Friday, 6 January 2012

Dance, Dance, Dance, We Will Not Be Moved By It

Maybe you should have kids.

Maybe you shouldn’t.

Maybe that’s why I’m staring at Moss’ invisible bump, she’ll surely have another to add to her collection and she’ll have more little bridesmaids, if she decides to remarry Jamie. I remember laughing at her stupid idea and he just shrugged.

Maybe age is a barrier after all.

I looked across the table, wondering why were we all drinking tea and how come the spoons seemed to look as if they were teeth and we could stick them under our tongues and cheeks, so that we wouldn’t speak.

I lit a cigarette.

Yesterday I got told that I looked like Hayley Williams and I just dyed it more, a more intense pink.

Maybe it were because all the older men were fleeing away from me, maybe that is why I tried to look younger and yell into the microphone.

Maybe it was some dumb protest against all the marriages and break-ups. I looked at how cheerful everything seemed to look with the cake and the children and the cake and the invisible bump and I wondered if Karen would ever be pregnant again.

I remember my first time without a condom and it amused me how I slipped, but there was no baby, unless I had forgotten how hugging my pregnant and dead to my surroundings baby felt like.

I wondered why would creation matter and how much joy would sex bring and children. Do they bring joy?

I guess they do, so I just glanced at the recently divorced man and I wondered if I could just walk over, take off his shirt, trace his body with my tongue and just sit as if it were pornography, some fake orgy and everyone would start clapping at the rhythm held by his thrusts.

I was in a hotel and the noises of neighbors kept me up all the time and once the man screamed and I wondered if he were the one to be fucked by the girl how would it feel and how would it be to me either be inside Jack or even Kate.

I wondered if I should have married prince William. Middleton is too ugly and well, she looks like drugs could save her life instead of a fucking pole.

There are too many people I would give drugs to, sometimes I wondered if I could just give them out as candy, maybe even lie on the stage and watch teenager hands grab them, maybe I should be naked so that I would get some satisfaction.

Maybe someone would slip a finger inside.

Let it be a girl.

But then if I fated there would be someone anyway. It’s one thing when you are ten years younger and you giggle at your band mate.

I look at Jack again, everything seems forced and I wonder how would our babies actually look like and with what would I feed them if they would play guitar or drums or bass.

I wonder when would this tea party be over and if I could get more cookies but instead I just sit up, smile and leave to the balcony, as if I am thinking of just speaking to Jack in his own house and I just sit on the balcony, press myself against the wall and start slowly smoking, burning the tip by the very end of the flame and watching, wondering if I should make my hair more pink or increase my breasts, show up in a plaid skirt and show my vagina to everyone on stage.

The band is my amusement of watching a man I didn’t get because I giggle too much and Kate Moss gave a blow job.

Maybe I should have stood on my knees again after that night we had shagged, right after he had told me to shrug it off, just pulled down his zip, the taste of his cock still fresh in my mind and held the sperm in my mouth to later produce a Mosshart Hince with the modern age of technology.

Maybe I should’ve spread out my legs or rode him when he were drunk. Maybe I should still do, he gets drunk, he gets high and then what? I’ll get a slap from Kate and I’ll be culprit because it would be my fault even if Jamie would lift up a finger to stroke my nipples. He would do it softly and then get his finger back to his mouth as if my breasts would be as soaked as my clit.

I just raised my fingers to my eyes, not praying, but to rub off the tears I’d get in my head, there would be none.

I watched Karen move around, raising where would I be. Then I would just go from the curtains, raise my hands and pretend that I am a monster. I roared and Karen saw me as a child, asking me if I had wanted to bath and Jack would be with the kids.

I ended up with a soap bath, looking at Karen, wondering if I could touch her, she had something if Jack had touched her just as he would his guitar, so when she left I pressed my legs against the wall and slid down.


And I’d see Jamie shuffling cards in front of Jack, naked, both of them erect and cards covering them.

My hair is like a pink fog covering me from the world. I move my hands and raise myself, as it sticks closer to me, candy floss. I could’ve eaten it if I were high, but when you’re not the world is gloomy and reminds The Trial, useless.

I keep tracing it on my head, making curls out of my hair and once the door opens with the curls I wanted to gain with my pink hair, I switch sides, my legs still hanging out of the tub and I raise myself slightly, exposing myself and then back into the water.

My head sometimes rises from the bubbles, as if I were a dead monster on it’s waves and bubbles and I just keep looking.

I wonder if he would keep here or be left smoking in a hotel, but most likely he’ll fall asleep in the shrine to the White children and I just stare at him as he most likely doesn’t wonder why my nails aren’t dyed like his ex-wife’s.

Instead he just sits and looks at me, not saying anything and I wonder if it would have been an old movie we would have been smoking or if it were some sort of sexual advertisement where cigarettes are used as dildos.

And then I wonder how would his tongue feel like and I just go back under water and I wonder if he would go under me.

That is the problem, even if there might be something hidden under the box, none of us would open the lid.

We would just peek in to look at the lid and maybe trace fingers on it, both of us from different sides of the box and then maybe if I would lock eyes hard enough and pout in my head, maybe then he would kiss me.

Maybe the point is that you don’t mind after all.

Maybe that’s why I wait until he is close and I hold the edges of the bathtub myself, looking at the dark skies near me.

Maybe that’s why I pull him close and we make out for a while.

There is no dialogue for a while, besides tongues and thoughts and my hand under his shirt and my hair pulled up, his whole body collapsing into the water and the bubbles surrounding the towels on the floor and how I stick my tongue deeper and how the clothes are now his skin and if I could I would bite my way through it and scrap it all off with a spoon getting to the eatable bits.

And then I pull off the second skin and I see his children and his beloved wife and maybe even now they would be clapping as he just gets hold of me because the divorce is on the hold, did he divorce yet or is it just a decision, but it doesn’t matter.

I trust him, so I stick my hand lower, stroking, licking his neck, as he nuzzles my hair. And it goes through and he gets closer and I don’t want to speak as it feels like the water is gone and like we’ve pulled the plug down, so we both stand up, his jeans long gone and he is left in the boxers.

Jack hands me a towel.

I look at him.

We go outside in bathrobes and I hope not be a fucking Yoko and that he has truly broken up with Karen, but unlike a fucking kitchen we just go outside for a smoke.


This was requested by an anon on tumblr and then supported by an anon. Thank you both of you, as I guess I like a challenge and I do indeed enjoy writing fan fiction from while to while.

It was written in three breaks, the first nearly straight ending with Alison in the bathtub as I wanted to think about how would Jack join in, the thought of them smoking on a balcony already there and then another before the ending as I just relaxed and then wrote the last lines.

I had a struggle with the title, thinking how to call it as sometimes it so happens that I have the title before the story.

I had DNA by The Kills in my head and I just mixed the lyrics, thinking for a bit as I wanted to keep the Dance, Dance, Dance but if I left it it would scream to much Murakami to me, as I either enjoy or can't pick up Murakami. I guess my favorite work of his would be Sputnik Sweetheart which I read in a day.

Basically, I'm more free now and feel free to request as I enjoy I guess getting a task and I guess even later on I'll be able to at least do a short request once a week and don't be shy, I'll just be thrilled to do it and will even wait for more.

I hope you liked it.

The Killer Stripes

No comments:

Post a Comment