Anyone suggests a title?
Well I'm working on some new pieces but I'd probably need some beta. Anyway I'll post it here first and see if I need some correction then I can post it in the community.
The setting in this piece is when Led Zeppelin went to Japan for the first time. And of course the characters are real, but I made up the rest :)
I wake up in an early November morning to the sound of rain drops hitting on those sere lotus leaves. It is cold and still slightly dark outside, we are thousands miles away from home, literally on the other side of the world.
I get up from the tatami without making much noise and go to the window. Jimmy is still sleeping, better let him. He is normally a light sleeper. In the past six days we have pulled off five nights of performance, given our best in this unacquainted country. We need to rest before we leave Japan, the flight back home will be long and tiring as well.
The japanese hosts arranged us in some japanese-styled hotel, traditional but very nice.It is very quiet around, the decorations are simple but elegant. The maids waited for our arrival kneeling beside the door, bowed deeply to us, showing their milk colored necks. "We hope that there are some japanese aesthetics which could even impress a great band from the western world." The hosts left us with those words and a meaningful smile.
I didn't brought any japanese girl here with me.
The girls here are so tender even pigeon-livered, much different from the girls we knew in the States or Europe. Even the audience at the live performance is quieter and oh those girls, they would wait for a sign from us at the hotel's door but still be quiet. They bring us some beautifully wrapped gifts and make a deep bow while keeping avoiding any eye contact all the time.
Some of them are very lovely, with those almond-shaped eyes and long dark straight hair. But none of them could ever remind me of madam butterfly or the princess who lives in the crystal palace deep in the sea, those beauties who Mr.Lafcadio Hearn has written about, once you fall in love with them, there is no way back other than death.
It may sound absurd, I know. But the only time I got such impression of someone's beauty, it was from a man.
Jimmy, the first time I felt his gaze on me, even the hot July evening air could not stop the chill.
There is something so...unusual about him. It's not like I'd never seen him before. He was already famous with the Yardbirds. I'd read about him in the papers and even seen the movie. But it was absolute a different experience to meet him in person.
Peter Grant and Chris Dreja shook hands with me but he didn't. I thought he was a bit arrogant back then, though it was not so bad because I was nervous about my sweating palms. His eyes were gentle and calm. Even later he told me that he was blown away by my singing, I could never really forget the chillness which made me feel so insecure.
We got closer in Pangbourne and I felt myself being inevitably fascinated. Sure, he is beautiful. Those raven curls frame his pale and delicate face, his lips pink like rosebud. He speaks softly and with slight slur. I asked if he has any asian ancestry and regretted in the next second, he smiled and answered no, though some early classmates had made jokes about this.
But it didn't last long before I found the most heartstirring power in this slender body, the soul could burn white like a light, a sharp sword under the velvet cover.
I really felt honored when he said he wanted me, in the band.
All the hard work, the dragging and pulling were worthy. Our fame rocketed faster and higher than anyone could have expected.
In the whole mess of music, work, fame, money, alcohol, drugs and girls, we found ourselves in each other's arms.
Sometimes I feel guilty. I do love Maureen, and Carmen is my flesh and blood.
But I know I can never leave Jimmy, as long as he still needs me.
The thought that one day he may not need me anymore scares me, and I can never put it away. Just like now, when I'm drowned in my own thoughts and no one there to drag me out.
What if my voice gets spoiled? What if my lyrics can't meet his expectation? What if my look changes?
Once he told me that I reminded him of Rossetti's painting, some of his favorites.
A painting will never grow old but I do.
There's no picture of Dorian Gray.
I had never wished for more before we got together. There were so many beautiful girls around him, still are. And I never really disliked them. I got along quite well with Miss P. back then. She was smart and always took care of Jimmy. And he was good to her, too. We all almost thought she would be Mrs. Page, but then we were proved to be wrong.
Sometimes I feel pity for her, and sometimes I want to know where is the difference when Jimmy said love to me and to her.
Sometimes I need alcohol to find a way out, and sometimes I get up from his bed, shower my face with cold water and stare into the mirror, can't tell if it's a dream or real life. And then I shrug it off and make a face to myself, throw myself into the crowd, joking and laughing and fooling through another day.
I can never let anyone know I'm scared.
And yet, who would believe I'm scared?
There is rustling of the quilts. I turn back to see him stirr on the bed, half awake half sleepy and reaches out to where I lay before. His shoulders stiffen when he realizes I'm not there. His eyes open and wander in the room, til he catches me by the window.
He relaxes back on the pillow:"Hey, what are you doing over there?"
I cast him a slight smile:"Nothing, just woke up early."
He pushes the covers a bit back:"come back here. You'll catch a cold."
I lie back beside him and he throws an arm on my waist, his fingers so warm on my cold skin.
He is now groaning like:"stupid...so cold...should take care."
I put my head on his shoulder and smile, pulling him into my arms.
Don't think about tomorrow, don't think about future. Just him, just now, that's all what counts.
The setting in this piece is when Led Zeppelin went to Japan for the first time. And of course the characters are real, but I made up the rest :)
I wake up in an early November morning to the sound of rain drops hitting on those sere lotus leaves. It is cold and still slightly dark outside, we are thousands miles away from home, literally on the other side of the world.
I get up from the tatami without making much noise and go to the window. Jimmy is still sleeping, better let him. He is normally a light sleeper. In the past six days we have pulled off five nights of performance, given our best in this unacquainted country. We need to rest before we leave Japan, the flight back home will be long and tiring as well.
The japanese hosts arranged us in some japanese-styled hotel, traditional but very nice.It is very quiet around, the decorations are simple but elegant. The maids waited for our arrival kneeling beside the door, bowed deeply to us, showing their milk colored necks. "We hope that there are some japanese aesthetics which could even impress a great band from the western world." The hosts left us with those words and a meaningful smile.
I didn't brought any japanese girl here with me.
The girls here are so tender even pigeon-livered, much different from the girls we knew in the States or Europe. Even the audience at the live performance is quieter and oh those girls, they would wait for a sign from us at the hotel's door but still be quiet. They bring us some beautifully wrapped gifts and make a deep bow while keeping avoiding any eye contact all the time.
Some of them are very lovely, with those almond-shaped eyes and long dark straight hair. But none of them could ever remind me of madam butterfly or the princess who lives in the crystal palace deep in the sea, those beauties who Mr.Lafcadio Hearn has written about, once you fall in love with them, there is no way back other than death.
It may sound absurd, I know. But the only time I got such impression of someone's beauty, it was from a man.
Jimmy, the first time I felt his gaze on me, even the hot July evening air could not stop the chill.
There is something so...unusual about him. It's not like I'd never seen him before. He was already famous with the Yardbirds. I'd read about him in the papers and even seen the movie. But it was absolute a different experience to meet him in person.
Peter Grant and Chris Dreja shook hands with me but he didn't. I thought he was a bit arrogant back then, though it was not so bad because I was nervous about my sweating palms. His eyes were gentle and calm. Even later he told me that he was blown away by my singing, I could never really forget the chillness which made me feel so insecure.
We got closer in Pangbourne and I felt myself being inevitably fascinated. Sure, he is beautiful. Those raven curls frame his pale and delicate face, his lips pink like rosebud. He speaks softly and with slight slur. I asked if he has any asian ancestry and regretted in the next second, he smiled and answered no, though some early classmates had made jokes about this.
But it didn't last long before I found the most heartstirring power in this slender body, the soul could burn white like a light, a sharp sword under the velvet cover.
I really felt honored when he said he wanted me, in the band.
All the hard work, the dragging and pulling were worthy. Our fame rocketed faster and higher than anyone could have expected.
In the whole mess of music, work, fame, money, alcohol, drugs and girls, we found ourselves in each other's arms.
Sometimes I feel guilty. I do love Maureen, and Carmen is my flesh and blood.
But I know I can never leave Jimmy, as long as he still needs me.
The thought that one day he may not need me anymore scares me, and I can never put it away. Just like now, when I'm drowned in my own thoughts and no one there to drag me out.
What if my voice gets spoiled? What if my lyrics can't meet his expectation? What if my look changes?
Once he told me that I reminded him of Rossetti's painting, some of his favorites.
A painting will never grow old but I do.
There's no picture of Dorian Gray.
I had never wished for more before we got together. There were so many beautiful girls around him, still are. And I never really disliked them. I got along quite well with Miss P. back then. She was smart and always took care of Jimmy. And he was good to her, too. We all almost thought she would be Mrs. Page, but then we were proved to be wrong.
Sometimes I feel pity for her, and sometimes I want to know where is the difference when Jimmy said love to me and to her.
Sometimes I need alcohol to find a way out, and sometimes I get up from his bed, shower my face with cold water and stare into the mirror, can't tell if it's a dream or real life. And then I shrug it off and make a face to myself, throw myself into the crowd, joking and laughing and fooling through another day.
I can never let anyone know I'm scared.
And yet, who would believe I'm scared?
There is rustling of the quilts. I turn back to see him stirr on the bed, half awake half sleepy and reaches out to where I lay before. His shoulders stiffen when he realizes I'm not there. His eyes open and wander in the room, til he catches me by the window.
He relaxes back on the pillow:"Hey, what are you doing over there?"
I cast him a slight smile:"Nothing, just woke up early."
He pushes the covers a bit back:"come back here. You'll catch a cold."
I lie back beside him and he throws an arm on my waist, his fingers so warm on my cold skin.
He is now groaning like:"stupid...so cold...should take care."
I put my head on his shoulder and smile, pulling him into my arms.
Don't think about tomorrow, don't think about future. Just him, just now, that's all what counts.