(no subject)

[x-cypher.livejournal.com]

I wish I could take credit for this one, but Frito heard the song today and wrote this little scenelet. Let's just say...Doug's not doing very well.



The music room was dim, and just a bit chilly. Doug had opened the windows to get a breeze, though he still felt like he couldn't breathe. He knew it wasn't really stuffy, he knew the room was open and airy, it just felt like the walls were closing in on him.

Everything was closing in on Doug.

He sat down, leaning against the wall just under one of the windows and let the air ruffle his hair, picking some of the lank strands off his neck. Sighing, he closed his eyes, feeling only the slightest relief from the burning dry prickling in his eyes. He knew he needed to sleep, but every time he shut his eyes, all he could do was repeat the words from Marie-Ange's notebook, over and over. All he could see were those drawings, those notes.

Shaking himself, he stretched, bumping the table next to him, and bouncing the CD player into life.

For a moment, Doug struggled to recognize the piece of music, just guitar, seemingly acoustic. It sounded oddly familiar, but like it was missing pieces. Instruments, and vocals. He was humming, just under his breath, before he realized what it was.

~One song, Glory
One song, Before I go, Glory
One song to leave behind~

Choking back the tightness in his throat, Doug stood, clentching his eyes shut tightly. ~How damned appropiate.~ he thought bitterly. Before he realized it, Doug was on his feet, clutching the table's edge and singing, voice tight and rough, from lack of practice - and emotion.

~Find one song, One last refrain
Glory, From the pretty boy front man
Who wasted opportunity
One song, He had the world at his feet
Glory, In the eyes of a young girl, A young girl~

Slapping the CD player off with one hand, Doug wiped his eyes with the other and stalked out of the room. Even in music, he couldn't find any hope, any real peace.