I remember hearing him singing:

He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mother's hand

"There's something definitely queer about that man," I said to Rez as she arrived, of course, after I needed her. "Queer! Shit, all the stories at my house are yaoi! God damn it!"