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My Dreams	By : coldblood Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Linkin Park Views: 1701 -:- 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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Disclaimer: I don't own Linkin Park, but the plot and all other characters are mine.

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Phoenix looked up at the derelict old house, an expression of deep thought etched on his features.
The building was apparently unlived in - and it appeared to have been that way for quite a number of years now; its windows were dirty, paint peeling and the porch was sagging in the middle, the grass on the lawn was dying and forgotten objects lay partly buried under it.
Yes, Phoenix thought. I still remember.
After a moment he tore his sight from the two story building and looked back down the suburban street, gazing at the green lawns and the nice cars in the driveways, the expression of his face only intensifying with the pure normality of it all.
He turned back to the house and walked up the porch, cautiously opening the door.
It creaked with age, but opened easily, so reassured, Phoenix shut the door behind him and slowly walked down the hallway, looking around at the rotting walls and creaking floorboards.
Slowly, the bassist ascended the stairs, holding onto the guard railing tightly as he tried to avoid putting all his weight on the weakened wood.
The venture led him into another hall with several doors.
He took the closest right one.
The room he had entered was just like the rest of them - ancient, rotting and musty, with junk like broken window shutters and corrugated iron propped up against the walls.
The windows straight in front of him from where he was standing at the doorway were covered in tattered, grimy curtains; to his right was a bay - and those windows were shuttered from the inside, broken slats allowing a few beams of sunlight to shine through.
As he turned to his left he could see the bare wall which had great gaping holes in it, revealing the very wooden rods that held the room up.
The room was dark black green and grey, and the ceiling’s metal sheet interior was clearly showing - he found it rather ironic that the room was still standing... No one had seemed to have lived here for nearly ten years.
Phoenix stepped further into the room and looked up at the ceiling, the thoughtful expression once again on his face.
The small ceiling light was broken.
Ah, Phoenix thought with more bitterness than before. The memories.
He walked to the far left corner and sat down, putting his head in his hand and tracing his fingers through the dirt on the floorboards.
The memories were all coming back.
And they hurt.
A lot.

“Has anyone seen Phoenix?” Rob asked.
“He went down to that avenue down the road... Whatchamacallit.” Chester replied, from his seat in front of the television.
“Thanks a lot. ‘Whatchamacallit’ doesn’t help.” Rob grumbled.
Chester only grunted in reply.
“It was spelt weird. Rechuto or something.” Brad shrugged at his own suggestion. “I’m not sure.”
The drummer sighed and walked off the bus, striding swiftly down the road, looking out for an avenue.
He spotted one up ahead - Recuerdo Avenue - and went for it, looking down the street assuming he’d spot Phoenix wandering around.
There was only a group of little girls playing on the lawn of a house that was next to a run down old building.
Rob figured he’d try his luck and approach them - if he was lucky they wouldn’t run off screaming.
“Hey.” He called out.
The kids stopped and looked at him.
“Have you seen a guy with red hair and a beard around here?” He asked a small blond girl.
“Did he have earrings?” Another asked.
“Yeah. He was wearing black clothes. You seen him?” Rob looked at questioningly at the brown haired girl that had answered him.
Several of them pointed.
“He went into the evil house.” They said.
“Evil house?” Rob paused.
“It’s haunted.” The blond headed one nodded matter-of-factly.
“Okay. Thanks.” The drummer decided to terminate the conversation.
He walked away and headed up the steps of the ancient building’s porch.
He tested the door handle and found it opened readily, so he entered the building with the back of his neck prickling from an unseen presence.
“Phoenix?” Rob called - but it came out more of a squeak than anything.
The house just seemed like a tomb, and to disturb the silence was certainly not going to be a good thing.
He looked around and found footsteps in the decades old dust on the creaky floorboards; they continued up the stairs, so Rob followed them.
The footprints led to the first room on his right, where the door was closed.
He opened it, pulling a face as the stupid door groaned loudly.
Gee, make some more noise why don’t you? Rob grumbled in his mind.
Tentatively he peered into the room - and there, with his knees to his forehead and his head buried into his chest, was Phoenix, in the far left corner of the room.
“Phoenix?” Rob called.
The bassist didn’t move, so Rob came closer and squatted beside him.
“Hey... Phoenix... You okay man?” Rob asked.
Phoenix still didn’t move, but Rob could hear muffled tearful sounds coming from his friend.
The drummer placed a firm hand on Phoenix’s shoulder and got him to look up.
His eyes were puffy and red from crying, his faintly freckled cheeks tear streaked and his hands shaky.
“Phi - what the fuck’s wrong?” Rob whispered.
Phoenix looked down.
“I - it’s nothing... I - I’m fine...” The older male sniffed.
“Bullshit. Nothing bugs you that bad unless it’s serious - dude, talk to me.” Rob insisted.
“Nah, it - it’s fine - I’m fine. It - it’s over now.” Phoenix instantly shut his mouth, and Rob could tell he felt he’d said too much.
“I won’t be hypercritical okay? Just tell me what’s wrong.” The drummer sat himself down next to Phoenix and watched him, waiting.
Phoenix was silent for a long time before he said anything, but when he did, it was powerful.
“This was my room once. For the first nineteen years of my life this was my room.” He said.
Rob looked at the derelict space and could barely imagine anyone living here - it just had that kind of feeling and it creeped him out.
“So what’s the big deal?” He asked after a moment.
Phoenix stood up and walked to the bay windows and pulled away the shutters, letting light pour into the room.
And there he stood, just looking out into the distance.
After awhile Rob walked over to him and followed his spaced out gaze to the street, where the kids were playing and an old lady was watering her garden.
“You’d never know what happened to the people who lived here before now. When you look out this window, tell me... What can you see?” Phoenix spoke at last.
Rob looked at him sideways, but then back down to the street.
“I see... A group of kids playing, a granny watering her roses, a guy riding past on his bike... Normal stuff.” Rob replied.
Phoenix sighed slightly.
“You want to know what I see? Every house you can see through this window, someone died. In one way or another, they just... Ended up dead. When I was in high school the house right in front of us, Brandon who was an absolute art genius overdosed on drugs and died. I was standing right where I am now and watched as the ambulance came and took him out in the body bag. The house on the right, Cassie who was a straight A student committed suicide... I saw that too. I could see the bloodstains on the sheet they used to cover her. Then the house on the left, Michael, a pretty nice guy who got mixed up with the wrong people, went to jail and was murdered by another kid who wanted his toothbrush - a fucking toothbrush for god’s sake! The house on the far right, Kayla, was a cheerleader - a real funny happy kid who became a prostitute by the age of fifteen and then committed suicide - as did her older brother Shannon who was a jock. I was away the day she died, but I was walking down the fucking street when they took Shannon out. I nicknamed the place Bodybag Avenue. Lucky for them on the far left here, they didn’t have kids. Three of the kids on this street died on this corner over there in a car accident - all of them were friends of mine. Stacy and Dora - both had been friends since kindergarten were lesbian and got together... Then Stacy died of leukemia. Tori, Dora’s sister married a guy thirty years older than her for his money, Milo who lived next door and had music talent like you wouldn’t believe became a bludger and addicted to heroin - in the end he popped like Brandon and wound up in a body bag... Two guys became criminals, another four also did, but they were even worse. The pair just dealt drugs and moved off to the streets, but the other four stuck around for a long time and raped girls they came across before going to jail for the rest of their lives... They were junkies too and had really off the beam ideas about what girls liked about sex. Annie was a victim on this street... And she was next door. She died too in the end because people at school kept calling her rape girl. I was at her house when I found her hanging from the beams in the garage with a belt around her neck. I swear Rob... This was a hell hole, an absolute hell hole. They said this street was cursed. But you wouldn’t know it now. This was my house and I lived here to see all of that happen.” Phoenix voice was flat, dead.
Rob just stood there, stunned.
How could that possibly all happen in just one street? Surely that just couldn’t be logical.
“Well... If that happened to all of those kids here... Then you’re one lucky mothafucka to survive through all of that without a scratch.” Rob said at last.
The shorter male turned to look at him.
“I didn’t.” His voice was definitely serious.
Rob stared at him.
“What happened to you then?” He could barely get himself to say it.
What could have possibly happened?
“You can’t tell me to stop now - you started this.” Phoenix warned.
Rob swallowed.
The shorter man resumed staring out the window, watching older children playing baseball on the road and moving whenever a car came.
Then he finally spoke.
“I was fourteen years old when my dad started the shit rolling... And by fifteen, I got in over my head at a party and had absolutely no way out...” He began.
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My Dreams