Big Ugly Story Starters

Morrissey

Steven woke up a little while before his alarm clock had rung, stretching and nearly hitting his head on the headboard in mid-yawn. <i>Sigh</i>. Another day.

Like every day, he'll go downstairs and have a cup of tea and wonder what this day is for. It has become - he'll admit - an enjoyable pastime. Thinking can be a lot more creative than working at keeping yourself busy, he found out. Not chasing stimuli - but rather sitting quietly and observing life - proved to help him focus on the moment, whereas too much exposure and over-analyzing proved to be exhausting.

Adulthood's made him better at tolerating his own company, and even enjoying it. There was a freeing independence in never surrounding himself with too many people; Just him and Mother - who understood him best of all. She understood poetry, and nature, and for the most part she understood Steven's doubts and burdens and comfort zones, in that special way only mothers can understand. She knew about everything that mattered to Steven, and he was more than grateful to have that sort constant in his life.

Somewhere in between going down the stairs and putting the kettle on, he remembered that this isn't any ordinary day like the ones before it, today he was scheduled to go to Elephant studios in Wapping to start recording a few demos with his band.

Though the thought didn't fill him with dread, he felt commitment towards this workmanship. He felt like he would help shape - and eventually make - the best record: if not for himself, he owed it to the music idols and word-smiths who got him through his youth. And perhaps he was doing it as a sort of revenge against the people and culture who'd made things considerably worse for him; Either way, getting his words and voice out there had to be nothing short of a triumph for him.

He knew recording would involve getting together with his bandmates, one of which is the new bassist who he'd only made the acquaintance of recently. He recalled being told that the boy had been Johnny's friend since childhood, but that fact did nothing to reassure him the way he figured it should have. Working with people meant he had to have polite, if not meaningful or friendly, interaction with them. He never knew what to say beyond exchanging pleasantries. Although he did posses wit, on the flipside he never showed you his funny, charming side until he let you into his world. On occasion, his quick wit had been wasted on undeserving strangers who didn't know how to appreciate it. His experience taught him to be more subtle when in doubt, for fear of violent rebuttal. Just going outside meant putting on his best face - and the right shirt. He was begging to be handsome and look memorable without being theatrical about it.

He went for a cool, revitalising shower followed by a clean, close shave, and dressed his lower half, picking out a pair of jeans. He went through his clothes rack, trying to decide between a plain blue shirt, and a black polkadot-print shirt. He ended up settling on a white shirt with thin stripes, and completed the look by brushing and blow-drying his hair to perfection.

"Steven, is that you blow-drying your hair for your recording session? I thought I heard you when you walked down the stairs," His mum peeked behind the bedroom door and made her way to him, putting a kiss on her cheek. "You look handsome, my dear lad."

"Do I?..." He asked uncertainly, and then noted in an afterthought, "You remembered." <i>Not only did she remember, she'd thought of that soon after waking up,</i>he thought.

She scrunched her face. "Have you eaten anything?"

"No," he admitted quietly, looking down and pursing his lip.

"Do you want breakfast?" She asked, on her way to the kitchen.

He agreed and sat down while she arranged him two slices of toast with jam.

"Don't get crumbs on your shirt," she alerted him, and he had to stifle an embarrassed chuckle.

"Won't."

"Are you excited?" She asked him

"No, more like scared." He said, looking down.

"Scared? Why would you be scared? You love singing and making music." She looked at him doubtfully.