Ok! This is the Fan section! Which means, It belongs to you! If you have any fan fiction you've written and would like to see on my page send it to me at thesaltonsea@thematrix.zzn.com (no ZIP files please)
ALSO, if you have any SILVERCHAIR ARTWORK, i'd love to display it!
I myself draw, but i don't have a scanner. I am accepting Poetry too. Any way, again, my email is TheSaltonSea@thematrix.zzn.com So get writin!Oh man! i actually got an entry!! Aren't i something? This was written by Paint Pastel Shwuck
UNTITLED I
He sat on his couch, eyes glued to the television. He had been in that position for almost half the day now. Not even a normal human being could withstand 12 hours doing nothing but sitting there, basking under the soft glow of the tele... but then again, he felt as though all normality had left him years ago, back when they first entered this whole goddamn show business crap. Yes, he loved writing music and performing. But he hated media and all the tag-along crap that came with it. Was it even necessary, he often thought to himself. All he wanted to do was to make good and honest music.
In the course of time though, he learned that there was no escaping fame. There were good sides to it, yes, but there were more on the bad side. First and foremost, there's the media, the pesky journalist that had to write about him, that had to dissect his very being, analyzing him as if they knew him personally.
And there were the fans. Of course, without them, they wouldn't be as successful as they are right now. But too much of something is not at all healthy. He had dealt with obsessive and psychotic people that stalk his every move in the past 5 years of their career. And there were those 'haters' with a vengeance, who just pounded on him at the least expected time. He could recall a few times and remembered quite clearly at this, how he stood helplessly as other people were calling him names, shouting insults at his face and even at his family, or much worse, physically hurting him. All the rumors about him, though he knew were not true, somehow got to him, in one way or another. All these thoughts, these things that he despised the most, came back to him during the silence of his mind. These thoughts would eventually turn into whispers he could clearly hear in his mind. These whispers sometimes turned to screams loud enough for him to loose his sanity. He hangs on, barely though, but at least he's able to hold himself together.
At times, he would reassure himself that everything is all right. Every time someone asks him if he was fine, he'd simply solace a nod and a small grin. Sometimes that would keep them away but not necessarily believe what he was saying. It was just obvious in his composure and the dullness in his eyes that he was not in the mood of conversing with anyone.
He couldn't hide his pain because his eyes were so easy to read. His once sparkling blue eyes were now a set of deep empty pools. You surely would get lost in them if you tried to analyze him. He tried putting on this invisible mask just to repel people away. If they see that you're all right, eventually they'll go away. But as the months dragged by, it was becoming harder and harder for him to maintain that mask. He would see some of his friends once a week or so, and they would always question him if he was OK. The hell with it! He thought once. He wasn't going to put up with this anymore. He was tired of all the questions regarding himself. The only possible way out of this was to actually stop seeing people. And that was what he just did. He isolated himself from the world and lived in his house all by his lonesome self with his dog and dozens of videos to accompany him.
He turned his head toward the clock that hung on an empty white wall. It was the only thing that hung on its surface, making it very visible and centered. "1am..." he repeated in his mind. He stretched his feet, probably the only movement he had done in the past two hours or so. Sweep, who was lying down on the floor, turned her head up curiously, as if seeing him move was something so new to her.
He grinned at the dog. For some strange reason, seeing her somehow perked up his deteriorating soul. Just that moment, he felt his throat burning. He needed a drink badly. "you thirsty girl?" he asked Sweep, who looked upon him with its curious black eyes. Each word came out sounding dry and strained. He slowly stood up from his stagnant position and reeled his tired body to the kitchen. He felt his stomach churning but ignored it. His body has grown immune to hunger and it felt nothing but a quick sharp sting for him. He poured some tap to his dog's bowl and got himself his own glass. He opened the fridge. There was nothing in it except a pitcher of water and a carton of juice. He grabbed the pitcher and poured the liquid to his glass. He quickly drank and was so relieved as he felt the cold water smoothly go down his throat. He set the now empty glass on the counter, along with other dirty dishes. He kept reminding himself that he'd wash them one of these days but he never got to do it. He felt as if his stomach was full, though he knew it was just an illusion. He wobbled back to the living room and gave the place a long gaze. It looked so dull underneath the glow from the tele. It felt so cold, so empty, very much like his self. He slowly moved towards his room, hoping to get some sleep this time.
He slipped under the covers and pulled them safely up to his chin. Somehow, this gave him a sense of protection. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the shadows made by the branches outside his window. And everything was silent for about a minute or two, until a passing car would make this zooming sound or until the brushing sound of leaves could be heard. He closed his eyes, but sleep just wouldn't come to him. He felt a sharp sting in his stomach. It was just a slight sting at first but then developed to an unbearable pain.
He groped for the aching muscle and curled up to a ball. The pain was worsening with every second. He clutched his side, trying to make the pain go away. Tears stung his eyes and left a burning trail as they slid down his smooth cheeks. The agonizing pain was enough to make him go numb...and he wished he would just go numb, so that he won't have to feel this. He wished he would just go stun so he won't have to face the same thing tomorrow. The pain soon left him, but he could still feel the sharp sting and he knew that it will come back soon. He was able to sit up and with the back of his hand wiped the tears off his face. He stood up, and moved unsteadily to the door, and outside the darkened hall, with Sweep just behind his heel.
He fumbled for the wall and used it as some sort of a grip as not for him to stumble. He walked slowly, once in a while stopping in his track and grasping his side and biting his lower lip, as if the pain would go away when he does it. The supposedly 4-meter walk to the kitchen seemed like a death march of 4 miles. He finally reached the kitchen and flicked on the lights. He pulled open the refrigerator's door and got the water, which he poured into a glass. He drank it up. It relieved him for a while... for about a few seconds. But then, the pain quickly revved up inside of him. He was still holding the glass when he felt the pain and immediately dropped it to the ground. It shattered into millions of glistening pieces, covering the tiled kitchen floor. He stepped back up to the wall, his back against the smooth cold surface. And he sank down to the floor, uncontrollable tears falling from his eyes.
"Fuck!" he was able to whisper, to no one in particular, but the air that was witnessing his breakdown. "fuck...". He wrapped his arms around himself. The pain was still very evident and he thought he couldn't withstand any of it anymore. He looked up and saw the phone sitting atop the counter. He needed someone... anyone to be there and hold him and tell him that everything will be ok. He stared at the phone, quite dusty because he never actually uses it. He stood up again, never really caring if he would step on one of the sharp edges of the broken glass. He groped for the receiver and immediately dialed a number he had carved into his memory. He wasn't sure who's number was it... he was in such a pain that he couldn't even think anymore. He could hear the rings on the other end and waited for someone to answer.
Finally, on the sixth ring, he heard someone speak from the other end of the line. "H-Heath?" he half-whispered half-spoke. He tried to stop his sobs but couldn't.
"Daniel? Is that you?... Why? What happened? What's wrong?" Heath asked, with a worried tone in his voice.
"Heath?... could you--- come, please? Please?" Daniel was able to voice out, but barely. Because of his sobs, he couldn't quite speak clearly. He couldn't stand any longer and collapsed to the floor. The phone fell to the ground to, but he was still holding the receiver to his ear.
"DANIEL? ::shit:: DAN? You still there?" hollered Heath. Daniel wasn't able to answer though, just a mere sigh.
"I'm coming there ok? DAN?!?" He placed the receiver down. All daniel could hear from the other end was the steady busy tone.
"Heath, hurry...please." He whispered to himself. Everything was silent once again. The shattered pieces of glass set an array of fake sparkling jewels on the floor. He could now trace the shadows made by the branches outside. Everything looked serene, another medicated peaceful moment and the residues of every disturbance seemed to vanish along with the silence. But in his heart, he was trembling and he couldn't quiet down the storms raving inside him.
UNTITLED II She looked up at him, admiring his solemn glory. She felt rather stupid smiling there with all those chaos going on behind her. It wasn't her first time in a concert though, and she pretty much got the hang of things. It was normal in a gig for you to be kicked in the face, or stomped on, get a bruise or two; or probably break a limb. She watched him as he sung mystifying words into the mic, sending the whole audience into mass hysteria. His voice sent chills down her spine and his every word were slowly meandering in her mind. She was singing along with him in her thoughts and with all those years of listening to their songs, she pretty much got each and every word perfectly.
She watched him as he pulled away from his mic, and turning his full attention to his guitar, started giving all his best to do the riffs. "Beautiful, just beautiful..." she thought, as she listened intensely to every chord. And once again, his voice could be heard. "Emotion sickness..." he started. She kept her gaze locked at his every move, like as if it meant her whole life to be looking at him and imagined that he was singing his soul out just for her. If only the crowd would just go away, then he'll be singing only for her. Every word was again sinking down to the very depth of her heart. She felt a minor ache, bringing back hateful memories.
His words, though enchanting, brought her back to her past... brought her back to the time wherein she was at the very brink of being sucked by a bottomless black hole, and no one was there to reach out and save her. She remembered facing her deteriorating body in the mirror. She saw how much weight she'd lost, how her bones were visibly protruding, her sunken cheeks, her thinning auburn hair, and her green eyes that stared blankly back at her... she looked a little less like a soulless being. All these for the sake of being accepted, for the sake of what they so call 'society'. But was this the true society, the society that would judge you by the cover, judge you by every action that you make, every word that you speak? That would scorn you if you go a step forward and laugh at you if you're a step behind? That would stereotypically form you into what they want you to be, even if not in your heart's consent? She had already hit her lowest note, and was recovering. She had learned how to make her own self didn't care what others would think. She was willing to put up with all the shit that will eventually come to her, just so to save herself from her own hands and from society as well. And the person she so admired, the very person she was looking straight at, helped her... in one way or another, their music saved her.
Her trail of thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream. She turned toward the person behind her. A skinny, brunette-haired girl, about her age, stood behind her flashing a fake smile. Along with her was another girl, her long blonde hair tied up to a ponytail, her gleaming eyes showed shallowness, and her smile was as fake as the other girl she was with. She rolled her eyes at them and continued staring at the stage. These were the people, easily drawn by society. Perhaps their brains were molded perfectly into what the world wanted them to be… but she would never be like that, at least not anymore and not ever again.
The song ended, and he smiled at the audience. It wasn't entirely a smile even, some sort of a relief that the show had finally ended. He mumbled a few words to the mic and set out to the backstage, followed by his band mates. She sighed and hastily pulled herself back to reality. She waited for the crowd to thin before making her way out. It was over. She'd see his face again though, maybe on TV or the newspapers... but she'd never know him personally. Maybe there was this boundary set before them that will always keep her away from him. Maybe she'd meet him in her lifetime and actually talk to him, but that too was far from happening. She knew that he hadn't even noticed her. But if she could just meet him, only for a second or two, she knew what she was wanted to say... she'd thank him endlessly for saving her. But that was aiming too high. She took one last glance at the empty stage, and allowed herself to be pushed along with the crowd towards the exit.
------------------------------ (change point of view) He sunk low in a comfy chair in the dressing room, watching the people coming in and out. He was greeted by a few, but there was just this certain aura that surrounded him that told everyone to keep away. He held a half-filled water container in one hand.
The gig was great... one of their best actually and was quite contented with his performance. He was still breathing deeply and his heart was still racing. He'd eventually calm down, but he kept remembering her face. She stood right in front of the stage, smiling a beautiful smile at him. He tried his best not to be distracted, but she was just beautiful. Her auburn hair, fair skin, sparkling eyes, and that wonderful smile. He really didn't know why, but amidst all those people, she just stood out from the rest of them. He stared helplessly at the wall, trying to picture her face in his head.
"Ey Dan." Called Ben as he entered the room. He was grinning as usual. He slumped down to the chair just beside Daniel and immediately noticed his dreamy gaze. "You... uh... thinking of someone?" he asked rather intrusively.
"Yeah-- uh... no one..." Daniel muttered. He knew quite well that he'd probably never see her again. And he didn't really deserve a person like her. He was just too fucked up for her, as they would put it. And was she even thinking about her at this very moment. Did she even feel anything for him... probably nothing... terribly nothing.
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Thanx Myka!