Heaven Ablaze In Our Eyes
Click to view"Serpentine loves thighs, wrap around me,
in search for death. Drenched in blood, the adorded and beloved,
will give in. "
Two alarms went off, both digital and with annoying beeps. Two hands, both long and slender, slammed down on the snooze button. The slight differences’ being that one hand was larger than the other. The other that was smaller had long painted nails, a dark crimson and was a light tan. The larger hand was pale, and had shorter nails, painted black. Of course, there was also the fact that both owners of said hands, were, although both in the U.S., in different states. The owner of the larger hand was in a rather large, castle-like home in West Chester, Philadelphia, and the smaller was in a flat in Los Angeles, California. The owners of the hands, both threw the black covers of their beds (both cotton, although of different thread counts) back, stretching and yawing. The owner of the smaller, tanner hand was a woman. She was clearly of Asian decent, but what type, one could not immediately find out, due to slight differences. Her almond eyes, instead of the normal black or dark brown, were a dark blue, like the middle of the ocean. Her hair was much like her cousins, in that it was long, black, and extremely silky, but had a little more volume and was slightly bushier. Her long, raven hair was pulled back tightly into a French braid, instead of being allowed free to hang to her waist. She stood, and one could also see that she had inherited from her mother, her height. She stood at around 6’, unusual for someone of her birth. She wore black silk pajamas, with a typical mandarin collar, and frog clasps going down the blouse part. They had a dark green piping and had embroidery of dragonflies and chrysanthemums on the main expanse of cloth. She looked to be around 25 years old, and lit up a cigarette.
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The other owner of the other hand was a man. He stood at around 6’2” and was around 27 years old. He was quite pale in general, and looked to be Eastern European decent. His slightly slanted eyes were a brilliant shade of jade green, only to be clouded with sleep. They were ringed with a dark coloring from years and years of wearing black eyeliner. Shoulder length, curly hair, dyed black, fell into his eyes. He yawned again, and scratched his head, revealing nicotine stained teeth. He, however, did not wear much for sleep wear. Only clad in a pair of black silk boxers, he lights up his own cigarette and begins his own day.
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Two bathroom doors open in the somewhat early morning, two figures step out, with steam rolling lazily out behind them. The woman’s hair, rebraided, but only slightly damp. She has simple mascara and eyeliner on, two hoops for main ear piercings (small), two diamond studs, and an ear cuff with a heartagram charm on her right ear. A single cartilage piercing on her left ear is an amethyst heart. Her dark blue eyes were no longer glazed over with a shroud of grogginess. A single rebellious lock of raven hair decides to come out and hang in front of her face, which she immediately tucks behind her ear with a finger. She wears a Black Sabbath t-shirt, brown cargo pants with a black leather belt and a tarnished silver filigree butterfly buckle. On her feet, is a pair of converse, both gray with black hibiscus print on them. The shirt, although loose, showed that she has almost perfect hourglass curves. She tucks a black bra strap back up in her shoulder and go to grab the mail, another lit cigarette in between her full, pale lips. As she walks back into her flat, she comes across a garishly decorated letter from one of her old friends, from before she moved out from Philadelphia and to California. The envelope is overly posted with stamps and the letter has graffiti and heartagram covering it. The return address to a B. Margera, West Chester, PA and the sending address is to a Charlie Min, Los Angeles, CA.
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The man’s own curly hair was drier than Charlie’s and his vibrant green eyes were once more ringed in black eyeliner. He wore skinny jeans, black high tops, a black AC/DC shirt, and guess what color, his usual black beanie. Two hidden hoops were on his ear lobes, and he walked out to hear the begging of the chaos for the day. He reminded himself to pack after breakfast, after all, he shouldn’t leave his band mates and fans waiting for their front man and singer, just because he forgot a favorite pair pants or a rather good shirt.
“Ville! Get your ass down here now!”
The familiar voice of his millionaire drinking buddy reached his ears, and Ville Hermanni Valo let a smile grace his own pale lips. He jogged down the stairs, his extremely skinny body rumbling for at least a piece of toast with marmalade before the true start of the day.
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Charlie, the name usually was for boys, but of her friends, they all knew that she loved her name and wouldn’t have any other. In truth, Charlie mused, she really wasn’t a full mix of Asian, like most people thought. She was a mix of Japanese and, for lack of a better word, white. Her father had come from Japan, but her mother was American, although that side of the family was from too many places in Europe to count. The European half of her gave her, her most unusual height, the odd color of her eyes, and the slight bushiness of her hair (which was really just as silky as her cousins, but she didn’t think so). Her facial features were sharp as well, giving an aristocratic air to her. Charlie pulled on a black leather jacket and a black motorcycle helmet, with a white heartagram on the back. She double checked that she had her cell phone and house keys in her purse, before slinging a leg over her dark purple street bike, putting the key in the ignition, and zooming off. She thought about the letter her dear Bammy had given her as she entered the e on-ramp for the 210 freeway. he had seen her a V.I.P. pass to the latest H.I.M. concert in November (only a few weeks away), and a small note saying to pack her bags for about a week, ask her boss for a month's vacation, and that he would pay for the rest of her wardrobe. She had kept track of Bam over the years, sending letters, e-mails, phone calls, etc. back and forth. Charlie had long since known of his wealth, fame, shows, stunts and the like. A few of the CKY crew were her own friends, and she had been on the show once or twice, but what truly fazed her was his friendship with the singer of H.I.M., Ville Valo. Charlie skirted past a couple of SUVs and away from the traffic of L.A., to that of Burbank. She got off the freeway after a good 25 minutes of traffic, right by the electronic store, Fry’s and across from the twin hotels. Charlie was starting to plan to sell her flat and move closer to work, but could never seem to find the time to do so. The bookstore that she worked at came into view, and Charlie pulled into her usual spot, right in front of the main display window. This way, she could watch her baby and make sure that no one stole it. Her boss, Mrs. Qualite, usually quiet and distant greeted her this morning. Charlie often swore that the woman was like the reincarnation of her grandmother, even thought the two women, Mrs. Q and grandmamma Min, were only a few years apart in birth.
"Hullo, Charlie."
"Good Morning Mrs. Q"
"How are you, dear?"
"Um..... Fine, why?"
The older woman's eyes glittered, but then went back to the monochromatic black that had always been there.
"Nothing, dear, nothing."
Mrs. Q went back to the back of the store to take stock ,and categorize the new books. Charlie brushed away the experience and shrugged off her jacket, and took her helmet off, to hang on the coat rack by the door. She put her purse under the counter and pulled on a worn green apron, with a black Asian dragon on it (a Christmas gift from Mrs. Q) and put it on. She took a feather duster and began the work for the day.
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Ville crushed a cigarette under one of his high tops on the balcony at Castle Bam. His flight to meet up the band was scheduled to leave in a few hours, his things had been packed and loaded into the Lambo seeing as Bam was driving him there. Probably going to give me a heart attack, mused Ville. He went back inside to watch the chaos ensue for one last time before he had to leave. Bam had mentioned that he was going to the concert in L.A. to which, Ville shrugged and said, 'Sure', even when the king of pranks had asked for a second V.I.P pass. Ville merely assumed that one of the guys wanted to bring in one of their girlfriends to the gig. Nothing really phased the rock star that Bam did anymore, especially after Bam wielded a hole in the hood of his mother's P.T. 'Loser'