They Come To Haunt Me
Here's a 3-drabble Lorne ficlet, written for still_grrr's Jammin' July.
The song that inspired this was The Entertainer, by Billy Joel.
They Come To Haunt Me
The towns all blend together after a while.
Lorne doesn’t mind - after all, the point isn’t where he’s heading to.
(“Away” would be a good summary. And they all qualify on that score.)
Every town has its glitz and glamour, its famous landmark (got to get a photo of the statue/waterfall/bridge/skyscraper/world’s biggest rubber boot; it’s great, you’ll tell your kids about it), its nightlife, its crappy buses, its clubs looking for a singer (just a short-term thing, if that’s okay?), its cheering audiences, its martinis…
Even better, they all have a refreshing lack of heroic detectives.
The songs all blend together after a while.
He does jazz, rock and roll, blues, opera, country.
Anything, by request. He gives them what they want.
He sings Good Feelings, Sweet Home Chicago, The Ballad of Maudie and Lou, Hope Springs Eternal, Tremor Cycle, Three Little Maids, Bad, American Pie, Mack the Knife, Humpty Dumpty and Mary Had a Little Lamb for some preschoolers, The Way We Were for engaged couples, and once, for a group of ravers, a high E flat that lasts for twenty minutes straight.
After all, it doesn’t really matter. Soul or techno, what’s the difference?
The memories all blend together after a while.
Fred smiling at baby Connor becomes Fred holding a crossbow becomes his club being destroyed by boys with guns becomes the fire and the alleyway becomes fire in the sky becomes Angel locked in the basement becomes Angel alone in his office becomes far too many contracts to manage becomes destinies to steal becomes a world without music becomes portals becomes a way to escape becomes the beginning of the end.
And it’s good. It’s better.
If he can’t remember it, it’s easy to pretend it never mattered.
Lorne sings. And smiles.
The song that inspired this was The Entertainer, by Billy Joel.
They Come To Haunt Me
The towns all blend together after a while.
Lorne doesn’t mind - after all, the point isn’t where he’s heading to.
(“Away” would be a good summary. And they all qualify on that score.)
Every town has its glitz and glamour, its famous landmark (got to get a photo of the statue/waterfall/bridge/skyscraper/world’s biggest rubber boot; it’s great, you’ll tell your kids about it), its nightlife, its crappy buses, its clubs looking for a singer (just a short-term thing, if that’s okay?), its cheering audiences, its martinis…
Even better, they all have a refreshing lack of heroic detectives.
The songs all blend together after a while.
He does jazz, rock and roll, blues, opera, country.
Anything, by request. He gives them what they want.
He sings Good Feelings, Sweet Home Chicago, The Ballad of Maudie and Lou, Hope Springs Eternal, Tremor Cycle, Three Little Maids, Bad, American Pie, Mack the Knife, Humpty Dumpty and Mary Had a Little Lamb for some preschoolers, The Way We Were for engaged couples, and once, for a group of ravers, a high E flat that lasts for twenty minutes straight.
After all, it doesn’t really matter. Soul or techno, what’s the difference?
The memories all blend together after a while.
Fred smiling at baby Connor becomes Fred holding a crossbow becomes his club being destroyed by boys with guns becomes the fire and the alleyway becomes fire in the sky becomes Angel locked in the basement becomes Angel alone in his office becomes far too many contracts to manage becomes destinies to steal becomes a world without music becomes portals becomes a way to escape becomes the beginning of the end.
And it’s good. It’s better.
If he can’t remember it, it’s easy to pretend it never mattered.
Lorne sings. And smiles.