Friday, 2 October 2015


What if the inspiration actually does go away?
'How are you going to pay your bills then?' My sister would ask me, her fingers threading through the dog’s ears and I just looked at her, entirely confused and not knowing the answer myself, lighting a cigarette in the small backyard which still had several statues scattered as if the summer was here forever when the winter hours were slowly starting to hit us and the only solution for depression was simply force.

Force to get out of bed.
Force to cook or even order with the phone in the hand, nothing elegant at all with companies not caring about design any longer and the only thing you could fiddle with was some apps as they would put you on hold as you’d tell your order. 

I observed her, not knowing what to say because I hadn’t tamed down anything and it’s been a good while since I haven’t done anything at all. All I had been doing is wailing and discovering that breaking dishes was more effective sounding to Rachel than stretching my arms and trailing the same patterns on my hands. 

My skin felt as if it were the only canvas I had left at all with all the cigarette burns trailing in an elegant staircase with the slashes being the prince’s footsteps in search of Cinderella. And if you’d look close enough, just like any house it would contain a ghost, a ghost of an old lover 

A ghost of an old lover I’d be able to see which had committed suicide long ago, telling me that I would never be the one to leave and that would be okay. Such things are sappy because ghosts are always either the ones who had too much love in their time or had none at all and they are the ones who pick cigarette ashes up and build up their bodies. 

And on something like the first of October is when I knew that being drunk was okay, because I had no inspiration at all and then being drunk wouldn’t change a thing, it is when I saw him on the corner of my eye, I saw him in two locations at once, wandering on the street, lost, confused why had I ended up where I was and stroking my temple.

Because they say you’re either full of love or with none at all. 


It's been... ages since I've written any Manics fanfiction to be honest and I've missed that greatly. This is rather short though and I was stuck thinking what do I even want to write to be very honest. I just had the desire to write some Richey and Nicky. And I've had this ridiuclous fear of writing which was pushing me away from doing it and that's when the idea came to me, because you're supposed to write about what you know and now I know how it's like to be stuck with writing block due to something ridiculous.

Also I've been doing Drawlloween, which is just some themed drawings once a day but I figured that I kind of want that for the story too since I've been stuck and it dawned on me that I haven't seen or can't recall any Richey/Nicky ghost stories really and that's when it all came together to be very honest. 

Also it's not very nice to know that I can't advertise Manics stories with pictures due to certain... people xD so yeah. 

But either way, I just enjoy ghosts and in general spooky stuff so that's why it's all here and I hope you enjoyed this short story of Richey thinking of Nicky's ghost.

Also at this point I'm thinking of a title.

Thank you



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