...
LOL Bowie.
A few things have been happening.
One, they have been thinking of building a mall in Oak Grove. I think it may be fun, but, in a way, not good. Taxes are going to get raised and it's going to attract people. Instead of 7,000 people living here, over 12,000 are going to come out here. There's going to be a lot of cars, people, trash, noise, and it won't be the nice little quiet place I've known for the past 11 years. I see a business boom, but it's going to be hell for the people who are used to having a nice,quiet place.
And oh snap, Clarksville, TN is trying to claim Oak Grove. And Hopkinsville wants, KY is trying to keep us. When will the wars end?
Also, the Stones have received a lot of great treatment. New Exile release, 10 new tracks, the documentary Stones in Exile, a 50 paged book with pictures, magazine covers, lots of things. It's pretty cool and I really would like to buy one, but I do have money to get out and buy some magazines, but I didn't bring any.
Also, I should be able to finish some stories. I'm going to be finishing up some things and getting them up and running. I also have a suspicion that someone is watching this and they're reaping in my stories. Oh ell, at least they're actually considering reading them. I feel the pain that there's not a lot of Stones slash out there. Still, I'm baffled at why the Beatles have a lot when there isn't much to go off of, where as the Stones have it so out there. Still, perhaps that will never become answered.
If the internet existed in '64 - '81, then this internet would be filled to the brim with Stones stuff. So... but it feels much more rewarding when I find some Stones fiction. I feel so relieved when I do see it and it leaves a much better want from it. With others, not really.
Here's a story:
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Title: Within The Mirror
Pairing: Implied Noelle/Turner
Disclaimer: I don't own anything about the movie, just that I'm borrowing them.
The mirror.
It was empty and bare. Yet, it wasn’t.
He sat in front of the mirror, starring into it. Akin to ruefully. The mirror gazed back. The surface of reflective glass showed him what he saw. But somehow it was empty.
Turner watched his reflection. Blue eyes looked at the surface, gazing in a blank manor. He moved and then the image moved. He stared at the boy who gazed back. Large lips, dark brown, almost black hair, black body stocking, everything. He felt off. Something was gone and he didn’t know.
“It’s because you’ve lost it, dear old boy.” The mirror image spoke.
Indeed. It did look that way, didn’t it? That beautiful, little thing. It had faded away. Turner just didn’t know how.
“Like you said, ‘Time for a change, eh?’” the mirror taunted.
Eyes were narrowed. This image was something else. It wasn’t that boy of many years ago; that confident boy. Slick back hair, those exuberant smiles he had. All of it. Gone in just a quick flick of the wrist. It was something he dwelled in.
Yet he couldn’t figure out why. He still stared at this mirror, still his favorite one. Perhaps he should get a new one. This is the one that stole it away. His true self, the one with beautiful confidence. Now he was nothing more than a shell. A little lost boy who just a mere shell of his former glory. He was nothing.
Cerulean eyes narrowed at this image. The mirror leered at him, knowing this answer. But he couldn’t know this. How would he? This is something that baffled his mind. He tried so hard to get into that little dark place that his mind could effortlessly reach into. It was so easily done, now, he might as well come up for a cure for poverty in third world countries.
He closed in on the image as he moved forewords. He watched his mirror self’s hair pour over thin shoulders. He sneered at the image while it smirked back at him.
“You’re pretty confident. Care to share why, you comical little ********?” Turner says lightly, a thin disdain soaking into his voice.
The mirror laughed at him. It just let it’s head fall back and let the laughter slide through its vocals. Turner’s eyes narrowed as he watched. His fists clenched.
“You don’t get it, do you?” it says airily.
“What am I supposed to be getting? Enlighten me.”
“It’s you. You’re fault.”
A stupor of confusion washes over delicate features.
“What?”
“It’s you. You’re the one who is a laughing stock. Just look at yourself. ******** pitiful mess you’ve become. You were the most powerful thing, now look at you. Just a mere little child who can’t get it together. You don’t deserve it. Like those foolish men who wanted into the garden.”
Just as he watched, the image slowly left. Evaporating into nothing.
Turner stared. It soon replaced by what he saw: just himself gazing scathingly at himself. His fist soon rose. It swiftly moved before he could even try to stop it.
Crash.
His fist connected with the clear surface. He watched as the reflection splintered. Yet, it still gazed at him, mockingly.
The mirror splintered into millions. Little gleaming shards fall around his hand like a winter wonderland. The shards just dangle around him. Again, he is painfully aware of the past and still can’t figure it out. Perhaps Turner should just drown his misery in a bottle of scotch. A fine gentleman such as himself would surely whisk away the problems that plagued Turner’s mind.
No. It would just get him depressingly drunk. That B12 vitamin that Pherber had shot didn’t sound all that bad. At least that demon could calm him down. But he wouldn’t consider it.
Perhaps Noelle could do something for him. Little musician could work wonder on his instrument, not to mention how magical those fingers could be used to play a much more human instrument. They did wonders for him frustrated mind, and much more than just physically relieve him.
--
Anybody remember Noelle from "Performance"?
Current music is "Backstreet Girl" by The Rolling Stones.
