Achromatic

Chapter Ten

A/N: AHAHA ITS FINALLY DONE :))) Writers block seriously sucks you guys; I'm so glad I managed to get another chapter down. Oh, and there IS NSFW HERE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION KIDDIES.
~ocean_bacon

November came and gone, thus came the arrival of December. As more snow and smog blanketed the inner reaches of Wibbly Wobbly Street, those in preparation for Christmas set up lights on their porches, window sills, and front lawns. Soon the entire road was illuminated beginning to end by bright, brilliant bulbs to keep away the toxicity of the paper mill's fumes.

That is, except for one building in particular whose house lights were hardly ever on, and only came from the top floor.

As it was on a daily basis, Murdoc locked himself inside 2D's room, illuminated by the dim light of his bedside lamp. Russel and Noodle spent a majority of their weeks at work, so Murdoc often had the flat to himself. Tonight was one of those nights.

2D's box of unfinished songs was fished out from under the bed. Murdoc had already spent endless hours memorizing every detail of the papers; their texture, their sizes, color, if it was a sticky note covered in scribbles or notebook paper with a long bulleted list, and if they were penciled or inked. But the most important detail was the words written on them. Some of the lyrics 2D wrote were bleak and melancholy, while others were happy with utter nonsense.

Among the vivid colors and black splotches, Murdoc's favorite was the white sheet of loose leaf that read; "I miss you guys." He read the words over and over in his head, placing it in front of all the others when he put them back in the shoebox and under the bed.

Murdoc sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing at the pattern of pages he laid out nearly every day. They reached from one side of the bed to the other, in rows of five. Sometimes they were alphabetical, color coordinated, from largest to smallest, or corresponded to the dates in the top right corner. But he always kept the white one in his lap, separate from the collection.

The bassist took a swig from his third beer can. He belched, loud enough to lightly shake the window. then burst into a fit of laughter. "Howdya like that, face ache?" he exclaimed, as if he did not know that he was the only one in the room. Murdoc sat still for a while, until his shoulders relaxed with another sip. "I bet you'd rate that a solid 7, mate,"

He picked up the paper in his lap again, tracing his fingers along the pen marks. None of the markings seemed to be inscribed within the lines, but were instead scattered in random places with traces of bullet points for notes. Not a single phrase was organized, and several words were scratched out, replaced, then scratched out again. There were question marks dotted by every other word.

"How will we know? When the morning comes..." Murdoc uttered while tracing along the chorus line. "We are still human...How will we know? How will we dream..."

Murdoc's other hand crumpled the bottom of the paper, his grip tightening with every word that came out of his lips. He stopped. His hand had torn the paper, and there was a large rip running up the center.

Murdoc's heart dropped in his stomach, as if someone had replaced it with a giant stone. He gripped the ripped paper in his hand as he scrambled to 2D's desk drawer. Noodle had already organized it before, so the only items left in there were a tape dispenser and a stack of poker cards. Murdoc seized the tape, cut out a long piece and gently placed it along the tear. He sighed with utter relief and lowered back onto the floor.

"Sorry bout that, Dents," Murdoc said faintly. He paused, looking down at the paper in his hands. Murdoc stood, wobbling from the beginning stages of his drunken state. "How much time can one spend, all by themselves, just wasting away at what is supposed to be a sentimental time?"