Tangled Limbs (Shannon Leto Fanfiction)

Chapter 1 - A Strange Awakening

(Trigger Warning:  Anxiety)

(Missi's POV)

The lyrics of 'Do or Die' by the rock band Thirty Seconds to Mars permeated my subconscious mind one morning and interrupted my slumber. The incessant repetition of the song's lyrics 'And the story goes on' illuminated the dark recesses of my brain and provided an intense awakening like no other. The lyrics told me my story would indeed continue. From that day on my life didn't just go on, it improved dramatically. I dropped the baggage accumulated during my lifetime and felt confident I could reroute any smaller pieces that might arrive later.

I'd always been inspired by 'Closer to the Edge', especially the video wherein people give testimonials of how deeply they were stirred by music. It provided them with strength and encouragement and they instantly became my soulmates. Music was my lifeblood too and lyrics fed my soul.

The first time I watched Thirty Seconds to Mars' videos I zoomed in on the drummer immediately. I wasn't just mesmerized by his drumming abilities—he was bewitching. He had a lethal grin on that handsomely boyish face, muscles flexing as he played and more than a hint of a wild side. Watching him drum enthralled me—piquing my curiosity enough to search his ranking as a drummer. I was dumbfounded by the amount of information Google provided and felt like I'd opened Pandora's box. When I read he'd had addiction issues I was truly saddened, knowing all too well the heartache involved.

I kept delving into that Google search nonetheless, and watching one video automatically queued another until I was neck deep in them. The band's humor and personal connection drew me in even further. I was ultimately screwed after watching videos by the drummer's adoring fans. He wasn't just drumming in them—he was putting on quite a show. I closed my gaping mouth and vowed to never watch them again. That reprieve didn't last long however before I indulged my guilty pleasure again. I assumed some 12-Step program loomed in my future. But still I kept unearthing things on the internet.

An article about the similarities between the band's symbols with that of evil and the Illuminati sent my imagination on a 5K run. I envisioned Jared as Jesus, and Shannon as the devil, likely due to having watched a video where Jared was dressed like the Messiah. He emulated a religious leader with his uncanny ability to draw people in, but his approach leaned more toward that of a snake charmer. It was no wonder the band's fan club was considered a cult.

Shannon was definitely a devil if not the devil—his combination of irresistible looks and charm lacked nothing more than pointy horns. I had no doubt his soft, yet husky voice had wooed more than a few souls into a spell.

I began obsessing over obsessing, with random thoughts wreaking havoc. My awakening message was a blessing, but why had it led to a fixation on the Shanimal of all things?

My behavior started changing and I became receptive to things I'd never considered. The attraction of having a tattoo for instance had never appealed to me after being taught they were only for sailors and bikers. Nonetheless I wanted one of the band's symbols to signify my awakening. It turned out the symbol I chose also represented Gemini's air symbol. Once I had that tattoo I understood the appeal of having something that was like permanent jewelry.

My next undertaking was reading Thirty Seconds to Mars fan fiction. I knew nothing about this phenomenon, most likely because there'd never been anything I was that 'fanned out' over until then. Those writers were putting their work out there for the world to see and that somehow rekindled my life-long passion to write. I still attribute my inspiration to those very writers.

My therapist strongly encouraged me to follow things I was deeply drawn to and I'd eventually stumble upon my true passion. I thought it was a bit of a stretch, but as the overwhelming desire to pour my life, dreams and imagination onto paper took hold I knew she was right. I couldn't help wondering if this was just the first string of dominoes to fall serendipitously.

I had an upcoming trip to the Los Angeles area to visit my dearest friend Chelsea—also a rare opportunity to visit a particular coffee shop and try getting a glimpse of the owner. The odds of Shannon being there were microscopic, but I planned on crossing a few things off my bucket list while I was there.

Chelsea and I met in our twenties. We were neighbors and became fast friends. She and I could talk for hours and laugh until tears rolled down our faces. She became my partner in crime and helped me cope with the constant turmoil in my marriage. She was the most positive person in my life and provided reassurance that someday my life would be better. I introduced Chelsea to my close friend Ian, sensing they'd be a perfect match. Little did I know that I'd be extremely happy and deeply saddened by the outcome. It was love at first sight and they married months later. Her departure with him to live in California left a big gap in my life and my marriage quickly deteriorated.

Chelsea knew everything I hoped to do while I was there besides seeing her again after far too many years. The most important of which was revisiting the Lone Cypress tree on 17-mile Drive in Monterey. She knew its significance to me. I'd been truly awed at first glance and knew it would forever hold a place in my heart. I identified with it as it stood alone on a cliff top defending itself from the elements, as that was how I'd felt most of my life. Intense emotions overwhelm me every time I'm there and reduce me to tears. Intuition tells me my heart and soul are bound to it somehow. People who know me well refer to that cypress as my tree.

The third thing I hoped to experience was a nightclub with techno music and dance like my life depended on it. I loved the intense beat and wanted to feel it live as opposed to the din coming from an old pair of computer speakers.

Flying alone wouldn't be easy. It was my least favorite mode of transportation and I hoped my anxiety wouldn't hinder it by causing a major panic attack. I'd seen footage of some poor man wrestled to the floor of an airplane and restrained due to his odd behavior and people's assumption that he was a terrorist. His only crime had been being in the wrong place at the wrong time with acute anxiety.

I focused on the positive aspects of my trip until departure was called, then my body turned to goo. I conjured up an image of my reunion with Chelsea to spur me on. The gooey feeling was my anxiety kicking into high gear despite the medication I'd used to prevent it. Determined to reach my goal, I put a smile on my face and walked toward the gate nonetheless.

Much to my relief the plane was nothing like the puddle jumper I'd first flown on back in the 80's. Beside me sat a sweet looking older woman that reminded me of my grandmother. We introduced ourselves and chatted about our destinations. My new acquaintance noticed my apprehension about flying when I clutched the armrest during takeoff. 'It will be fine dear. I'm here.' She said gently placing her hand on mine. I was comforted by her familiar words, having heard my grandmother utter them many times.

Having survived the first flight, I had a confident spring in my step as I approached the gate for the next. My excitement was high as we descended into Burbank, knowing my touchstone would be waiting for me. I couldn't get to the gate quick enough and tears welled up in my eyes when I spotted her. We laughed and cried like fools. 'You did it!' She exclaimed.

'I really did!' I replied beaming, happy to have finally arrived after months of anticipation. We chattered the whole way to the car and my annoying habit of adopting her contagious Southern drawl kicked in. She had a bottle of wine and snacks waiting at home and we talked for hours before calling it a night.