Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sets of Three, They Say...
HELLO, readers. (DoJ). I'm sitting here in the campus library, obviously not doing what i actually came here to do. You are all such a distraction. OH WELL. next chapter up! i'm excited. i wrote it in my creative writing class, when i was supposed to be working on poetry.
actually, dude was lecturing, but i'm not poet, so i opt for this. haha.
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Music. She heard it. Him. The smooth melody, emitted with a passion that could only belong to one person. The lights, purple, shedding a cool glow on her surroundings, yet making her head spin, confusing her. Sending her feelings off balance. She had to get to the place Patrick's voice was coming from.
Patrick had been hidden in the purple light as well, and it's hues were becoming overwhelming to her mind, her senses. ..all five of them.
She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Mal.
"Mal. What's going on? I'm talking....and hearing." She noticed a rather large bump growing on Mal's midsection. "You're pregnant." Mal placed her hands gently on the round belly holding her little child. Meg watched as she did so, and noticed something sparking on Mal's left hand. "Who....you're engaged?"
"Meg. Not funny. You know I've been married for almost a year." Meg just blinked. "Are you feeling okay." A scrunched, unhappy look was painted all over the face of Meg.
"Are you? Is it not a little strange that I'm hearing and talking and you're married and with child?" Mal just smiled.
"Meg, you're dreaming, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't pay attention." Meg looked around. This, at least, made a little more sense. Wait, no it didn't, because this, this felt real to her. The way her mind was second-guessing everything felt so sincere.
As she looked back to the stage, she saw that it was empty. The loud music had stopped without her noticing. She looked back at Mal, who was sharing a kiss with the man Meg assumed to be her husband, and the father of her child.
Patrick.
Meg's heart was in her throat. Her face felt hot and her mind's eye was holding back it's dream-induced tears.
"What's wrong?" She heard a voice and then felt a hand slide around her waist. Who could this hand belong to? Patrick was in front of her, and although he was hers outside of sleep, he was Mal's for now, on the inside.
Meg looked down at the hand, then over at the person it belonged to. She felt the purple glow searing her skin, and pulsing through her veins. Her mind was clear, and in that moment, she got it.
Pete.
She looked at him, well, the dream-him. As he moved in towards her face, closing in on her lips, Meg decided what she wanted from this vision.
The end. He kissed her. Hard. Her brain kicked, screamed. She wanted to be awake, and then...
She was. Her eyes opened, not fluttering, but more snapping open. The clock said 4:33. Her brain said "Thank God, that's over."
Why had it happened that way? Why had the dream-Mal made it clear to the dream-Meg that she needed to pay attention? Meg pushed her blankets off of her sweaty, pajama-clad body, and went into the kitchen. She heard. In her dream, she'd heard. It was all a confusion of voices and sounds, sort of a panicked static, but her ears experienced it, just the same.
Meg opened her cabinet left of the fridge, grabbed her breakfast blend and a filter. She tore apart the aluminum bag, and inhaled. Meg savored the smell as she slowly poured a clump of grounds onto the filter. She quickly pushed start, and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her head, as the coffee brewed. No sense in trying to go back to sleep. It just wasn't going to happen.
Meg turned to face the timer on her "Mr. Coffee", and watched as the last ten second of her brew flashed on it's green, digital display.
Three. Two. One.
The clock read zero, and Meg grabbed her favorite mug (which pictured every U.S. president), and poured the Kennedy-mad original roast. Adding no cream, and no sugar, she sipped, being awaked by it's strength, and walked to her computer. Meg sat.
Move the mouse. Watch the screen come back from it's night's rest. Not-so-exciting, but she welcomed the distraction. Unfortunately, it didn't distract for long.
She'd protested in the course of the kiss, sure, but no one else had. Her dream friends viewed the situation as perfectly normal, and, even better, accepted her ability to hear and speak. Her mind wandered back to the kiss. The way dream-Pete's lips had felt connected with her own. Not good?
Not bad.
She shook her head and folded her legs, Indian-style, in her chair. Meg clicked on her inbox and noticed an e-mail from her mother and father, no doubt regarding the e-mails subject matter.
The cursor lingered over the message link, and then, finally, she clicked.
Dear Meggyn,
Hello, from your mom and dad. We trust you're still succeeding, making us just as proud as you always have, and I'm sure you already know what this e-mail is about. Yes, we did get your test results back from Dr. Compton, and we were so excited to learn (almost as excited as we are to tell you) that you're a perfect candidate for the electric ear. It's got, as you know, and eighty-four percent success rate, and has a ninety-four percent chance of completely restoring, or enabling, in your case, the hearing you were born without. You know it's your choice, and you know we won't force you into making any decisions, but we truly think this would be best for you. Take your time in deciding, honey, and please remember: you know what's best for you. We will support any decision you make. We love you!
Mom and Dad.
Meg clicked the "x" in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Finally, after 22 years of silence, she had the opportunity to hear. Had her mind been less muddled in that moment, she probably would have instantly responded, saying she would love to hear, that the surgery was just what she needed to improve her living. But, with a muddled mind, she had no idea. Up or down? Left or right? Quality of life? At least she was living. But to know 5 senses, instead of only four? She knew she wanted it, she just didn't know if now was the time. She felt a grumbling from her torso, and smiled. Hunger.
No one thinks well on an empty stomach.
Meg opened her junk food cabinet, the one Mal detested, and grabbed her peanut m&m's, along with a Baby Ruth. Sometimes, a girl just needs her chocolate.
And then, somehow, in madness of Meg's early morning, she dozed off.
actually, dude was lecturing, but i'm not poet, so i opt for this. haha.
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Music. She heard it. Him. The smooth melody, emitted with a passion that could only belong to one person. The lights, purple, shedding a cool glow on her surroundings, yet making her head spin, confusing her. Sending her feelings off balance. She had to get to the place Patrick's voice was coming from.
Patrick had been hidden in the purple light as well, and it's hues were becoming overwhelming to her mind, her senses. ..all five of them.
She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Mal.
"Mal. What's going on? I'm talking....and hearing." She noticed a rather large bump growing on Mal's midsection. "You're pregnant." Mal placed her hands gently on the round belly holding her little child. Meg watched as she did so, and noticed something sparking on Mal's left hand. "Who....you're engaged?"
"Meg. Not funny. You know I've been married for almost a year." Meg just blinked. "Are you feeling okay." A scrunched, unhappy look was painted all over the face of Meg.
"Are you? Is it not a little strange that I'm hearing and talking and you're married and with child?" Mal just smiled.
"Meg, you're dreaming, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't pay attention." Meg looked around. This, at least, made a little more sense. Wait, no it didn't, because this, this felt real to her. The way her mind was second-guessing everything felt so sincere.
As she looked back to the stage, she saw that it was empty. The loud music had stopped without her noticing. She looked back at Mal, who was sharing a kiss with the man Meg assumed to be her husband, and the father of her child.
Patrick.
Meg's heart was in her throat. Her face felt hot and her mind's eye was holding back it's dream-induced tears.
"What's wrong?" She heard a voice and then felt a hand slide around her waist. Who could this hand belong to? Patrick was in front of her, and although he was hers outside of sleep, he was Mal's for now, on the inside.
Meg looked down at the hand, then over at the person it belonged to. She felt the purple glow searing her skin, and pulsing through her veins. Her mind was clear, and in that moment, she got it.
Pete.
She looked at him, well, the dream-him. As he moved in towards her face, closing in on her lips, Meg decided what she wanted from this vision.
The end. He kissed her. Hard. Her brain kicked, screamed. She wanted to be awake, and then...
She was. Her eyes opened, not fluttering, but more snapping open. The clock said 4:33. Her brain said "Thank God, that's over."
Why had it happened that way? Why had the dream-Mal made it clear to the dream-Meg that she needed to pay attention? Meg pushed her blankets off of her sweaty, pajama-clad body, and went into the kitchen. She heard. In her dream, she'd heard. It was all a confusion of voices and sounds, sort of a panicked static, but her ears experienced it, just the same.
Meg opened her cabinet left of the fridge, grabbed her breakfast blend and a filter. She tore apart the aluminum bag, and inhaled. Meg savored the smell as she slowly poured a clump of grounds onto the filter. She quickly pushed start, and closed her eyes, attempting to clear her head, as the coffee brewed. No sense in trying to go back to sleep. It just wasn't going to happen.
Meg turned to face the timer on her "Mr. Coffee", and watched as the last ten second of her brew flashed on it's green, digital display.
Three. Two. One.
The clock read zero, and Meg grabbed her favorite mug (which pictured every U.S. president), and poured the Kennedy-mad original roast. Adding no cream, and no sugar, she sipped, being awaked by it's strength, and walked to her computer. Meg sat.
Move the mouse. Watch the screen come back from it's night's rest. Not-so-exciting, but she welcomed the distraction. Unfortunately, it didn't distract for long.
She'd protested in the course of the kiss, sure, but no one else had. Her dream friends viewed the situation as perfectly normal, and, even better, accepted her ability to hear and speak. Her mind wandered back to the kiss. The way dream-Pete's lips had felt connected with her own. Not good?
Not bad.
She shook her head and folded her legs, Indian-style, in her chair. Meg clicked on her inbox and noticed an e-mail from her mother and father, no doubt regarding the e-mails subject matter.
The cursor lingered over the message link, and then, finally, she clicked.
Dear Meggyn,
Hello, from your mom and dad. We trust you're still succeeding, making us just as proud as you always have, and I'm sure you already know what this e-mail is about. Yes, we did get your test results back from Dr. Compton, and we were so excited to learn (almost as excited as we are to tell you) that you're a perfect candidate for the electric ear. It's got, as you know, and eighty-four percent success rate, and has a ninety-four percent chance of completely restoring, or enabling, in your case, the hearing you were born without. You know it's your choice, and you know we won't force you into making any decisions, but we truly think this would be best for you. Take your time in deciding, honey, and please remember: you know what's best for you. We will support any decision you make. We love you!
Mom and Dad.
Meg clicked the "x" in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Finally, after 22 years of silence, she had the opportunity to hear. Had her mind been less muddled in that moment, she probably would have instantly responded, saying she would love to hear, that the surgery was just what she needed to improve her living. But, with a muddled mind, she had no idea. Up or down? Left or right? Quality of life? At least she was living. But to know 5 senses, instead of only four? She knew she wanted it, she just didn't know if now was the time. She felt a grumbling from her torso, and smiled. Hunger.
No one thinks well on an empty stomach.
Meg opened her junk food cabinet, the one Mal detested, and grabbed her peanut m&m's, along with a Baby Ruth. Sometimes, a girl just needs her chocolate.
And then, somehow, in madness of Meg's early morning, she dozed off.
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