The Madcap Cries

Chapter One: It's No Good

Chapter One: It's No Good | Syd Barrett


I made sure to gawk at the sunset; almost seeming to taste the sun on my tongue. The flavor creeped across and, not missing a slither or corner, the bottle of acid on the other side of the room did the same. The sun tasted of bland lemonade while the acid stood to the side, only resembling the taste pasted previously on my lips. Both things prospered at each of the eccentric thoughts that came to me at a swift blink.

I stumbled and fumbled upon the old mattress whilst searching for that petite pen and paper I tuck underneath it all:

It's no good trying to place your hand
where I can't see because I understand
that you're different from me...


'You're not so good,' a voice inside the mind that was tending at an eased prosper still. 'They're not gonna like the solo album, the fans of Pink Floyd preferred Nick over you...'

"Shut it, Rica." I drawled at a gradual passed tone; each word went up low and ended in a fierce and clear 'Rica'. The elaborate situation I had with her was, more so, a lunatic outside a fellow one. "I don't like the remarks you take."

'Mhmm, but when that rejected album surfaces, those beloved fans are gonna kill you!' Rica began to chuckle, echoing throughout my mind in a screeching snicker. 'Buried or incarnated, which?'

I chose to ignore her, humming an offbeat tune while my stomach followed each note with a churn. Included, it suddenly turned to be a tune for that piece I wrote. A grasp came at my beloved Telecaster to play an electric tune, and there I went for the rest of the night. My thoughtful mind was swept away from taking the acid with the swap of a new song.

* * *

Just that night, I clowned with a genuine strum upon that guitar. The old mirrored Telecaster I traded for this was a bargain, and I regret doing it. An old feeling I got from it, that sneer glued to my face was from the reactions of the abnormal sound it created.

I got up in search of a munch, leaving the instrument at the mattress I sat on. Adjusting my shirt from rising higher on my chest, I found a snack full of protein from the mini fridge under the record holder. I glared up at the records with a curious gawk. The sudden urge to tamper and listen to old Pink Floyd hits grew and pondered.

I took a bite of the protein bar while sighing, clutching onto a single. "One won't hurt, eh?" The track was popped into the player with an empty left hand. Then, a familiar song entered me with a brim filled of happiness and memories: See Emily Play.

There was a pause inside me, almost dropping the bar on the floor in astonishment. The sound and picture in my mind was clear, quite pure to the point where I had a few tears drip from cheek to shoe. It didn't seem like just two years since I've heard this; it felt like ten.

"Soon after dark, Emily cries..." I began to sing along with my voice on cue and with the same guitar plucking in the air. The tears were muffling my voice, but I still resembled the cheerful almost innocent me from the past. I missed him so much.

At that same moment of my seventh tear, I fell beside the bar to the floor. I broke far in more tears and muffled cries beneath those soft little whispers I muttered. "I'm n-not him anymore. I'm just a member fallen behind and left to be forgotten about."

I sat there for awhile whilst the track ended, hands still masking my flushed red face from the lightbulb's beaming sight. Small sounds of sniffles came from my nose at an attempt to relax and keep calm, but nothing seemed to be helping me out faintly.

'What a wimp. Who'll actually cry over a rubbish song by a few noisy fools?' Rica snickered once more, an imaginative grin on her face. 'You're a chump.'

I considered her words with a nod, sitting back up on my knees and crawling over to the player like the rodent I was; hair tumbling over me like an overwhelming piece. Instead of answering her statement, I found another solution to the problem than taking in horrid words.

More acid was the extra answer for me, so I began a trail to that side of the room almost gradually. I knew I'd regret the decision, but the bottle was calling my name with slight whispers. "Roger... Roger..." When I reached the table it rested on, I could only stare blankly at it as if I were a curious puppy with a new owner. The bottle was like an owner to me. In fact, it was a good one who had a few twists at the mind.

I eased my hand up, patting the table in search of it since I couldn't see it with my own eyes while sitting on the floor. The odd pattern of wood, red and black, surrounded me with beaming grin and they spoke to me as well with the same encouragement as the bottle. I knew it wasn't right to do, but it was the only solution for sorrow and sadness.

When my hand found the chilled clear bottle, I felt quite hesitant to not take it after a sigh. I decided not to take the drug after that final and faithful second.

I stood off the ground, scraping the crust dried tears off my red hot cheeks with edgy fingernails. An added sniffle, and I was ready for a simple nighttime tale before I went afterwards. The first area to look was the attic- I wasn't going there to break down after the sight of a few more memories. Instead, I decided to scrounge through dozens of cabinets and couch cushions until laying eyes on a crumbled and crushed sheet of line paper under the couch:

'Gazing through trees in sorrow hardly a sound 'till tomorrow...'



# # #

I attempted to make no absolute sense at all, commencing a vibe to make the reader, you, feel it was the actual Barrett speaking to them at his loony tongue. Of course, his 'Rica' didn't exist, but it made the most spectacular addition to his mind since no one knows what was there except Barrett himself. Another note, I am aware the title is an album, but with another album as the cover: 'The Madcap Laughs'. I am also aware of most Barrett fan-fictions not being as popular as many others in this elite little community, but it's worth a sharp shot.

That project I was working on? This is it, y'know. If you come across a mistake that, isn't obvious to be on purpose, let me know please if it's possible. I've never felt so much like a child after writing this fab chapter! This is the very first story on Watty typed on the computer instead of the app! Lots of jumble and ramble here I see though...

At the moment of this new tale, I'm begging you to stick awhile after me being a bit anxious after a new post. I'm usually not as aware as the rest of you who check emails on a daily basis. Please share, vote, and comment. Please?


-Louie Becton | 2013