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I don't have much of an explanation for this one. It was begun during a time in my life where everything was made of wild color and inspiration was in all things. I felt I was channeling Stephen King, and thought I had captured his mysterious style to the nuance.

It sucks.

I don't know where the plot is supposed to be. I don't know where this is really going. All I knew was that I wanted to make a story out of my reality, turn the ordinary into the fantastical. I wanted my weird dreams to mean something. I wanted the daily coincidences to be messages from the ether. I don't know what the hell I wanted.

If I ever pick this story up again, I will be rewriting it and omitting all the incessant unnecessary description. It makes me roll my eyes at myself.

Ah, my first taste of independence. How I miss it. I felt so grown-up then. I felt so... free.

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The music sounded blurred from the other side of the sickly yellow-orange door across the hall. The music was familiar, and yet it chilled her to hear it so… in muffled… no, blurred tones. Blurred was the word that seemed to fit, but that may have just been photoshop washing over into her other senses. She’d been dickering about with it all day. She could see adjustment layers when she looked away from the monitor, and imagined making the green light greener using curves- earlier when she’d broke for lunch.

The music, though.. it was blurred.

The other side…
The “realm adjacent” that revisited her dreams, the world she had only been able to glimpse for a very short while…
And she’d not wanted to stay after dark…

The similarities…. It almost made her want to cry from… what? Fright? Confusion? 
A helplessness of some kind…
Cemetery where I marry the sea…
It’s from reading too much of the Steve, she thought.
But… then, how could something so… so EXACTLY like her darkened dreams only come to her attention a month after she’d had them? She’d even written it down, hadn’t she? Not all of it, she couldn’t put all of that into words just yet, but the first segment, at least…
Then the sketch she’d ended up making a print of, framing it and giving it as a Christmas present to her beau’s mother… that was from later on…

The wrinkle lines in her forehead smoothed once the song finished…. But she yearned after the words to it. She paused the audio book she had been listening to with one ear (that’s how she always wore her big, bulky headphones- one ear on and one ear off) and quickly googled what she was looking for- distantly annoyed she couldn’t find that snippet of story from earlier.
If only I could share this revelation with the King himself… I doubt he’d believe me….
Other side- RHCP lyrics. Search.