Categories > Celebrities > Slipknot > I'm all out of enemies
I'm all out of enemies
Sid didn't know how, or why, or even when he realized he couldn't get her out of his head. And the funny thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
?Blocked
PROLOUGE
The door gave a lonely squeal as he eased it open and stepped inside. As he closed it gently behind him, his ice-blue eyes surveyed the room; the deafening silence almost enough to make him turn around and run back out as he had done so many times before this. Sunlight filtered into the room through dusty blinds over a cracked window, leaving the space draped in semi-darkness despite the fact it was the middle of the afternoon. The photographs and media clippings papering the walls had faded and curled from age. Without bothering to turn on the light, he made his way over to the writing desk from memory and sat down on the old office chair before it. Sighing, he sifted through paper and debris until he came across what he was looking for. He took the small, antique-looking key and placed it in the lock on the last drawer. It gave a satisfying ‘click’ as he turned it and slid the drawer open. It didn’t hold much; pens, pencils, paper, a broken guitar string, an old bus transfer, a forgotten pack of gum. He moved these items aside until he came across a red leather photo album. The cover held a picture of a sunrise over a lake, taken from the end of a dock. He breathed out slowly, calming his nerves. He flipped the cover open and immediately had to swallow over the lump in his throat. There she was, exactly how she should’ve been now. Exactly how he remembered her. Page after page she jumped out at him, sometimes from the corner of the picture, sometimes hidden amongst friends. He could always find her. It wasn’t until the very last photo that he actually had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out loud. His eyes brimming with tears, he studied her. She was sitting on the hood of an old Chevy, tanned legs tangling off the front. Her hair was down, a rare occurrence, and floated around her face in a sea of wavy candy-apple red. Her head was tossed back and she was laughing, so full of life and spirit the intensity of it crackled off the page. The sun was blazing behind her, the trees in the backround stretched hungrily towards it. His fingers traced the outline of her body as he remembered every little detail about that day, and about her. Finally the tears spilled over as he thought about the last thing she ever said to him.
“Don’t worry, Sid. Even if you lose the beat, I’ll always be your Melody.”
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So, prolouge. Like? Im gonna continue it either way, writing is cathartic. Let me know what you think, even if you hate it.
The door gave a lonely squeal as he eased it open and stepped inside. As he closed it gently behind him, his ice-blue eyes surveyed the room; the deafening silence almost enough to make him turn around and run back out as he had done so many times before this. Sunlight filtered into the room through dusty blinds over a cracked window, leaving the space draped in semi-darkness despite the fact it was the middle of the afternoon. The photographs and media clippings papering the walls had faded and curled from age. Without bothering to turn on the light, he made his way over to the writing desk from memory and sat down on the old office chair before it. Sighing, he sifted through paper and debris until he came across what he was looking for. He took the small, antique-looking key and placed it in the lock on the last drawer. It gave a satisfying ‘click’ as he turned it and slid the drawer open. It didn’t hold much; pens, pencils, paper, a broken guitar string, an old bus transfer, a forgotten pack of gum. He moved these items aside until he came across a red leather photo album. The cover held a picture of a sunrise over a lake, taken from the end of a dock. He breathed out slowly, calming his nerves. He flipped the cover open and immediately had to swallow over the lump in his throat. There she was, exactly how she should’ve been now. Exactly how he remembered her. Page after page she jumped out at him, sometimes from the corner of the picture, sometimes hidden amongst friends. He could always find her. It wasn’t until the very last photo that he actually had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out loud. His eyes brimming with tears, he studied her. She was sitting on the hood of an old Chevy, tanned legs tangling off the front. Her hair was down, a rare occurrence, and floated around her face in a sea of wavy candy-apple red. Her head was tossed back and she was laughing, so full of life and spirit the intensity of it crackled off the page. The sun was blazing behind her, the trees in the backround stretched hungrily towards it. His fingers traced the outline of her body as he remembered every little detail about that day, and about her. Finally the tears spilled over as he thought about the last thing she ever said to him.
“Don’t worry, Sid. Even if you lose the beat, I’ll always be your Melody.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So, prolouge. Like? Im gonna continue it either way, writing is cathartic. Let me know what you think, even if you hate it.
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