By Kellyanne Lynch
15 June 2001, 1:55
AM - 25 September 2001, 11:39 PM
Trivia: The original name of this story
was actually "Twismented". Other names that I considered were "When It's Over",
"Parallel Universe", "Planet Of The Apes", "Californication", "Away &
Anywhere", "Otherside", and "Aquarius". I thought of the last three today
(9/25), as well as the title I'm using, which is a quote from one of the
extended versions of the song "Long Day" by matchbox twenty.
Disclaimer:
This story is a product of my twismented imagination, i.e. it isn't based on a
crumb of reality. It is for entertainment purposes. The Red Hot Chili Peppers,
Anthony Kiedis, John Frusciante, Michael "Flea" Balzary, and Chad Smith are all
copyrighted... wait, I don't think the members of the band are actually
copyrighted, but you know what I mean. They belong to themselves. Any other
famous entities and/or individuals mentioned in this fanfic are also copyrighted
and/or own themselves. I do not know any of them. I have never even seen any of
them in real life, except for Dave Navarro. I do not do any of their laundries
nor mow their lawns. I am a fan writing fanFICTION. If any side characters seem
familiar though are not somebody famous, it's purely coincidental. I just made
up those guys.
Summary: Anthony becomes trapped in a cosmic game and
gains an appreciation for bubble-gum pop.
Rating: PG-13
* Please
email dearjoan@mikeypower.com with questions, comments, theories,
complaints, words of wisdom, or tips on how to meet the Chili Peppers
(hee!)
***** PEPPER POWER!!!
*****
--------------------------------------------------------
1:
"When It's Over..."
Flames crackled and danced, consuming the branches
and twigs underfoot. The flares leapt into the speckled night sky, scattering
glowing embers in its wake. In the distance, an owl hoo-hooed. And, by the fire,
a figure glanced over his shoulder. The bird hushed, and crickets
chirped.
Anthony Kiedis turned back to the fire. He shifted on the log
where he sat. The back of his bare legs brushed against the bark. He leaned
over, shocks of his blond streaked brown hair dangling perpendicular to the
ground. Rotating his legs, Anthony found thin white lines running parallel
across his calves. He scowled.
He grabbed a stick from the ground and dug
it into the dirt, his dark eyes studying his work. Dust scattered around the
indentation, some smudging the arches of his gray hiking boots. He threw the
stick into the surrounding woods and sighed.
Anthony raised his head.
Frosty air swept across his neck, and he shivered. He pulled the hood of his
gray sweatshirt over his head and tucked his hands inside the front pocket. His
knuckles brushed across the cottony lining as he rubbed his hands together.
He glanced to his right, where John Frusciante sat on the ground, his
legs splayed before him in a forty-five degree angle. He cradled an acoustic
guitar in his hands, nestled it on his right knee. His left hand clutched the
guitar's neck, his right one flattened across its body. John's open flannel
shirt rippled in the frigid night winds, and his dark shaggy hair wafted with
it. Goosebumps speckled his flesh, beneath a thin layer of dark brown body hair.
Fixating his sights on the woodpile beneath the flames, John watched as the fire
greedily consumed its life force. Anthony stared at his friend's eyes before
shifting his attention to the man across the way.
Cross armed and
lounging on a log, Chad Smith heaved a sigh. His fingernails picked at the hem
of his black button up's shirt tail. Slate toned eyes narrowed and eyebrows
furrowed, he glared at the hemline. His index finger and thumb closed around a
loose piece of thread and pulled. A stitch unraveled, the thread catching on
itself before more could come undone. Chad picked at it. It caved, and a second
stitch slipped loose. While working at another stitch, Chad dropped the shirt
tail with a huff. He slipped his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on his
knees. He closed his eyes.
Anthony turned to his left, his eyes falling
into baby blues. Flea raised his eyebrows at his friend and scratched his
flannelled chest. Anthony gazed deep into Flea's eyes as his friend stared back.
He could not read his friend's thoughts. He couldn't read his thoughts. But,
while looking into Flea's eyes, Anthony's heart stung, and sadness wracked his
soul. He felt defeated.
"So what are we going to do now?" Chad's voice
broke the midnight air. Flea jumped in his seat on a person-sized log, and he
and Anthony broke eye contact to glance at Chad.
"We can't do anything
yet," Anthony spoke, his tongue sticking to his palate with every syllable.
"They haven't made their final decision."
"Their final..." Chad thrust
his foot into the dirt. Particles flew into the fire and hissed. Dust clouded at
his feet. He shook his head. "I'm sick of all this sh**! I'd rather they just
drop us and get it over with!"
"They're not necessarily dropping us from
the label," Anthony replied, biting his lower lip. "Just because our new album's
not selling..."
"We've been a band for almost twenty years," Flea's
hoarse voice murmured with a sigh. "To them, and to a lot of people now, we're
just a group of old men." Gazing at Anthony with watery eyes, he nodded.
"They're dropping us from the label."
Anthony sighed. He gazed into the
sky, at the starts that had greeted him night after night, since he was a
newborn. They had seen him grow, had seen him through every turn in his life.
They saw him develop into the success that he was today...
Or, rather,
yesterday. Now, Anthony guessed with a sigh, they would see him fade into
obscurity.
"Let's just go to bed," Chad huffed. He pulled a bucket of
water from behind his back and dumped into over the fire. The flames crackled,
sizzled, and hissed as they perished. Chad separated the soaking charcoaled
branches with a stick, then retreated to his sleeping bag.
Anthony
slipped into his sleeping bag. Grabbing his backpack, he dragged it toward
himself and opened it. He rummaged through its contents until his fingers
wrapped around a metal coil. He drew the journal from his bag. He stared at the
dark blue cover, and ran his fingers down the coil, until he opened it to a
blank page. And took a pen to it.
<i>How can you love
something
that's failed
Something that's unraveled
a mystery
unveiled</i>
A salty drop of water slid down the page, dampening
and blurring the words. Anthony swiped his fingertips across his cheekbones and
added:
<i>Fallen star
Fallen star
Did you get to touch the
sky?
Did planets revolve around your face
Did you ever really
fly?
Where are you now?
Does anybody care?
Does anybody love a fallen
star?</i>
He slammed the journal shut, thrust it into his bag, and
zipped it inside. Then laid back. Staring up at the stars, he whispered, "I wish
they didn't see us the way they do. I wish they respected us." He turned on his
side and pulled the sleeping bag up over his head.
The stars twinkled
over him, one outshining the rest. It intensified in brightness and grew. In the
blink of an eye, it blew up twice the size of the moon. Then waned. Light as
lightening flashed across the sky.
Anthony awoke in a canopy bed.