Gone
1/1
A heavy sigh pierced the stillness of the evening. Marilyn stared off into the distance, running anxious hands through his hair, while he watched the sun set behind the trees.
"I never should have let you go."
A bitter laugh emanated from the singer as he pondered the past. "That... that was my first mistake. But I guess I made a lot of those, huh?"
He brushed his hair back from his face once again. As a breeze ruffled the leaves of the leaves of the trees behind him, he let his mind wander. Silence seemed to penetrate every crack and crevice of anything within the distance of Marilyn's comprehension. That's the way things seemed to go lately; it wasn't like the old days, when there was always someone screaming or being loud. The seemingly-perpetual party had long since ended. Many of the band members had parted ways or had 'grown up'. Even Marilyn himself was a victim of the the inevitable maturation that came with time.
"I wish I would have tried to keep you around. You mean so fucking much to me; I just wish I would have given it that last little effort. Just one more time to prove to you that I cared - that I still care. More than you ever knew." He looked at the bottle of alcohol that he had brought with him and suddenly felt ashamed that he had intended to get drunk. His words would be meaningless if he did so. As he tugged some grass out from the dirt, he continued. "Maybe I just didn't realize how much I needed you. But I know that now."
The singer fiddled with a button on his sleeve. His mind was wandering off on thousands of different tangents, none of which he felt were worthy enough to pursue into speech. He wet his lips.
"I don't know why I let you walk away. Pride, probably. It tore me up inside, it shook my whole goddamn world... and I ignored it. I thought you would come back. But now I think that you were probably waiting for me to show that I cared." Marilyn's vision blurred and his voice cracked. He cursed himself for his weakness, but he was past the point of worrying too much about that. He couldn't be more of a fool than he had already made himself appear.
"I did care. I still do. I wish I could show you that somehow... that I could go back in time and fix things back then. When it first started to turn to shit. Before you decided to do... this," Marilyn murmured. He rubbed his face, shrouded behind a pair of dark sunglasses. "But wishing's not going to help anything. I fucked up. And I'm sorry."
His voice, upon the last two words, because so rife with emotion that he almost failed to choke them out. His fingers gripped some of the freshly-turned earth below him as he sought to find his emotional bearings.
The sun had nearly disappeared behind the trees when he felt composed enough to function. He dragged himself up from the floor carefully but gracelessly, paying extra attention to the sacred ground below him. Marilyn set the bottle of alcohol down next to the flowers he had placed earlier and smiled slightly to himself, thinking that it was the perfect gift.
"I'll be back soon," he promised. He dared not raise his voice; it seemed almost obscene in such a peaceful place.
Marilyn allowed his hand to caress the slab of stone in front of him, his index finger getting caught in the droop of a 'J'. He hesitated there for a moment; he had never been forced to be in a position such as the one he was facing then. A black hole seemed to have grown roots in his chest with a refusal to budge, and it made anything but hollowly staring unfathomable.
And yet, his eyes flickered away with the arrival of fresh tears.
"Goodbye, Jeordie... Twiggy."
Marilyn brushed the dirt from his pants as yet another hefty sigh left his his chest. He couldn't help but stare at the stone before him, his mind blotting out the name that he didn't want to see, but taunting him just enough by allowing to see most of it. He would love, more than anything in the world, to curl up in the dirt and waste away. Alas, he had a wife, a band, and thousands of fans who were waiting for him to return to reality. He had an obligation to return. At least for now, the voice in the back of his mind was whispering.
In Loving Memory
June 20, 1971 - February 14, 2006
With one last look at the grave of Jeordie White, Marilyn turned to exit the cemetery gates.
"I never should have let you go."
A bitter laugh emanated from the singer as he pondered the past. "That... that was my first mistake. But I guess I made a lot of those, huh?"
He brushed his hair back from his face once again. As a breeze ruffled the leaves of the leaves of the trees behind him, he let his mind wander. Silence seemed to penetrate every crack and crevice of anything within the distance of Marilyn's comprehension. That's the way things seemed to go lately; it wasn't like the old days, when there was always someone screaming or being loud. The seemingly-perpetual party had long since ended. Many of the band members had parted ways or had 'grown up'. Even Marilyn himself was a victim of the the inevitable maturation that came with time.
"I wish I would have tried to keep you around. You mean so fucking much to me; I just wish I would have given it that last little effort. Just one more time to prove to you that I cared - that I still care. More than you ever knew." He looked at the bottle of alcohol that he had brought with him and suddenly felt ashamed that he had intended to get drunk. His words would be meaningless if he did so. As he tugged some grass out from the dirt, he continued. "Maybe I just didn't realize how much I needed you. But I know that now."
The singer fiddled with a button on his sleeve. His mind was wandering off on thousands of different tangents, none of which he felt were worthy enough to pursue into speech. He wet his lips.
"I don't know why I let you walk away. Pride, probably. It tore me up inside, it shook my whole goddamn world... and I ignored it. I thought you would come back. But now I think that you were probably waiting for me to show that I cared." Marilyn's vision blurred and his voice cracked. He cursed himself for his weakness, but he was past the point of worrying too much about that. He couldn't be more of a fool than he had already made himself appear.
"I did care. I still do. I wish I could show you that somehow... that I could go back in time and fix things back then. When it first started to turn to shit. Before you decided to do... this," Marilyn murmured. He rubbed his face, shrouded behind a pair of dark sunglasses. "But wishing's not going to help anything. I fucked up. And I'm sorry."
His voice, upon the last two words, because so rife with emotion that he almost failed to choke them out. His fingers gripped some of the freshly-turned earth below him as he sought to find his emotional bearings.
The sun had nearly disappeared behind the trees when he felt composed enough to function. He dragged himself up from the floor carefully but gracelessly, paying extra attention to the sacred ground below him. Marilyn set the bottle of alcohol down next to the flowers he had placed earlier and smiled slightly to himself, thinking that it was the perfect gift.
"I'll be back soon," he promised. He dared not raise his voice; it seemed almost obscene in such a peaceful place.
Marilyn allowed his hand to caress the slab of stone in front of him, his index finger getting caught in the droop of a 'J'. He hesitated there for a moment; he had never been forced to be in a position such as the one he was facing then. A black hole seemed to have grown roots in his chest with a refusal to budge, and it made anything but hollowly staring unfathomable.
And yet, his eyes flickered away with the arrival of fresh tears.
"Goodbye, Jeordie... Twiggy."
Marilyn brushed the dirt from his pants as yet another hefty sigh left his his chest. He couldn't help but stare at the stone before him, his mind blotting out the name that he didn't want to see, but taunting him just enough by allowing to see most of it. He would love, more than anything in the world, to curl up in the dirt and waste away. Alas, he had a wife, a band, and thousands of fans who were waiting for him to return to reality. He had an obligation to return. At least for now, the voice in the back of his mind was whispering.
In Loving Memory
June 20, 1971 - February 14, 2006
With one last look at the grave of Jeordie White, Marilyn turned to exit the cemetery gates.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know the picture is of Edgar Allan Poe's grave, but it best fit the description of Twiggy's.Hope you enjoyed. (: