Introspective
Title: Introspective
Rating: PG
World: Original
Characters: Sam
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 1,534
Summary: Random brain fart involving Sam and his past
She padded silently down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen, intent on making herself a cup of tea to help herself sleep. What she was greeted by was not entirely what she expected. She rubbed her eyes slightly, watching with slight disbelief as the topless figure padded across the room, munching on bread and drinking a glass of water. Still slightly drowsy she let her eyes pan down his frame settling on the jeans that clung desperately to his backside, as if in fear of hitting the ground. He wasn’t as slender as his counterpart she realised. He wasn’t fat, no, not even chubby, but there was a softness to his figure that Frank just didn’t have. He coughed slightly, apparently having realised she was there.
“What are you doing up?” He asked between mouthfuls of bread.
“I was asking myself the very same question.” She replied, smirking. “Although I suppose I should be asking what you are doing wandering around my kitchen half naked.”
He grinned. “Well I was out. But I thought I better come back in case you needed me.”
She sighed and sat down next to him, looking him squarely in the eyes.
“Sam, love, you smell of alcohol.”
“I always smell of alcohol.” He defended. “That’s your fault.”
She shrugged. “Possibly, but that wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was that you smell even more of alcohol. And seeing as you’re wandering around eating bread and drinking water at some obscene hour in the morning, I’m going to guess you’ve been out drinking.”
He pouted, resting his head on his arms.
“It was only a party.”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. You can do whatever you want. All I want to know is, really, what kind of parties do imaginary friends go to?”
He looked slightly hurt at that statement and she sighed, mirroring his pose.
“That was uncalled for.” He pouted. “I’m not imaginary.”
“Well you can’t be real. Or else other people would be able to see you.” She replied.
He shrugged. “I feel real. Maybe I’m a guardian angel.”
She chuckled. “If you are, then I’m lucky enough to have two. But I doubt it.”
“Well I’m certain I’m not an imaginary friend, so if I’m not a guardian angel then what am I?”
The girl beside him looked puzzled and she shrugged.
“I’ll think about it when I’ve made a cup of tea. I can’t really function at this hour of the morning without tea.”
He nodded and watched her as she busied herself making tea, scurrying around the kitchen to grab the stuff she needed. When she was finally finished she sat herself down next to him again, carefully sipping at the steaming cup.
“Maybe you’re a muse.” She said finally, looking at him.
“Do I inspire you to draw or write?” He asked, looking hopeful.
“Well you inspire me to write about you, about our conversations. And I like to draw you. Same goes for Frank.”
“I’m not sure if that works.” He muttered darkly. “I think muses are meant to inspire you to draw and write and make music in general. Not just if it applies to them.”
“Well you are introspective when you’re drunk aren’t you?” She giggled.
“I’m not really even very drunk.” He frowned. “I’m sobering up a lot now.”
The girl nodded, brushing a few black strands of hair out of her face. She stared into the cup for a while and sighed.
“Maybe you’re just voices in my head, exaggerated by my over active imagination.” She sighed defeated. “Do you know where you came from?”
Sam nodded, smiling slightly.
“I know exactly where I came from. Back there.”
“But where is there? I mean, you just appeared in my house one day and I don’t know where you go when you leave. You just… disappear. What was your life like before me?” She asked, leaning her head on her arms and watching him intently.
He thought carefully, repeated opening his mouth to say something only to close it again. Finally a large grin broke out across his face and he nodded happily.
“I know exactly who I was. I was Sam, er, Sam…. I can’t remember my last name.”
The girl beside him chuckled dryly, but nodded at him to continue.
“Anyway, I was an artist before I was here. I drew and painted and wrote short stories and poems. I remember how much I love to draw. Only graphite, I don’t like coloured pencils. They never turn out quite right. And paints. If you’re going to paint acrylics are the only way to go about it. There’s just so much life in an acrylic painting, and they dry so much faster than oils.” He smiled, his eyes taking on that dreamy quality of one remembering a past that they miss. “Writing. I wrote less than I drew; it was harder for the words to come out in any form that made sense. I liked poetry more than the stories; it was so much more fluid. My poems never rhymed, well, the very early ones did but I found it unnecessary and far too complicated to write perfectly poems all the time.”
He paused and looked up at her, checking for signs his seemingly endless talking was boring her. Instead she seemed highly interested, and looked almost disappointed that he’d stopped.
“I was a musician!” He gasped. “How could I forget? I wrote the lyrics for my band, and I was the lead singer. We were nothing big. Heck, there are school bands down here that are bigger. And we weren’t even popular, but we were a band. We played a few of the smaller more intimate clubs down here. I remember Frank being there, picking through the groupies, taking them home.”
At that the girl started laughing. “Well that certainly sounds like Frank.”
“Yes, we grew up near each other. I think he’s older than me by a year or so. My life wasn’t so bad you know, I mean we had problems. My mum and dad were divorced, and I never saw him. But otherwise I was well looked after. I went through all the things a normal teenager goes through. Made friends, lost friends, was a good boy, rebelled.” Here he paused to fondly rub his nose ring. “I tried being straight edge for a while after I saw friends going off the rails with drugs and drink, but then I tried alcohol once and acquired quite the taste for it. As you can probably tell.”
She shook her head at him. “I realised. How old are you anyway? You don’t look so old, but you talk like you’ve been around forever.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m too old. I just grew up fast maybe. I can’t be older than 17, maybe 18? I really don’t know. I don’t feel old.”
“Well then that’s all that really counts. What was it like where you lived? Where you go sometimes?”
“It’s nice. The streets are pretty clean considering, and the people are friendly. There’s a big green on the other side of the street from my old house. Although we lived out in the suburbs. In the middle of town it’s hectic. There are so many people, and everything is so grey. If you picture, I don’t know, the part of Manchester where Afflecks Palace is. Near Piccadilly. I know you go there a lot. Well it was like that, so many people and so many different types of people. I mean, if you went into town two things were always certain, someone would shout abuse at you and someone would say they liked your clothes. There were people from every label and sub-label you can think of, all mingling and talking. It’s an amazing place to be. It was violent sometimes too. There were the ‘bad’ parts of town, where the gangs and the tough guys were. If you wandered around there too long you knew you were going to get into a fight, and sometimes when they were out in the centre of town they caused fights themselves. But that’s life isn’t it?”
The girl nodded slowly. “I know what you mean.”
He smiled, looking up at her.
“You should come visiting with me some time.”
She looked shocked and shook her head slowly. “Would I even be able to? I mean, it’s a lovely offer, but how could I get there?”
Sam frowned. “There’d be a way. I could find a way.”
She nodded he smiled. She opened her mouth to say something but he quickly put his finger to his lips and she froze.
“Katie what are you doing up at this time?”
She turned, quickly disguising her open mouth as a yawn.
“I don’t know, I just woke up and I couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back to bed now mum.”
She shot a quick glance to where Sam had been sat, only to find the seat empty. Smiling to herself she got to her feet and headed upstairs, almost certain she would find Sam curled up in her bed when she got there.
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off this writing and the characters all belong to me. It’s fiction and in no way am I saying that anything I write about has or will actually happen (with the exception of reference to true historical events of course).
Bascically I don’t own, I don’t make money, don’t sue.
Author’s Notes: Again, OOOLLLDDDD!
Rating: PG
World: Original
Characters: Sam
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 1,534
Summary: Random brain fart involving Sam and his past
She padded silently down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen, intent on making herself a cup of tea to help herself sleep. What she was greeted by was not entirely what she expected. She rubbed her eyes slightly, watching with slight disbelief as the topless figure padded across the room, munching on bread and drinking a glass of water. Still slightly drowsy she let her eyes pan down his frame settling on the jeans that clung desperately to his backside, as if in fear of hitting the ground. He wasn’t as slender as his counterpart she realised. He wasn’t fat, no, not even chubby, but there was a softness to his figure that Frank just didn’t have. He coughed slightly, apparently having realised she was there.
“What are you doing up?” He asked between mouthfuls of bread.
“I was asking myself the very same question.” She replied, smirking. “Although I suppose I should be asking what you are doing wandering around my kitchen half naked.”
He grinned. “Well I was out. But I thought I better come back in case you needed me.”
She sighed and sat down next to him, looking him squarely in the eyes.
“Sam, love, you smell of alcohol.”
“I always smell of alcohol.” He defended. “That’s your fault.”
She shrugged. “Possibly, but that wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was that you smell even more of alcohol. And seeing as you’re wandering around eating bread and drinking water at some obscene hour in the morning, I’m going to guess you’ve been out drinking.”
He pouted, resting his head on his arms.
“It was only a party.”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. You can do whatever you want. All I want to know is, really, what kind of parties do imaginary friends go to?”
He looked slightly hurt at that statement and she sighed, mirroring his pose.
“That was uncalled for.” He pouted. “I’m not imaginary.”
“Well you can’t be real. Or else other people would be able to see you.” She replied.
He shrugged. “I feel real. Maybe I’m a guardian angel.”
She chuckled. “If you are, then I’m lucky enough to have two. But I doubt it.”
“Well I’m certain I’m not an imaginary friend, so if I’m not a guardian angel then what am I?”
The girl beside him looked puzzled and she shrugged.
“I’ll think about it when I’ve made a cup of tea. I can’t really function at this hour of the morning without tea.”
He nodded and watched her as she busied herself making tea, scurrying around the kitchen to grab the stuff she needed. When she was finally finished she sat herself down next to him again, carefully sipping at the steaming cup.
“Maybe you’re a muse.” She said finally, looking at him.
“Do I inspire you to draw or write?” He asked, looking hopeful.
“Well you inspire me to write about you, about our conversations. And I like to draw you. Same goes for Frank.”
“I’m not sure if that works.” He muttered darkly. “I think muses are meant to inspire you to draw and write and make music in general. Not just if it applies to them.”
“Well you are introspective when you’re drunk aren’t you?” She giggled.
“I’m not really even very drunk.” He frowned. “I’m sobering up a lot now.”
The girl nodded, brushing a few black strands of hair out of her face. She stared into the cup for a while and sighed.
“Maybe you’re just voices in my head, exaggerated by my over active imagination.” She sighed defeated. “Do you know where you came from?”
Sam nodded, smiling slightly.
“I know exactly where I came from. Back there.”
“But where is there? I mean, you just appeared in my house one day and I don’t know where you go when you leave. You just… disappear. What was your life like before me?” She asked, leaning her head on her arms and watching him intently.
He thought carefully, repeated opening his mouth to say something only to close it again. Finally a large grin broke out across his face and he nodded happily.
“I know exactly who I was. I was Sam, er, Sam…. I can’t remember my last name.”
The girl beside him chuckled dryly, but nodded at him to continue.
“Anyway, I was an artist before I was here. I drew and painted and wrote short stories and poems. I remember how much I love to draw. Only graphite, I don’t like coloured pencils. They never turn out quite right. And paints. If you’re going to paint acrylics are the only way to go about it. There’s just so much life in an acrylic painting, and they dry so much faster than oils.” He smiled, his eyes taking on that dreamy quality of one remembering a past that they miss. “Writing. I wrote less than I drew; it was harder for the words to come out in any form that made sense. I liked poetry more than the stories; it was so much more fluid. My poems never rhymed, well, the very early ones did but I found it unnecessary and far too complicated to write perfectly poems all the time.”
He paused and looked up at her, checking for signs his seemingly endless talking was boring her. Instead she seemed highly interested, and looked almost disappointed that he’d stopped.
“I was a musician!” He gasped. “How could I forget? I wrote the lyrics for my band, and I was the lead singer. We were nothing big. Heck, there are school bands down here that are bigger. And we weren’t even popular, but we were a band. We played a few of the smaller more intimate clubs down here. I remember Frank being there, picking through the groupies, taking them home.”
At that the girl started laughing. “Well that certainly sounds like Frank.”
“Yes, we grew up near each other. I think he’s older than me by a year or so. My life wasn’t so bad you know, I mean we had problems. My mum and dad were divorced, and I never saw him. But otherwise I was well looked after. I went through all the things a normal teenager goes through. Made friends, lost friends, was a good boy, rebelled.” Here he paused to fondly rub his nose ring. “I tried being straight edge for a while after I saw friends going off the rails with drugs and drink, but then I tried alcohol once and acquired quite the taste for it. As you can probably tell.”
She shook her head at him. “I realised. How old are you anyway? You don’t look so old, but you talk like you’ve been around forever.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m too old. I just grew up fast maybe. I can’t be older than 17, maybe 18? I really don’t know. I don’t feel old.”
“Well then that’s all that really counts. What was it like where you lived? Where you go sometimes?”
“It’s nice. The streets are pretty clean considering, and the people are friendly. There’s a big green on the other side of the street from my old house. Although we lived out in the suburbs. In the middle of town it’s hectic. There are so many people, and everything is so grey. If you picture, I don’t know, the part of Manchester where Afflecks Palace is. Near Piccadilly. I know you go there a lot. Well it was like that, so many people and so many different types of people. I mean, if you went into town two things were always certain, someone would shout abuse at you and someone would say they liked your clothes. There were people from every label and sub-label you can think of, all mingling and talking. It’s an amazing place to be. It was violent sometimes too. There were the ‘bad’ parts of town, where the gangs and the tough guys were. If you wandered around there too long you knew you were going to get into a fight, and sometimes when they were out in the centre of town they caused fights themselves. But that’s life isn’t it?”
The girl nodded slowly. “I know what you mean.”
He smiled, looking up at her.
“You should come visiting with me some time.”
She looked shocked and shook her head slowly. “Would I even be able to? I mean, it’s a lovely offer, but how could I get there?”
Sam frowned. “There’d be a way. I could find a way.”
She nodded he smiled. She opened her mouth to say something but he quickly put his finger to his lips and she froze.
“Katie what are you doing up at this time?”
She turned, quickly disguising her open mouth as a yawn.
“I don’t know, I just woke up and I couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back to bed now mum.”
She shot a quick glance to where Sam had been sat, only to find the seat empty. Smiling to herself she got to her feet and headed upstairs, almost certain she would find Sam curled up in her bed when she got there.
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off this writing and the characters all belong to me. It’s fiction and in no way am I saying that anything I write about has or will actually happen (with the exception of reference to true historical events of course).
Bascically I don’t own, I don’t make money, don’t sue.
Author’s Notes: Again, OOOLLLDDDD!