Day 28 - Not Like This
A/N: Playing the guitar is much harder when your hand is passing through it. A in-depth look at Marty's thoughts during the dance in Part I. Content warning for one f-bomb.
He'd never been a fan of 'Earth Angel'. To be fair, he'd only heard it once before, and that was on a shitty VHS taping of his parents' wedding.
But it was a good song to be playing to ensure your continued existence.
He had to fight to keep his paranoid fingers under control, lest they slip and allow a dissonant chord to float through the dance hall.
So when he did realise he'd started playing the next verse it in the wrong key, he couldn't stop himself from hyperventilating. But they're still dancing! Aren't they…? I'm not a ghost yet…
He quickly scanned the photograph, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he realised he had become a silhouette. SHIT NO!
Marty let out a panicked breath. He gazed down hesitantly at his arm and tried to scream, only for no sound to materialise. His whole hand had become translucent to the point where he could see people dancing through it. There were no ligaments, no nerves, no bones; it was like the universe had simply erased it.
Succumbing to the terror of the situation, Marty looked over at where he expected to see his parents, only to find another man had cut in and stolen a loudly-protesting Lorraine. He spotted his father a few metres away, walking away dejectedly into the crowd of teenagers. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT NO THAT'S NOT HOW THIS IS SUPPOSED TO-
Marty's knees collapsed under him. It felt like his whole body was on fire and being torn apart at the same time. Every skin particle, every fibre of hair, every blood cell was screaming at him.
George! His throat was closing over, cutting off his vocal cords as he wheezed pathetically on the stage floor. Please Dad, don't…!
The pain in his chest was immeasurable. It was squeezing and kneading his insides, scrunching the alveoli in his lungs into twisted clumps. He tried to inhale, only for nothing to move. No air moved into his mouth, and his chest remained locked in position.
He realised his vision was looking a bit funny, even after blinking furiously. His peripheral vision seemed to be collapsing in on itself. Marvin's smooth vocals had fallen silent, and he could no longer feel the vibrations through the wooden panels lining the floor.
The horrifying realisation dawned on him. My body is gone!
The guitar clattered to the floor. He could just make out the shape of it through the outline of where his leg once existed.
If his heart was even still corporeal at this point, he thought it was hammering so hard in his chest that his ribs would shatter. He gasped and wheezed inaudibly, fighting with every last piece of will to take in some air, only for nothing to enter his body.
Nothing entered, and nothing escaped.
Because there was nothing left there.
No, please, no no no no no…not like this…!
It can't end like this!
Not after I've tried so FUCKING hard!
The tunnel vision was closing in, darkness creeping and twisting its way into place.
He realised he couldn't move anything; his lips remained firmly locked in a silent plea, his hands permanently squeezed into fists of tension that had now dissipated.
He was weightless.
The leather shoes had stopped cutting into his feet.
The uncomfortable shirt and tie had evaporated.
The sweat on his forehead had melted away.
PLEASE, GOD, NO!
He wished he was actually dying.
His consciousness was dissolving.
The world had shrunk to a pinpoint in his vision.
His heart had stopped mid-beat.
….
It suddenly exploded.
It was almost overwhelming at first. All of his senses returned in a violent rush that could've been compared to an instantaneous punch to the head. Marvin's vocals and backing instruments swamped his ears; the heat of the stage lights scorched his skin; the surface of the floor appeared beneath him.
He breathed in, and his lungs expanded in return. It felt good.
Wasting no time, he snatched the guitar from under his leg, jumping to his feet as he worked out where in the song they were up to. He could've cried at feeling the strings beneath his fingertips; how they were leaving small indents in the pads of his fingers. I'll never take this for granted again…never never never-
He scanned the room frantically, his body sagging with relief at finding George and Lorraine in a tender embrace in the middle of the dance floor. His old man must've caught a glimpse of him, for he lifted one hand in acknowledgement.
Lifting a hand to return the gesture, Marty giggled hysterically as he flexed his fingers thoroughly, waving on proudly at George. He wiped his brow as his parents became lost in each other's eyes, dancing away into the depths of the crowd.