Testing my new found abilities.....i hope!
Title:Puppetry
Fandom: Zikki
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing them for awhile, I don't own them I swear!
Summary:when fantasy is more real than life itself......
Sometimes he wonders how he got here, because he can close his eyes and swear that he's in his room, the clickity clack of the windchimes his mom loves so much playing the soundtrack of his youth the smell of baking and freshly mown grass and the sounds of Efron it's game time echoing through his head. Then he opens his eyes and its lights and flashes and the smell of smog and horns and Hollywood you're needed on set. And he wonders if its possible to be surrounded by so many people and yet feel so utterly alone.
He finds it funny that from the outside looking in it seems that everyone thinks that the time spent on set. On stage. Infront of the camera is when its fake, when it's work, make believe because to him thats when its real. When he drops his guard and can be all he wants to be all he imagined he'd be and then the cameras stop rolling and the acting starts and its all fake smiles, nice words and choreographed moves, when he's the puppet, his strings being pulled every step he takes and he wonders how long before they break and he goes stumbling down.
Its dark and cool and soso silent and then the door opens and its heat and bright and screams so loud that it fills every space inside his head and he wishes he could fold inside himself so small but instead he steps out all confidence and poise and he wonders if anyone notices {if the closeups will show} the emptiness he feels behind the smiles.
He doesn't know how long she's been watching but by the time he feels that tingle down his spine and turns to find her she's already next to him all assesing eyes and pursed lips but then her hand slips into his and her smile isn't only mouth its eyes and he feels the warmth and starts to breathe and lets himself unfold the tiniest bit, and wonders briefly if these closeups will show anything different.
They don't speak where the world can watch them, where the cameras have eyes and the microphones ears, but instead dance their unmerry dance, strings pulled as taunt as can be, and he thinks to a time so far away of song and dance and a stage of free and a character that was more him then here and whispers his wants and fears in circles over knuckles, figure eights inside palms, never ending and continious and wishes for things so far from here, of fantasy and reality and the spaces inbetween. Of seeing and feeling and freedom without fear, she answers with strokes firm and caresses soft and he realises that maybe someone sees him after all.
Fandom: Zikki
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing them for awhile, I don't own them I swear!
Summary:when fantasy is more real than life itself......
Sometimes he wonders how he got here, because he can close his eyes and swear that he's in his room, the clickity clack of the windchimes his mom loves so much playing the soundtrack of his youth the smell of baking and freshly mown grass and the sounds of Efron it's game time echoing through his head. Then he opens his eyes and its lights and flashes and the smell of smog and horns and Hollywood you're needed on set. And he wonders if its possible to be surrounded by so many people and yet feel so utterly alone.
He finds it funny that from the outside looking in it seems that everyone thinks that the time spent on set. On stage. Infront of the camera is when its fake, when it's work, make believe because to him thats when its real. When he drops his guard and can be all he wants to be all he imagined he'd be and then the cameras stop rolling and the acting starts and its all fake smiles, nice words and choreographed moves, when he's the puppet, his strings being pulled every step he takes and he wonders how long before they break and he goes stumbling down.
Its dark and cool and soso silent and then the door opens and its heat and bright and screams so loud that it fills every space inside his head and he wishes he could fold inside himself so small but instead he steps out all confidence and poise and he wonders if anyone notices {if the closeups will show} the emptiness he feels behind the smiles.
He doesn't know how long she's been watching but by the time he feels that tingle down his spine and turns to find her she's already next to him all assesing eyes and pursed lips but then her hand slips into his and her smile isn't only mouth its eyes and he feels the warmth and starts to breathe and lets himself unfold the tiniest bit, and wonders briefly if these closeups will show anything different.
They don't speak where the world can watch them, where the cameras have eyes and the microphones ears, but instead dance their unmerry dance, strings pulled as taunt as can be, and he thinks to a time so far away of song and dance and a stage of free and a character that was more him then here and whispers his wants and fears in circles over knuckles, figure eights inside palms, never ending and continious and wishes for things so far from here, of fantasy and reality and the spaces inbetween. Of seeing and feeling and freedom without fear, she answers with strokes firm and caresses soft and he realises that maybe someone sees him after all.