When You're A Stranger: A Jim Morrison One Shot

A/N So this is something I wrote when I was trying to find inspiration for my main series. It actually helped. I got the idea when I was listening to the Danbury Connecticut concert. This one shot has absolutely nothing to do with the Love Cannot Save You series, by the way. Anyway, I hope you like it. 

My senior year of high school was the year that everything changed- both for me, and the world around me. The country was reaching its tipping point, youth and adults were more divided than ever. In an attempt to join the revolution, I grew my hair long and dropped acid frequently. 1967 was the year that I told myself I would never grow up.

The need inside me to break free was growing stronger every day. And at the beginning of my freshman year of college, it all came to a head on an usually warm night in the beginning of October.

 “I hope you can be patient with us for a few moments. Our guests have arrived and there will be a fifteen minute intermission.”

I sighed, tapping my foot impatiently as the woman onstage, probably pushing sixty, spoke unenthusiastically into the microphone.

“And I recommend that you sit in your seats and do not leave the auditorium.”

“What if we have to take a piss?” my friend Adam whispered from behind me.

I rolled my eyes and bit my lip in an attempt not to laugh at his immature humor.

“No smoking please,” the woman added as someone flicked on a lighter.

“Sit in your seats,” she snapped as a few more people stood up, “and if you get out of them we will escort you to the door.”

A loud chorus of boos followed.

“Oh brother,” I mumbled, suddenly grateful that I’d had the foresight to drop acid before the show. I didn’t have to stand up or smoke in order to enjoy it.

 “If you’re ready to calm down now I will-“

The sound of an organ playing cut her off. From my spot in the front row I could see her suck in a deep breath and press her lips together, clearly trying to remain calm.

“I have a very special guest-“

More music.

“The Doors, okay?” the woman spoke quickly, clearly more than ready to get offstage. But she was barely heard over the screams and cheers coming from the audience.  

The curtain opened, the band started up and then he appeared.

Dressed in skin-tight black leather pants, a white blousy shirt with ruffles down the front, and a sleek black leather jacket he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Of course I knew who The Doors were. I’d have to have been living under a rock not to. But still, I was in awe. Because once I saw the lead singer up close I knew that his pictures didn’t do him justice. Not even close. Suddenly, I was immensely grateful that I’d been lucky enough to get a seat in the first row.

Not only did he look better in person, he sounded better too. But something was off. He seemed strangely subdued, not the wild, out of control madman I had heard so many stories about. I watched mesmerized as he clutched the microphone stand, sensually crooning into it as though it were a lover.

His eyes remained closed, and with the strobe lights causing the stage to flicker in the dark, the acid began to kick in, further contributing to the otherworldly feel.

In that moment his eyes opened, and as he scanned the audience his gaze seemed to linger on me. I felt like a deer in the headlights, caught in his beautifully intense blue-grey orbs, alight with something I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.