Hippie (freelover) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-12-06 17:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | classic rock, hippie subculture |
Who: Hippie [Narrative; open to Classic]
What: 40th Anniversary of Altamont
When: Just after Midnight, December 6th, 2009
Where: Bedroom of the Watchtower
Hippie didn't need to look at a clock to know that midnight, and the anniversary of Altamont, was nearing. She could feel it within her body, within her very bones. She'd gone to bed as early as 8 o'clock, knowing that she was unlikely to get very much sleep in the next week or so. Every year it was the same, and yet every year it was horrible. One would think that each year it would be easier to deal with the past but every year she was removed from her death, it was a reminder that she was closer to her true, permanent death. As much as Marijuana and Classic tried to deny it, she knew that her death would come one day. It was either death or being reduced to nothing but the cold hard fact of the history books, and what kind of life was that?
She was sitting with her knees pressed to her chest, her arms wrapped around them and her eyes shut tight. Classic was in bed next to her, but she had no idea if he was asleep or awake. Her mind was focused completely on the time ticking away. Her breathing grew heavier as the day grew nearer and nearer. 5...4...3...2...1
Her body stiffened and she knew that it was officially December 6th. Immediately the flashbacks began and she gasped, falling backwards on the bed, eyes wide and unblinking. All at once the feelings she had felt right before the stabbing rushed back on her. She was shaking violently, her heart pounding against her ribs as if it was trying to escape. Though in reality she was lying there on the bed, she could feel rain pouring down on her, mud forming underneath her.
The stab scars on her back, the ones that matched the ones that had killed Meredith Hunter, had been aching all week but now the pain was fresh. The first reopened, bleeding fresh and she screamed, back arching in pain and nails grabbing hold of the blanket beneath her roughly. Five times the pain was repeated, each time her screams growing louder and shriller. She could see Meredith dying, and she was screaming to him, screaming to Mary Jane, to Classic, to Lucy. She could feel her Drugs leaving her again, her Song singing on. She could feel the mud seeping up around her again.
Suddenly her screaming ceased and turned to a gurgling, choking sound as she imagined that mud seeping down her throat and stealing the air and smoke form her lungs. Her hands scrambled at her throat, trying to climb out of the mud. It was seeping over her, filling her nose as well as her mouth, before it covered her eyes. She felt her heart pound once, twice, flutter, then stop.
For almost a minute she laid there, not breathing, her heart standing still. Finally she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes stretching wide and she screamed louder than she ever had in her entire existence. It was a guttural, bloodcurdling scream. She turned, pressing her face into Classic chest and sobbing hysterically. Her fingers scrambled on his arms, holding onto him for dear life, her tears instantly dampening his skin.
"I'm dying, Song, I'm dying. Help me, please I'm dying." she sobbed. She would lay like that for a few more hours, insisting that her true death was near. She wouldn't be getting any sleep that night, and it was doubtful that she would be getting any sleep in the coming week.