9/14/05: I am re-vamping Shiver, fixing mistakes and redirecting the fiction. For those of you that are new to this story, mind the rating, please. This story is very unconventional, realistic, and depressing.
For my old friends, the musical element will be brought down a bit, and the spelling is fixed. There will most likely be a few more chapters put in, and maybe a new twist or two for you. Please forgive the formatting, but it was the only way.
:.The Brightest Spark.:
" In a sunrise of burning stop signs"
She could hear nothing as she spoke the lines of her poem, the rest of the class giving her a silence every other member did not receive. She knew why..
Flipping the curls from her eyes, she moved on to the next line. Let them think what they wanted.She honestly didn't care anymore.
"Tomorrow's rising like a ghost from the graveyard of wishes"
She felt her red and black sweat-suit hang off of her form, but for some reason, it seemed like she was naked, bearing the scrutiny of her hardest audience. They stared right at her, as if they awaited the pleasure of sating their curiousity for the longest time.
"It's spirit busting through prison fences, Flooding the street with a sea of ski masks marching from our ditches"
Her cold indigo eyes stared as she whispered the lines she had worked so hard on. How did they expect her to speak when she felt like a damn lab rat with a ten pound tumor? All she wanted to do was get this over with, return to her seat, and get those damn eyes off of her. Those eyes that pierced her.
"A new morning as bright as the smallest spark in the darkest dark"
The only one not diverting their attentionwas the only one as strange as she.
Young Meg Giry,hereyes glued to her desk,little cheeks flaming a bright red color. The girl had been born with… unnerving eyes. The black in her pupil looked like ink someone had spilled, as it swirled with the blue of her irises. It reminded Christine of preschoolers who mix two different paint colors together. She was an outcast because of it, only a few friends who could look past the oddity.
"Warm as lovers in mid kiss, It's wishes whisper between lovers lips"
She felt her voice choke at those lines.. It was symbolic, and yet the thought of all those eyes watching her lips as she said "lovers" was almost too much. Gripping her paper with white knuckled fingers, she gathered her strength for the next stanza. Her other hand was fisted at her side, dark blue fingernails digging into her tiny palms.
"When I close my eyes I can see the ghost unearth her life, "
Yes.. Her mothers ghost, her fathers ghost, it was all the same, wasn't it? Perhaps even the ghost of her old self.
She felt Chagny's eyes stray from her face to her figure. Breath, Christine,. Just breath. They can't hurt you.. Your safe here.. Nobody's going to die. Give them a reason to feel stupid, and don't let them win. Keep speaking.
"On never nights like tonight,When daybreak defies midnight"
She felt calm now, letting the thought of darkness sooth her torn soul. Night, nobody can see you, nobody will see your tears. Night is when the fear draws back, and dreams descend. Not that her dreams were any more pleasant then her days But only when the sun would shine.. That was when the eyes would return, melting her courage. Those eyes that pleaded with her to understand. Those murdering eyes.
" With the backing of the shovels beat, Burning flags at her feet, crackling over the young lovers lead"
Yes, it was having the desired effect. Even the mention of flag burning had them all looking frazzled. Those poor unfortunate souls. Even Miss Levine looked thoroughly angered. Well, they could shove it. The government had screwed her. She was a victim, and they just let her get fucked over. Oh, wait, keep reading, or they might suspect something. Remember, no slip-ups.
"She screams: Lovers of the world unite, there's no tomorrow, only tonight"
Oh, look, I think they are getting the point of this exercise. Yes, yes, I AM mocking you all. You can't hurt me here, you can't say anything. This is my turn to speak, and if you stop me, it just means I have won. And if I was for once the victor, you would be terribly upset, wouldn't you?
"It's time for a new day to break,From the dead dreams we awake"
Dead dreams. It was a good line. Dead dad dreams. Dead mom dreams. Dead Daae dreams, running through Lotte's head. She had always hated that nickname, it made her life sound like a fairytale.
No such thing as a happy ending for Lotte's story though. No such thing. And now, time for the last piece. Time to end this little mutiny.
"Like a mute speaking, seizing his say,
Tomorrow ,Come Today"
She waited for applause, and after a few minutes of hushed whispers, she strode back to her seat, holding her head high. Fucking morons.
They didn't get it, did they? They thought she was crazy for hating everything. Well, why not hate everything, when the world gave nothing? Nothing but a public high school, free lunch, and a nice cozy group home .A home full of strangers, full of what used to be innocent children. A residence of spectres, out of sync with the rest of the world.
Meg watched her take her seat, before catching Miss Levine's end of class blabbing.
" Tomorrow I would like you to write a poem, a poem about a wedding, a bride, anything matrimonial. And please, Miss Daae, make it understandable next time. I can see you put forth effort into this one, and I hope the next reflects something special in all of you. "
The bell rang, Christine waited a moment or two before getting up. Ahh, the wonders of the end of the school day. Picking up her carrier bag, she crumbled her poem, throwing it in the wastebasket. Quite a productive day, now off to the busses.
Taking a seat in the front, she watched the driver pull away from the curb, shutting the door with a flick of the lever. Huddling up, and stretching her legs out on the seat, she watched the school disappear in a blur. She liked the learning part of school, really. It was the people that bothered.
Thick like cattle, they always ran around, not caring who they touched. She on the other hand, hated physical contact, and was suspended quite a few times for displaying the hatred with fists, and teeth. How odd, that physical violence didn't annoy her. She always attributed it to her past.
She saw the group home, and thanked the bus driver before stepping out. It wasn't bad looking on the outside, but inside, it was so full. Full of desperate younglings with nothing to live for, who hated everything and wanted nothing more then to get away, to find a place where tragedy couldn't touch them. Pushing open the door, she made her way to the music room.
The one luxury they had. Music. Acoustic and electric guitars, two drum sets, a trumpet, two violins, one of which were her own, and an old piano. She stroked the yellowing keys, before slitting down at the blue drum set to the left. Nobody was here at this time, and she liked it.
She started to play some random tune, making sure it was wild. It helped get rid of some of the tension in her muscles. Being alert all day tuckered her out. She felt a devious curl tickle her nose, only to be disappointed when she wrapped it all with the hair tie around her wrist.
Finishing, she stood, taking a seat at the piano. She had been placed in a lot of foster facilities, but she liked this one the most. Music caressed her the way no man ever would, wrapping her senses in a cocoon of desire.
She started to my a sad song, a requiem for her parents. She tried to play one every Friday in March.
Friday in March.. The month and day they died, and took her hopes and dreams with them. She didn't feel the eyes that were burning into her back as she played. She let the words take over, the way her father had taught her. Every moment was exctasy, every key a step toward redemption.
" How long did we all think...This all would last"
Walking by, a masked man alighted upon the window.The most poignant playing was ringing in the air, not that half the streetwalkers noticed. The curtains weren't completely closed, and he chanced upon alook inside. Sitting there on the bench was a girl.
He kept those amber eyes fixed on her, noticing the way her stern features seemed to smooth out, as if she was in a much better place then here, playing an ancient piano, with a tear floating down one snowy cheek. An angel.
An angel in hell.
" Who could have counted days..As they flew past"
He touched a hand to his masked cheek, watching the girls abandon as she played. She was his, he knew. He was the angel of Hell, who played the sirens call of the damned. And here sat his little priestess, offering him damning fruits. Curious ears had sent him into this den of unwanted things. Now that he saw this girl, he knew she must belong to him.
"But before we go, sing us a song, Sing us a song, to hum through the hours of dying"
Dying, dying for this girl. He was thirty, and he was pining for a seventeen year old ?
Just another indication of now thoroughly corrupted his soul was. For did the distortion really lay in his skin, or his heart?
"Who would have thought it'd come as such a show"
He had been dead from the moment he first opened his eyes, but this girl , this angry little kitten had given him a eulogy. So now he would take her, and she would belong to the ghost.. Always there but never seen. His and his alone to have, to share his hatred, longing, and pain with.
"A pink and silver day, who was to know"
He felt her heart in those words. Such beauty in the land of death and despair. He would teach this girl the music of his tortured mind. It held the power to seduce and possess her, the way he wanted to possess her.
He felt himself grow hard at the though of his long deadly hands stroking that flesh, playing it like an instrument and listening to the sounds and feelings he evoked.
"Even as we go, sing us a song, Sing us a song, to hum through the hours of dying"
She abruptly stopped, as a bolt of sunlight fractured through a nearby window and almost blinded her. She felt her senses return, as she whirled around to find who had disturbed her reverie.
Nobody was there.
Gathering her wits, she went to Mrs. Guiducelli's office. The woman hated her with a passion, but she had to check in after school. Prying open the door, she was surprised to find not only Crazy Carlotta .
The man had his back turned, but every part of him was covered in black. His deep brown hair slicked back off of his face. He was silent, as the ugly woman toadied to him. She had that gigantic fake smile plastered on.Feeling nauseous,Christine was about to walk out when she heard Nutso's cackle.
" Well, my dear little girl, guess who just requested to adopt you?"
Her heart burned in dead…
I don't own POTO. The lyrics for the two songs belong to their respective artists.