Into The Void

Title: That Vague, Unsettling Feeling...Or A "Letter," If You Will
Author: zowiebwalker
Summary: "I have to stop because the words won't come anymore.... Where do they begin and I end?"
Rating:  G
Disclaimer:  I KNOW NO ONE!!!! FIGMENT OF MY TWISTED, BORING PYSCHE!

A/N: This is my first fanfic of any kind. The quoted lyrics are actually mine. I wrote this on a 15 min train ride and thought this might loosely apply to someone we all know. At least, to me , it applies. Well, here goes. If it sucks, do you worst. And if not, AWESOME!

"I can hear the echoes of dreamers all around
Back and forth. Past, present and future;
the barrier of sound. We have always been;
Knowing the secrets of forgotten alchemy.
It flows through our eyes, such shimmering windows.
Brilliance in the dirt.-"

     I have to stop because the words won't come anymore. they're tangled and tripping all over. Where do they begin and where do I end? I begin to pace, eyes searching the hideous orange carpet, right hand raking through my hair, pullig, gripping, trying to weed through words.

Where are you? Where are you?

And what do I really have to say, anyway? Is it even important now? As opposed to a month ago, one year? Five? I promised that I would always be honest within the words, the sound. But, was I honest with myself? And these new words, this new direction, is it enough?

I guess time will tell, and you-my loyal contingent-you'll will certainly tell me when "Enough's enough."

Dude. Yay. I love these records. I've been listening to them for three days straight. I have to absorb albums when I get them. My favorite songs are Mama, Sleep, Hang Em High, Honey This Mirror Aint Big Enough..., Skylines And Tunrstiles, House Of Wolves,Famous Last Words and Disenchanted. And of course Helena and Ghost of You.
I've been driving everybody crazy at work with the band, but that's normal. Did that with Red Hot Chili Peppers and NIN. But this the first new band I love. I totally hated them at first and them heard Helena and then To The End...and then saw interviews and was like "Woah, they're not some lame emo band. They know their music and are fuckin' smart." So, now I have total respect and admiration for them. Oh, and they opened for RHCP, which fucking rules.

Nothing else is happening except I turned 26 last wednesday and feel incredibly young and stupid some days and then old and stuck in a rut on others. And I NEEEEEDDDDDD to play drums this week or I'll die and then wish I'd tried to do something amazing in my life. Some days I wonder why I just don't want to do something normal, like banking, but I hate numbers. And music and the love for it has susstained me for so long that I can't not try. Wish me luck.

Later.

This is my new fic jounal. um, I'm gonna start moving m book stuff there as well as new fiction as well. I hope my current friends will friend this journal too. Thanks

theheartofsong

The Past 


“Walker? John Walker?” My head shot up, eyes blurry and bloodshot. The guy in the too bright lab coat glanced around the room. I caught his eye and stumbled to my feet.
“How are you doing?” I just blinked at him, my unease painted across my face.  We walked back to his office and went through the motions that would grant me permission to leave and never come back, well at least until six months had passed.
I stared at the white sheet of paper that rationed my life in half year increments of fear. Good news, at least for now. Godamn it, I was only sixteen! Why the fuck did I have to go through this. I had just started to pick the pieces of my life after two years spent in hell.  Normally, I would be whining ‘This isn’t fair!!!’ But, I had learned from a very early age that life hands you shit and it never lets up. So, I took what I could in the ‘Hey, life isn’t sooo bad’ category whenever I could.
I walked outside into the humid shroud of ozone that is New Orleans and found a payphone.
“Hello? John, what’d they say?” Jesse always knew when I called, and vice versa. We had gone through our lives in each others pockets, not caring that the world thought we were too weird for words. I sighed and heard him smile. “Good. The guys want to meet up, maybe jam a little.” He paused. “Unless…”
“No, it’s cool.” I took a deep breath. Did I want to humiliate myself? I hadn’t picked up a guitar in two years, twelve days, four hours and twenty nine seconds. Was I even good any more? Did I even want to see the band after two years? I‘d spent the last two weeks holed up with Jesse in our room, just talking and reconnecting on twin level again. Dealing with our mom had been hard enough, but the detectives that kept making house calls, questioning me over and over, had been exhausting and I was near tears each time they’d left with no definite answers from me. They were just as frustrated as I was. I just couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know. I never saw their faces because I had duct tape and a bandana over my eyes at all times, and was sure that the names they used were generic aliases so in case something happened, like me actually escaping, I wouldn’t be able to tell the cops a damn thing. It worked.
And then there were the nightmares. My first night home was sheer torture for everyone involved. I had been terrified to sleep and walked through the house, checking and rechecking the locks until Mom had all but dragged me to our room, begging me to try and sleep. I didn’t want her to see me so fucking close to tears, so I locked myself in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. I had just about convinced myself that I was ok, when an object caught my eye: my mom’s razor. I thought back to all the articles I’d ever read about self-mutilation. Did it really help you release all the bad shit? I gave myself a shake. What the fuck was I thinking?! Before I knew it, it was in my hand. Silent, gleaming chrome. It was strange, holding it. I felt calm, calmer than I’d felt in such a long time. Suddenly I saw Quentin’s face in my mind, disapproving. I knew his best friend had died this way, but I couldn’t stop myself.
The first cut was the hardest. Red thin line and oh my god, I felt like I’d taken a breath of clean air. I almost shivered; it felt so damn earth shattering. This is why, this is why. My mind kept repeating that little phrase as I kept going. I never realized I was crying. I finally staggered to bed, convinced that everything thing would be ok, as long as I kept hold of this small little lifeline. I was so fucking wrong.
Hands. Hands grabbing, pulling, ripping my soul into pieces. I cried, begged, pleaded. They wouldn’t stop. So, I gave up, and concentrated on turning those hands into a symphony that I could enjoy. Nothing worked. I just wanted it to stop. I start crying and then screaming as those hands turn into claws.
“Wake up!! Dude, wake up!!!” Hands again, but familiar. I nearly fell off the bed, covering my ears. Who the fuck was screaming so loud? Jesse’s face swam into view as the screaming tapered off. Why is my throat so sore? Oh no. Shit. I swiped at my eyes, pulling away from him. Shit, what if he saw those red lines? I tried to catch my breath, refusing to look at him. His eyes were dark grey spheres of worry and then suspicion. I couldn’t look at him. He sat with me until I passed out from exhaustion. We never spoke about the dreams or more like I didn’t, God knows he tried to draw me out.
“So, do you want me to pick you up? They want to meet at the pizza place down the block from the studio. At three.”
“No. I’ll walk.” God, I needed my fucking lifeline so badly right then. I’m okay. I’m okay, I kept repeating to myself. I hung up the phone and closed my eyes. Big mistake, ‘cause I saw him. But my version of how he looked two years ago, eighteen and long and tall, wide grin and dancing eyes. My heart reeled just thinking about him. Would he remember me the same way? I wasn’t the same person that anyone knew. I was a fucked up clone of my former self.  I blinked and found myself in front of the shop. I could see Lily’s fiery mane of dreadlocks. Okay dude, here goes.
I managed to walk steadily until Seth saw me, shock written all over his face. Jesus, did I look that bad? Oh wait, you’re rail thin, pale as a zombie and your eyes look like you went crazy with eye shadow, my mind snarled at me. I tried for a smile, and came up with a muscle spasm. They were all staring now and oh my god, he’s even more beautiful. Quentin had changed, gotten muscular in all the right places and had longer hair. His eyes were the only unchanging thing, except for the worry gleaming in them.
“Hey.” Oh god, my voice cracked. Jesse wasn’t even here yet. Shit.
“Hey, Johnny. You hungry?” I shook my head as my stomach tried to turn itself into shrink-wrap. I sat down slowly and tried to meet their eyes, but suddenly found myself mesmerized with the wood scarred table.
“So, how are you guys?” All three tried for pleasant, but ended up in strained awkwardness mode. I finally looked up, only to meet Quentin’s eyes. They looked completely stunned, like he was wondering who the hell I was. That made two of us. He gave me an assessing look that was trying to hide the fear. I saw right through it and I glared. What the fuck?! I know how much I changed, did they have to be so damn obvious? Never in my life had I felt so alone.
We didn’t say a word until Jesse slid in beside me, noting our mutual uneasiness. He immediately jumped in, joking and lightening the mood. I didn’t exactly chime in with anything useful to say, even though Jesse was trying so very hard, but I just couldn’t even try. I kept my eyes on the table, thoroughly nauseated by the smell of burnt cheese.
I kept thinking about all the things that I thought I would be doing when I was fourteen, and the one thing I kept going back to was telling Quentin how I felt, still felt after all this time. And then I realized how stupid that thought was. I couldn’t be anything for him, not anymore. I was too broken, too fucked up to be anyone’s friend or lover. That human part of me had died the moment I heard the footsteps behind me in that bathroom at the club all those eons ago. I had ceased to be John Vincent Walker, the small kid with huge dreams and attitude enough to make it happen. I had become, in that moment, someone’s plaything to be used up and thoroughly destroyed.
I finally looked up, again meeting Quentin’s eyes. His were trying to see into my very core, to see all of my secrets. I couldn’t let him in. My eyes, nevertheless, weren’t looking away and I felt something break inside of my heart. I jumped up, nearly knocking over the glass of water I hadn’t touched. I hauled ass to the bathroom. Godamn it! I felt around in my pockets for the razor. Almost had it, but the door opened. Shit, not now. I whipped around. He’d followed me.
“What!” Teeth grinding in agony, all I wanted was an escape.
“You’re not okay.” He sounded really concerned.
“No shit.” I hadn’t meant to say that. Thankfully, he ignored it and took a step towards me.
“Talk to me.”
“What the hell for?”
“Maybe-“
“Get out.”
“Dude-“
“GET OUT!” He frowned and shook his head.  I could fucking feel the bliss of cutting, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Before I knew it, he’d wrapped me in his arms. I tried pulling away. He has gotten stronger, I thought incoherently.
“Don’t touch me!” He just held on tighter. I could hear myself start to shake, howling with rage and pain, trying desperately to pull away. My knees buckled as I started sobbing and god how I hated him for making me weak, hated him almost as much as I hated myself.
He wouldn’t let go, just wouldn’t leave me to my own hell that I’d gotten familiar with. I don’t know how long we stayed in there, with my head buried in his t-shirt, crying until I couldn’t breathe. But he never let go.
I heard something clink on the floor and froze. It would be the razor, wouldn’t it? He pulled away, and then swore, forced my head up. “What the fuck are you doing!?” I’d never ever seen him this angry. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to have this argument in a scummy pizzeria. But, he’d never been able to let anything slide by.
“Fucking HELL, man. Why?!”
“You’d better be joking.” The look he gave me turned my blood cold. I glared at him. “Don’t you even think about lecturing me. You don’t know a damn thing about why…” I had to stop before he started asking me why, demanding answers that he would get out of me because I’d always been honest with him. I stood up and walked out of the pizzeria and was stopped halfway up the block.
“Don’t do this. Don’t shut us out.” I walked faster.
“Wait, please. Just stop for a second and listen. I don’t know, ok. Maybe I don’t want to, but this is just gonna make it worse.”
“How the fuck do you know!” Oh god, I did not just say that. The look he gave me was shocking. Pain and agony mixed with anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I whispered. I remembered the first and only time I’d seen him cry, at Zane’s funeral. He kept saying “If I’d only been there,” over and over again. I never wanted to see the despair that he had sunken into again, but I’d just fucked up, big time. I backed away, apologizing again and running until my sides hurt. I didn’t even know where I was going, just along as I could be alone, it was safer that way.
I somehow made it home at three in the morning. I don’t remember walking into the bar, and getting into a fistfight, but when my mother threw open the door, her face froze.
“John? What the hell did you do?” I couldn’t answer. My entire face hurt and there was blood dripping from my nose and mouth. I stumbled into the bathroom. Boyfriend number 575 walked in, with a smirk on his face
“Should I have seen the other guy?” I took a swing at him, a bad one because all I saw was his answering fist and the bathroom tile up close and personal. He left and my mother was talking to him, asking if he was okay. She never came in. Jesse did, with an ice pack. He helped me sit up and cleaned me up. I thanked him with my eyes and he gave me a tentative smile. “You’re really fucked up, you know that, right? “ I just sighed.
“Yeah, Quentin told us and yeah he’s really pissed off, but he’ll get over it. Maybe you’ll be ok when you go back to school.” Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about finishing high school. I almost threw up at the thought. Jesse and I had been several grades ahead and we were in our last year of high school when I’d…left. Now I’d be alone in finishing out the year. I was terrified at the thought of the rumors and whispers zipping around the hallways whenever I passed. I crawled into bed with a lead bar in my chest and prayed that I was tired enough not to dream.
I woke up the next day with a brain fog and a swollen face. I looked over at Jesse, sleeping peacefully across the room. Had I ever been so calm? According to Mom, I wasn’t the easy one.  Born twenty seven minutes after my brother, I was the one who hated to be held, the one who refused homework help, and the one who never talked. Jesse was the vibrant, happy child, my mother’s confidant. He was the one who held her through the night when she was trying to kick whatever drug she was on. Don’t get me wrong, our mom was-and is- a good person. She’s just fucked up, like me.
 Isabelle Madeline Rourke was sixteen when she had us. Our father was never mentioned and for the first year, we lived with our grandparents. I was told that she couldn’t stand to be near us. Our grandparents, Mai Li and Lucas, always told us the truth and expected the same from us; because they wanted to be sure we were safe with their daughter. She had always had bad taste in men, according to Grandpa. We went to live with her when we were eighteen months old, already talking and walking miniature people. It was good, those first five years with her; we all got to know each other, were close. We didn’t know what cocaine was then, she was just always sick. She hid it pretty well, at first, just until her first boyfriend started hanging around. There were little changes at first. She would snap at us and then speed clean the house. We were either in the way or highly entertaining. Her boyfriend, Jack I think his name was, was less amused. He’d disappear in the bathroom for many short intervals and come back, just as manic as she was. Jesse and I had learned to hide when both were coked out of their minds. One time, I was playing a song on a used acoustic Jack had left; I think I was five or so. It was Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and all I remember is her yanking the guitar away and nearly hitting me with it, screaming the song was driving her batshit. Jack stopped her, but grabbed me by the arm and started shaking me, demanding that I apologize for ruining her high. Those memories are the ones I hold to me, never want to forget. I learned well from my mother: remember everything so you always have the upper hand. After those times, I hid in the garage with Jack’s guitar, holding it and wondering what I had done. Was it because I looked like him? How many times that was screamed in my direction, I couldn’t tell you, but it wormed its way into my heart. Jesse was good because he was Mommy’s little boy and I was his son, the one that was never mentioned unless I had misbehaved.
As much as I loved and idolized my brother, I began to resent him because he did everything right, I was the little fuck up. Later, I found out that Jesse thought I had it made because I was the one that never backed down, I was stronger than him in every way. I never really had friends, but I didn’t care because I was fine with being alone, comfortable with myself. So, we had grossly misinterpreted the other and somehow, being twins, never figured it out, never asked “Hey, how is it being you, the individual?”

This is my baby. I've been working on this for years. I hope you like. I will update frequently. I like honesty

Summary- Whatever life throws at you, good or bad, you've only have your memories and the ones who love and hate you.


The Long Season-Prologue