Stevie began to weep, clutching the sheer white chiffon with the delicacy of her fingers, "oh no Lindsey...not her! We had a love that was young and innocent brought together through a song."
In the past, being privy to this spectacle would have been something of a high point in my calendar, but it only weighed heavy on my mind. I thought that perhaps if I was here, I might chance to hear them.
Over the months I had built up a rich story of him and her in my mind. He with the nimble fingers, bright eyes and wayward smile. Her melancholy from too long trapped behind those walls. I imagined her to be his serving maid, perhaps working to please him and he singing at sundown to help her rest.
Lindsey closed his eyes, hoping that I might be nearby to hear him. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of movement, and as the last note faded from her lips, he opened his eyes and glanced towards me. My dress shimmering in the torchlight.
"Carol, I thank you for this night" as he tossed a NIN guitar pick towards me.
I tried to pluck from the air as it spun three now four times. My heart pounded against my ribs. Bowing, Stevie retreated into the gathering crowd, finding some safe shadow from which she might once again look up upon Lindsey.
"So this is love?" Stevie thought, as she vanished back into the darkness of the doorway. I had not imagined that it would strike her so cruelly, that the thought of me would inspire so much pain.
The dead could not be more distant than this lady to him. The pick was warm from his fingers, and I pressed it to my lips for a second. No, it was 30 seconds of that I am sure.
07-05-2007, 09:10 PM
I would tell Christine Perfect, "You're Christine f***ing McVie, and don't you forget it!"
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