Chapter 1: Minute of Decay
It was silent. Not one sound could be heard through the dark and soundless night. The only source of visible light was the kind that came from the stars that dotted the night sky. I was not alone. Next to me sat my best friend who I had felt emotionally tied to for a big chunk of my life—Brian Warner.
Brian stared at me with such intensity that I was afraid that I would melt right before his eyes. His hand rested on his thigh and his eyes on the street. His presence filled me with warmth and a feeling of hope. Maybe he did care about me.
In the past few weeks Brian had been getting unusually angry at me. Sometimes it was for no reason at all. He’d just make up a reason to yell in my face and would pick a fight. I wondered if it was my presence in the band that angered him. I was hoping that our band, titled Marilyn Manson, would not kick me out like we did to Daisy Berkowitz. I felt sickened at the thought that they could be planning to kick me out of the band. I held my stomach, which was filled with bad feelings.
The more I thought about it, the more sure I became that I was going to be gone next. The only reason that I Brian was comforting me in my state of unrest at the moment was because he wanted to soften me up before he hurt me. I’d be more vulnerable that way. Well, I was not going to let it happen.
Brian’s blue eyes wandered freely, from my head to my chest several times. I could not dare to look at him. His beauty shone to bright like the stars in the sky. I stood up, my light green dress falling above my knees. I brushed the dirt off my but t and walked, sliding my feet in the dirt as I did so.
Brian suddenly jerked, shooting his head up.
“Where are you going,” he questioned, his eyes becoming glued to me once more.
“Inside. I feel nauseous,” I mumbled.
“As do I. It could have been something we ate,” he replied, scratching his head.
I doubted that that was the problem with me. I hadn’t really eaten anything. He had, but I did not feel like ordering anything when we were at the restaurant. I felt nauseous because my life was probably going to end if I was kicked out of Marilyn Manson. I wasn’t the least bit suicidal; I just meant that I would feel worthless if I was no longer in the band.
I walked inside and was blasted with cool air that tried to made an effort in cooling me down. The hot summer hair still lingered within me and my sweat caused my clothes to stick to me.
If I was feeling normal, then I would probably flip out at what I was seeing. The place was a mess. It was more of a mess then I made.
The band was meeting at my place, of course, because we were discussing our ideas for a new album that we wanted to put out around next year. So far we were having no progress--Pogo was as high as the sky, Zim Zum had a wicked hangover, Ginger was wasted as well. The surprising thing about this all was that Brian wasn't the least bit drunk or high. I wondered what was up.
Speaking of him, he soon came in and ran towards the only free bathroom (Zim was in the other one throwing up whatever was left of his stomach).
I heard a sound that I really did not want other coming from the bathroom. I tapped on the door. A moaning Brian responded. I opened the door to see him sitting next to the toilet, his head in his knees. I sat down next to him and rubbed his back in a circular motion like I always did.
I offered him some water, which he denied. After a while of him throwing up, he laughed.
"It was probably something I ate," he muttered, "You feeling alright, Twiggy?" At least he cared about me a little.
"I'm fine. I didn't eat anything at the restaurant," I muttered, not wanting to say anything that would push his buttons so he would not yell at me again.
"Oh, right. You didn’t,” he asked, his eyes searching me yet again. Brian and I had went to a restaurant alone, trying to escape the havoc of the others. It was my bloody mistake of leaving them alone at my house.
"I wasn’t hungry," I replied. He pushed a piece of my hair out of my face.
His hair highlighted his face and dropped down to the middle of his chest. He was shirtless as usual and I move my hands until they were rubbing his arms, which had ink tattooed on them. He did not seem to mind to fact that I was all over him. My head moved until it was on his shoulder. I occasionally removed it so he could spill his guts out in the toilet but then put it back when he was done.
|Marilyn Manson||as himself|
|Twiggy Ramirez||as himself|
|Pogo (Madonna Wayne Gacey)||as himself|
|Ginger Fish||as himself|
|Zim Zum||as himself|