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Amnesia and Star Child	By : coldblood Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Linkin Park Views: 1666 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Linkin Park. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 37
I walk down the street, feeling sick, and defeated.
Blue used me again. He always wins.
He thinks I’m a tool - he’s not just the ‘other half’ anymore - he’s the enemy, and I can’t get rid of him. It’s like one of those songs that you make that always sounds okay at one bit then wrong in the rest, and no matter how many times you change it - you can’t get rid of the wrong piece, so you trash the entire thing.
I feel like that kind of song.
He laughs at me, mocking me in my mind about being so easily used.
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, speeding up.
What is wrong?
Rosie’s asking me.
What a stupid question.
I shake my head and walk on, reaching the community hall.
With the keys I had borrowed from Chester’s friend, I unlocked the doors and stepped into the ancient building.
It’s old, but well kept. There are pictures of the presidents on the walls and the stage up the front has an awesome stage with a glossy black grand piano standing in the left wing, partially hidden by the long, gold trim tasselled, red velvet curtains.
I walk up to the piano, slower than before, I feel almost terrified for breaking the holy silence, my footfalls echo eerily off the large stone walls.
Who dares to enter and disturb the peace?
I can imagine the Phantom of the Oprah swooping down and murdering me.
I know I’m being stupid. If I keep doing this to myself - I’m gonna chicken out. The hall will get the better of me and I’ll scram out of there like a bat outta hell.
I swallow and walk up the stairs leading to the stage, making my way slowly to the piano.
Rosie’s just behind me.
At last I reach it. With a shaky breath I pull out the stood and sit down at the keys.
They’re shining white ivory, it all looks brand new but I know it’s old because the ivory keys are worn from all the fingers playing melodies long before I was even born.
The history behind this place is centuries old, but I know it’s not as ancient as my friend, lying next to me, with her tail flicking lazily in the air.
She’s older than the moon.
I put my fingers to the keys, uncertain about what I should play and whether I should play at all.
My right hand looks so wrong. So imperfect against the piano that it feels almost sinful to have my fingers touching the keyboard - I mean - sure, it may have healed months ago, but the breaks have left their marks.
My wrist bone sticks out way more than it used to, and my fingers all look knotted and crooked like I’m crippled with arthritis.
What am I doing here?
The crowd is cheering me on, screaming out for an encore.
Why am I doing this?
Where is the blade?
Why aren’t I hiding and bleeding like I should be?!
I close my eyes and lower my head, taking one last deep breath before I begin to play.
At first I can’t do it, my fingers don’t want to - but I force them on, playing fast and hard, banging the keys as the music I haven’t played for nearly ten years flows on - on and on... The one song I thought I’d never play again.
Fantaisie-Impromptu by Chopin.
I keep my eyes closed, nodding my bowed head slightly to the rhythm, just going with my instincts.
At last, the song draws to a close.
I take a deep breath and massage my aching hands.
That was beautiful Mike, astounding ability.
Rosie praises me.
“Thanks Rosie.” I murmur.
We stay for a while, before getting up and leaving in the direction of my house.
What is the matter Mike? There is something bothering you.
Rosie touches her muzzle to my hand while we walk.
I stop and take a deep breath.
“I think you know Rosie. You can read my mind surely.” I don’t turn to look at her.
I start walking briskly again.
Rosie snorts and follows me.
Blue’s in my brain, sitting there with a jackhammer, laughing like a gremlin as he shreds my brain apart. I imagine what the scene inside looks like.
A shadowy version of myself and a monster, standing atop a giant jackhammer, in a hall - my skull - reducing the pinkish flooring to slush. With the brain splatter hitting the walls.
Okay stop, stop.
I blink the image from my mind and hang my head, sighing deeply.
Maybe I’ll go online. Check the ‘website’. Put in a journal entry. Browse.
Surely there’s got to be something I can do to take my mind off this - god - I want relief!
I reach my house and enter - almost face planting myself into the carpet.
“Dammit! That fucking tear - fucking hell!” I pull myself up and grab the book sitting on the table and hurl it - it thuds against the wall, causing the picture it narrowly missed to shudder and slip sideways.
That tear in the carpet has been there for almost three years, it was Joe’s fault. He had thought it would be funny to rip up some carpet in the entrance way, fold it back over and nail it to the floor so everyone would trip over it.
It was for the night before Halloween and so of course I should’ve expected it.
And here it is, still not fixed.
I walk to outside and pull the cord to the generator - it splutters and chokes to life, going from a whinging roar to a low hum. I walk back inside with Rosie instep to the studio where I slump down in the seat in front of the computer.
I boot up and log on, instantly directed to the official website.
Going to the LPMB Linkin Park, I take a look around the sticky notes. Most of them are about the board itself or the next album/tours or fans pleading for us to fork out some money for some LP fanatic family or another.
It’s not that I don’t care about the fans, it’s just that if I start handing over money to one person, then everyone’s gonna come and start begging.
I reserve money for big issues like the tsunami ages ago, or for charity. Ironically I spend more money on charity than I do for myself. I had my power cut to both of my homes nearly two years ago now, and I still haven’t paid the bills. I work off batteries a generator and a few solar panels.
The rest of my money lands in the bank, growing and expanding - or the opposite - with the growth of shares in the stock market, but I don’t care what happens to it really, I just leave it there and only use it when the situation calls for it.
I scroll down and click on a random thread.
The computer whines as it loads up the page - and for a good reason - there’s a huge picture of me on there - and a whole load of mini me pictures.
I scroll down and read some of the posts and who wrote them.
My heart plummets another floor with each post I read.

Look at him - so scrummeh.

I wanna touch him. *humps him*

Mike looks constipated in that one.

Aww. Cute!

Hey Leigh!

Lookie -> more...

Mike appears to have a thrusting problem *stands in front of him*

Does anyone have a pic of Mike bare chested?

I swallow the lump in my throat.
The user names only serve to make me feel worse - myloverismike, LeighShinoda, SaNcTuArY4MS.
They’re all boppers - all of them.
I sag further into the chair.
They all must spend the best part of their lives daydreaming about hot guys - fantasizing about fucking me or Chester especially - and I know it’s unreasonable to expect better out of girls, but it just hurts.
None of them will ever know me - none of them will care - none of them will ever understand.
If only they knew.
If they did, they would run - in fact - they’d change their minds about me quick smart, and besides, once they got me in the sack they have what they wanted and there wouldn’t be any use for me anymore.
‘Mike Shinoda?! Oooooh no - he is soooo yesterday!’
Yeah, and why? Because all they were after was sex and the chance to brag about getting their way with a celebrity.
Blue laughs at me, and I can’t help but feel angry and close to tears.
I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back the forming tears, clicking on a random page of posts, willing myself to keep calm.
The first post I see is the worst and by far too much.

I own Mike, I called dibs firsty so he’s mine lol. *Takes Mike away to her bedroom*

That’s it! Enough!
I shout out in anger and wrench the power cord out of the socket and toss it to the ground - crashing the computer - it splutters and dies from the cut power, and then I thump my arms down folded on the table, struggling to keep control, taking deep, heaving breaths.
My hands are shaking from the anger and misery.
It’s too much - the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I break down and cry.
- 35
- 36
- 37
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Amnesia and Star Child