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By Kellyanne Lynch 1/15/02, 9:05 PM - 1/16/02, 1:21 AM Disclaimer: I am a member of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. In fact, I am Flea. Do you believe what I’m saying? Neither do I. You all should know by now that I do not know the Chili Peppers, and that I make up all my stories. Some things in the fic are true, but just enough to make it sound remotely plausible. Most of it is a result of thinking about other fanfics while I was driving, mainly Lithium Polly’s story "Tapping". This fic is for entertainment purposes only, meaning yes, if you want, you can read it at family functions. Just don’t sell copies of this thing. This is a nonprofit piece. Summary: Someone, or something, is trying to reach Flea while he and the other Chili Peppers are working on One Hot Minute Note: For this fanfic, I drew HEAVILY upon the Pink Floyd album Wish You Were Here. Three songs end up being quoted in here. If you are not familiar with Pink Floyd, I HIGHLY suggest checking them out, especially Wish You Were Here, The Wall, and (my original favourite) Dark Side Of The Moon. Something INCREDIBLY fascinating goes along with each album. For The Wall, there’s actually a movie out there that you can rent that is AMAZING! I just saw it for the first time all the way through a couple days ago. For Dark Side Of The Moon, there’s a laser light show that they have at IMAX theatres sometimes. At least they did in Tampa, Florida, when I was living there. Also, it lines up with The Wizard Of OZ. I won’t go into that whole thing here; if you’re curious about it though, email me. For Wish You Were Here... this is something that I just like to do. Wait until you get REALLY tired and, better yet, also in an elated mood. Then shut off the lights, lie in bed, and listen to it on your discman. Seriously feels like you’re floating! Dedication: I want to dedicate this fic to Lithium Polly, even if she does hate me, because she inspired it. If she hadn’t posted "Tapping", I might still be in a writer’s slump. Thanks! Rating: PG * Please e-mail dearjoan@mikeypower.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom. Peace, Love, and Chili Peppers! -------------------------- 1: Breeze In the dead of the night, there is no wind. And the earth would lay still and flat, if not for the voices and spirits that come to life. As darkness descends over the land, I sit on a bar stool, clutching my bass. Anthony’s midsentence, and I turn away. Someone is calling me from outside. My sights drift to the window, to the open field and wood beyond. A breeze floats through the trees, rustling shaded leaves, running its fingers through the blades of grass. It drifts through the open window and dances across my cheek. And I shiver. "Flea!" a whisper serenades my ear, soft and pleading. I shake my head, and raise my water glass to my mouth. The ice within its transparent cell rattles as I press it against my lips and knock back several gulps. "Flea!" Swallowing hard, I lower the glass and set it on the walnut table beside me. My left foot’s jiggling against the leg of my stool, thumping out a natural beat. "FLEA!" a new voice, this one from within the room. I turn, and my eyes meet a dark and concerned pair. "Hey," Anthony adds, licking his lips. "You okay, man?" Glancing about the room, I observe two more sets of eyes that are fixed on me. One belongs to Dave, who’s cradling his blue Ibanez in his arms. Shocks of his jet hair cut through his sights. The other whom I find watching me is Chad, slouched behind his drum set. He’s chewing on something. From the wrapper he’s got in his fingers, I’d say it’s a Milky Way or something. From my left, I feel another set of eyes upon me. But when I turn, I only see the window. And the darkness beyond. Another breeze, and I tremble. I know better than to think it the wind. Chad flicks his wrapper to the floor and takes up his drumsticks. "We ready to give ‘Aeroplane’ another go?" Dave’s sights glide from me to the tuning knobs on his guitar. Nodding, he mumbles, "Well, I’m ready!" Anthony and Chad are still watching me, like they think I’m about to jump out of my seat and do a little dance. Instead, I turn again to the window. If I told the others, they wouldn’t understand. Furrowing my brow and heaving a sigh, I take in that reality. Really, there’s only been one other who would know what the hell I’m talking about. John. I remember back when we were recording Bloodsugarsexmagik in that 40’s style mansion. Myths or legends or rumors, or whatever you want to call them, surrounded that house. Of the Beatles first dropping LSD there. Of Hendrix’s sexcapades. But the most interesting to me, and especially to John, had to do with its ghosts. Not talk of the place being haunted. But of the reality that spirits readily spoke to you within its walls. One night, I remember John clamouring down the stairs. Anthony, Chad, and I were all sitting around the dining room table, and we stared at each other when we heard John making such a racket. Our attention shifted to the boy when he skid around the corner. He slipped on the hardwood floor and stumbled to his knees, at Anthony’s feet. "Guys!" he exclaimed, and his eyes were so wide that the whites overpowered the brown. Tiny black pupils frantically scanned our faces. "There are ghosts here!" My heart skipped a beat, and I stiffened in my chair. "Uh...," Anthony’s jaw went slack. "Ghosts? Where did you see them, John?" John’s head moved from side to side. "I didn’t... I didn’t see them, but I felt that they were there!" Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Chad shifting in his chair. He leaned toward Anthony, close to the singer’s ear. I watched as his lips moved and could hear his breath hissing words. Only two could I make out, but they said it all. "Bad trip!" One side of Anthony’s lips curved upward as Chad spoke. As the other sat upright, he nodded. "Okay, John." John’s mouth fell open, his lower lip quivering. He turned his head to me. Those large brown eyes pleaded with me. But he took his seat nonetheless. Didn’t say a word straight through dinner, just slouched at the table and watched us eat. Watched us talking and laughing and flinging food at each other. His eyes steadily lost its flare. As I was clearing the table, just after Anthony and Chad had left, I felt a breath tickle my neck. I turned, and John was right there behind me, his nose only an inch away from mine. That urgency had returned to his eyes, sending my heart racing. A plate dropped from my fingers and shattered at my feet. "There are ghosts here!" he repeated. Wildly, I nodded and stared back at him. "I know! I know! I know!" Finally, someone else who could hear and could feel the spirits acting around us! So excited to get to share this with somebody at last! And for it to be John... that boy never ceases to amaze me. His talents, his curiousity, his thirst for living and experiencing all had me enraptured. But I had to contain myself, had to tell him what he needed to know. What I had sadly come to realize over the years. "But only we can hear them!" And, now with John not here, it is once again only I who am receptive to these bodiless beings. "Flea!" the breeze whistles in my ear. I feel it against my cheek. Closing my eyes, I will it to speak further, to convey its message. And as I sit rigidly on the stool, I feel it enclose me in its embrace. There’s something all too familiar about it... "FLEA!" Again, Anthony breaks in. Then glances over his shoulder as Chad heaves a sigh and clacks drumsticks onto a table. He turns back to me. "Wanna call it a night?" "I think we’d better," Dave replies, wrapping an arm around the neck of his guitar and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Don’t think I can stay up any later." I nod, and so does Anthony. He gets up and starts collecting up his sheet music. Chad and Dave file out of the room, Anthony at their heels. I am trailing far behind. When he reaches the door, Anthony stops. He turns, and grimaces at me. "You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet." "Have I." I reply, reaching for the switch plate past Anthony’s shoulder. I shut off the lights. "You okay?" His brows are raised to me. Slowly, I nod, and saunter into the hallway, with Anthony following closely behind. "What’s going on?" he asks, and I sigh. I know what happened when John tried to discuss something like this with him. Beyond the material - touch and taste and see and hear and feel world - Anthony is blind. He is street-wise, and he knows more about the carnal realm than any other person I know. But, when it comes to what’s beyond... frankly, Anthony is an idiot. So I tell him, "I just have a lot of stuff on my mind," hoping that he’ll be satisfied. He’s not. "Like what? Feel like talking about it?" "Not really." And that’s the end of it. Anthony knows not to pry. We go off to our separate rooms, mumble "goodnight" to one another, and shut ourselves away in private cells. My back leans into the door until I hear it click shut behind me. My fingers go to the knob, and I push in the locking mechanism. And release a sigh. With one swift, downward movement, I kill the lights. Then stumble through the darkness, to my bed. First, INTO my bed, where I slam my knee into the unforgiving metal frame. Curse to myself, hop around a bit, then flop onto the mattress. It bounces a bit beneath me before settling. And, when it does, the room plunges into silence. Complete silence. My gaze falls to the window, where I look out upon the land. Looking for some life. Not a breath. Not a breeze. I lay still in bed, waiting. My spirit is willing. But my flesh is weak. I’m out cold before anything speaks. |