Theme Song #52

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Celest, Mar 7, 2013.

  1. [video=youtube;cz-S5wniTF0][/video]

    Music touches people in different ways. Many people enjoy listening to music for inspiration, and others simply listen to it to relax. Some songs tell stories while others allow you to make your own story.

    Your challenge:

    Listen to the song above then take a minute or two to think about it.

    Write out a scene to this song; make this song your scenes theme song.

    Let me know what you see when you listen to this music.

  2. (This may seem slightly inappropriate, and I apologize beforehand if it must be moved or deleted. This music just seems like it would be SO perfect for a f/f gay cinema movie during the lovemaking scene. I will not go into detail, and I will not base my response on the love making. Here's to it being an acceptable response, though! Spoiler'd just in case.)

    Show Spoiler

    Two bodies are pretty tightly against one another. Their lips connect, their tongues mingle and wrestle. Their chests are tight against one another, causing friction between them, and forcing their bodies to burn up and shiver at the same time. One may be asking, why these two women? What is it that might lead them up to this point? To this act between them? In truth, sometimes we just need to give in to our primal needs. Sex has been an escape for many and a pleasure for many more. But what is the story between these two?

    Kiela, the younger of the two, has always been sexually mature. Men, women, it never seems to matter. She's always loved others for who they are and not what society might label them as. And her heart has always been open to others. But she doesn't seek out sex for love. She only wants the thrill, the rushing adrenaline and the massive release of pleasure and endorphins. She went to the bar that night, as she did many nights, seeking a partner. Somebody that she can take to her home and become 'involved' with. She doesn't want anybody extremely easy, but she doesn't want a massive challenge on her hands. She sees the girl in the corner, alcoholic drink before her. She never took a sip, only played through it with her straw.

    Amy didn't have any confidence in herself. She was beaten as a child, and never allowed to be around others. It caused her to be silent, unsure. Socially awkward. She often allows herself to be taken advantage of to help her get rid of her thoughts about herself. She thinks she's useless. She doesn't understand why anybody would even want to touch her in such a way. But she enjoys it, because for as long as she's swept into the embrace of another's touch and control, she doesn't have the ability to think of her self-created flaws. She cannot think past the haze that her senses have been filled with. The lust, and for her, the love. She falls for people far too easily. It's how she has to be, though, to convince herself that she isn't a whore. She really just wants to be loved. When the confident girl, Kiela, approaches her at her table at the bar, she doesn't put up a fight. She wants to be taken away from the bar, and away from her dark thoughts.

    Something happens that night. As their bodies energy fades, and they're left in each others arms, Amy speaks. She doesn't want to have run around anymore. She doesn't want to have to look any farther for her release from her destructive mind. Kiela doesn't want to have to search for her partners either. The two of them, despite everything, manage to fall in love that night. And to this day, they remain lovers, escaping into each others arms.
  3. His head hung over the balcony of the hotel, eyes peering over the side, staring at the body of a man....the man he threw over the guardrail. His costume was torn, his mask was nearly diminished, but at this point it didn't matter, he'd taken his vengeance, and the weight of it all simply lifted from his shoulders and his mind. He took these few moments, staring silently over the edge of the Balcony as the door to this room was being beaten on, screams for surrender being audible from the other side, these few fleeting moments of the remainder of his life as a free man, he used them to reflect to make peace with the past.


    It was a dreary stormy night, the man had come home to see his house a wreck, the door kicked open, a fire raging in the living room, the sirens from approaching emergency response teams. Worst of all, however was the visage of his once happy family, and how he felt as held his wife and child as they breathed their last in his arms. He remembered feeling destroyed, as if what had happened to his family and home hadn't happened to them physically but instead had happened in his heart and burned itself to his memories. It was this night, this one night three years ago that lead up to his staring over the balcony at the corpse of a man that he killed.

    His memories skipped ahead two months later, he'd fashioned a black costume procuring armor plating and weapons from an underworld scumbag, like the kind that tore his life from him. He'd gone through the trouble of forging a mask in the visible form of a psychotically grinning skull, and as his first exploit as this vigilante, he tracked down one of the perpetrators using every connection and skill he possessed and with the squeeze of a trigger, the slide of the loading mechanism, the pop of the hammer hitting the blasting cap, ended the man's life, as well as his two friends. Witnesses called him the Ghost, a name he felt fit as he himself felt as if he was only the ghost of what he used to be. Tabloids printed stories about the murders of the Ghost, even some of the big papers had his exploits on their front pages.


    A year later, he'd hardened his skills, and was able to finger a second member of the posse he'd sought vengeance after, lured the bastard into a darkened room of their clubhouse, and savagely beat him to death with his own knuckle dusters, after putting a stop to the lives of three others who were there drinking with him. Three months had gone by and seven more had died by his hand. After two years since that night, he'd amassed a hefty body count.

    He didn't care if people knew he existed, or if they knew what he'd done, he had unfinished business and he would finish it. Now as he stared over the balcony at the ringleader behind his family's deaths, he knew he'd finished the business he'd started three years before, a body count of nearly thirty, and more than that number in possible life sentences, or the possibility of being gunned down once S.W.A.T. had breached the door. Even with all of that laying on him, he felt calm, the first time since that night, that he'd felt peace, and as if Nature was confirming to him that things have come full circle, like that night, it had begun raining heavily, and after removing his half destroyed mask, throwing off the armored portions of his costume, and letting the torrent of droplets collide with his skin, the police finally kicked the door down.

    He turned to face them, now unarmed, without armor, and without his mask, The Ghost that had been at the top of a few most wanted lists, was surrounded by men pointing pistols and rifles and shotguns at him, red dots shining all over his torso. All he could was smile and say, "It ended as it began...." The voice was cracked, and somewhat choked by tears that went unnoticed because of the rain that had doused his face. The Police stared at him confused, but he had three more words, "in the rain...." that he spoke to them before he threw himself off the same balcony he sent his nemesis over. The Ghost, or rather, Randall Hargrove, was now falling, falling thirty stories to hit the hard pavement of the pool area of a hotel that was now the final stage of his years long hunt for justice. He gave a soft chuckle as his body plummeted towards the earth, and spoke his final words, "See you soon, my wife, my son....see you soon....." right before his body hit the concrete, sickening thud and splattering noises coupled with the screams of witnesses, the last things he heard before he went to join his family, wherever they may be.
  4. I walked along the sidewalk. There was so much on my mind, but nothing on my face. It was blank and emotionless. It was blank because I had made it so. I was crying on the inside. I was broken. The love of my life had died, all because of me. What husband lets his wife die? I did.
    I let her die. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't devoted enough. . .
    She had my heart. She was the center of my world.
    She was my sun and I let her slip away.
    I would cry; I should be crying, but a man can't show his tears.

    My walking had accelerated into a jog. Faces passed by me. I recognized no one, but others probably recognized me. I traveled along the side of the road, til I finally hit the path. The path that led up a hill. As I climbed it, my angry thoughts started to fade.
    I wouldn't kill my wife's murderer. He would be punished by the Court. If I killed him, I was guilty too.
    Sammie wouldn't have wanted that.

    Sweet, sweet Samantha. Oh how I miss you so. But the time I had with you, that first night at Jim's party, that Christmas at your mother's house, that time when I proposed to you, that perfect day that we were married, that beautiful trip to Maine: they were all worth it. Sure, our time together was short, but worth it. It was all worth the hole in my heart.
    I thought of more of our excursions together as a sat upon a rock. I had sat down after jogging all the way here.
    I was thankful. I had been blessed with a beautiful woman who I will never forget.
    Never forget.