Killer
tea
holycydonia
 Please tell me what you think, wrote it after listening to West Ryder/Silver Bullet.


And I'm searching the deepest corners of the room,
in search of what some call a door.
The high ceilings make it hard for me,
to believe I am your murderer,
I will not speak.
And in my mind I see them,
cowering away, hiding from the monster,
lurking beneath and within the shadows.
Can you hear me?
I am human.
You can fear me.
I am human.
And all I can hear are the words coming from inside me,
"Fear me. I am a revolutionary mime."

I MET MUSE.
bowie =O
holycydonia
 HOLY DFJBVDIUFBGIUOWRTBURSUBSNUBVNSIPFNVUSBVIUSRNTUVBNSRO;NBSIODBIODLKSDVAONFV90QEWF9QG34AERBVADOFIB ;L.

I know it was like a week ago.. BUT I MET MUSE fguibsriu bdgiuvbsiurbvioufsviusfb!!!!!11
Dom and Matt in person was just PHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAARrrrrrrr.

Forever Young
dom mouth
holycydonia
Sorry for the late update.



TITLE: Forever Young Chapter II
AUTHOR: holycydonia 
RATING: M currently [swearing, adult themes, graphic details.]
PAIRING: Matt/Dom [although this chapter is mostly Matt]
SUMMARY: AU, kind of futuristic. Matt is a rich, popular teenager, living in a world where you connect to network to access everything pretty much. Matt is in a car crash, suffers horrendous injuries and is brought back as a mechanical human.
NOTES:  I don’t own Muse, etc. Sorry for the long update, I was being lazy.  I hope the doctor sounds all doctor like, been watching some medical shows, got some terms from them. :P
 

 Chapter Deux
“I felt like I’d won the lottery. Or been struck by lightning.”
 
 
There were no dreams.
I opened my eyes. It was a triumph. If I could have smiled, I would have.
But I couldn’t.
I closed my eyes, just because I could. Then opened them again. Close. Open. Close. Open. It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
“Matt, can you hear me?” it was new voice, one I didn’t recognise. The face appeared. Small mouth, big nose, squinty brown eyes with a deep crease between them. His parents must not have cared enough to spend the credits on good looks, I decided. Either that or his gene pool was so crowded with ugly; this was the best he could get. I so wouldn’t do him. “Matthew, I want you to listen to what I’m saying and try to respond if you understand me.”
Respond how? I wondered. For a doctor, he didn’t seem to have much grasp of the situation.
“Our instruments are indicating that you’ve gained control of some key facial muscles, Matt. You should be able to blink. Can you blink now, if you understand me? Just once, nice and slow?”
I closed my eyes. Counted to three. Opened them again.
All I’d done was blink, but the doctor beamed like I’d won a multi-million dollar recording contract. Which should have seemed completely lame. Except I felt like I had.
And that felt pretty good; right up to the point when I started wondering why I could blink, but still couldn’t speak or move. I wondered how long it would last.
I wondered if I could figure a blink code for “Kill me.”
“You were in an accident,” he said with a little hesitation in his voice, like he was telling me something I didn’t know. Like he was worried I would freak out. How much freaking out did he expect from a living corpse?
“I’m sure you have questions. I think we’ve got a way to help you with that. But first we need to establish a cognitive baseline. Is that okay? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
No. Not okay. Okay would have been him telling me what exactly was wrong with me and how he was planning to fix it. But the answer wasn’t an option. I was stuck in a binary world: Yes or no. I blinked once.
It was something.
“Are you in pain right now?”
Two blinks. No.
“Have you been conscious at any point before now?”
One blink.
“Have you been in pain?”
One blink. I kept my eyes closed for a long time, hoping he’d get the point. His expression didn’t change.
“Are you able to move any part of your body?”
Two blinks.
I suddenly wondered if I was crying. I probably should have been crying.
“I’m going to apply some pressure now, and I want you to blink when you feel something, okay? This might hurt a little.”
I stared at the ceiling. I waited.
No blink.
No blink.
This cant be happening to me.
The doctor frowned. “Interesting.”
Interesting? Forget asking him to kill me. I wanted him to die.
“We’re going to try this the old fashioned way, Matthew. I’m going to point at the letters one by one, and you blink when I get to the one you want. Make sense?”
One blink.
His stubby finger skimmed across the letters. I blinked when it got to W. More letters appeared and his finger crawled along.
H. Blink.
A. Blink.
T. Blink.
WRONG WITH ME.
Blink.
I could tell from his expression it was the wrong question.
“As I said Matt, you’ve been in an accident. Your body sustained quite a bit of damage. But I assure you we’ve been able to repair it.  The lack of motive ability and sensation is quite normal under the circumstances, as your neural network adjusts to its… new circumstances. The pain and other sensations you may have experienced while you’ve been with us are a positive sign, an indication that your brain is exploring its new pathways, relearning how to process sensory information. Its’ going to take some time and some hard work, Matt, and there may be some… complications to work through, but we will get you walking and talking again.”
He said more after that, but I wasn’t listening, I didn’t hear anything after “walking and talking again.” They were going to fix me. Whatever the complications were, however long it took, I would get my life back.
“Is there anything you would like to ask?”
Two blinks. After the second one, I kept my eyes closed until he pissed off.
 
The next morning I was awoken by the squinty eyed doctor.
“We’ve hooked up a neural output line from the language centre in your brain, Matt, kind of like a guitar plugged into an amp,” he said. Now that I had a better view, I could see he was also shorter than me. For his sake- and mine- I hoped his parents spent all their credit on IQ points; because clearly, they’d spared little for anything else. “If you speak the words clearly in your mind, the computer will speak for you.” Then it was like the whole room paused, waiting.
Hello.
Silence.
“It might take a little practice to get the words out, I wish I could tell you exactly how to do it, but it’s like moving an arm or raising an eyebrow. You have to find a way to turn thought into action.”
If I could speak, I might have pointed out that I couldn’t move my arm, or raise my eyebrow. And thanked him for rubbing it in.
Hello.
Hello.
Can anyone hear me?
Is this piece of shit equipment ever going to work or are you all just going to keep standing there and staring at me like I’m
“some kind of freak?”
My mother let loose a whimpery squeal and buried her face in father’s chest. He didn’t push away.
“Very good, Matt.” A doctor nodded. “Excellent.”
“Can someone tell me what’s happening?” the speaker said. I said.
“How bad was I hurt? How long have I been here? What happens next? Why can’t I –“ I stopped. “I’ll be able to move again, right?” Walk and everything? You said I could. When?”
I didn’t ask why Quinn wasn’t there.
“It’s been several weeks since the accident,” said my father. “Almost four.” His voice was nearly as steady as the computer’s.
One month trapped in a bed, in the dark. I’d missed three exams, who knew how many parties, nights with Sam, hours and hours of my favourite Vidlifes. A month of my life.
“Of course you’ve only been conscious for the last week or so,” said the doctor. “And as I explained before, your brain needed this recuperation period to adjust to its new circumstances. Given the severity of your injuries, you’ve really been quite lucky, you know.”
Right. Lucky. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Or been struck by lightning.
“How bad?”
The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“You said severe. How severe?” I hated this man, a stranger, knew my body better than I did.
“When we brought you in after the accident… Incidentally, although you didn’t ask, I assume you’ll want to know what happened? A chip malfunction on a shipping truck, I believe. It slipped through the sat-nav system, and coincidentally, your car’s backup detection system malfunctioned, reading the road as clear. It was colossally unlikely turn of events.” He said this clinically, casually, as if noting a statistical aberrance he hoped to study in his spare time. “We brought you in after the accident, your injuries were severe. Burns covering-“
“Please stop!” That was my mother.
“He asked,” my father replied. “He should know.”
“Third degree burns covering seventy percent of your body. That was the immediate threat. Skin grafts are simple, of course, but in many cases infection proves fatal before we have the chance to do anything. Crush injuries to the legs and pelvis. Spinal cord abrasion. Collapsed lung. Damage to the aortic valve necessitated immediate bypass and may have required an eventual transplant. Internal bleeding. And, as far as secondary injuries, we were forced to amputate-“
“Please,” the computer voice cut in. It was so calm.
My father raised his eyes, waiting. Believing I was strong enough.
Keep going, I forced myself to think. The words were in the air before I could take them back.
“Amputate the left leg, just below the thigh. Several hours were spent trying to salvage the left arm, but it wasn’t possible.”
There were two feet below the blanket. Two legs. I could see them. Maybe I couldn’t feel them, but I knew they were there.
Prosthetics, I realised, retreating to a part of my brain the computer couldn’t hear. They can do a lot with prosthetics. They made fake limbs that moved, that even, in some way, felt. That looked almost normal. Almost.
The doctor said I would walk. He just didn’t say how. He didn’t say on what.
This can’t be happening to me.
How could it be happening- how could it keep happening- and still feel so unreal?
But then how could it be real? How could I, Matt Bellamy, be a one armed, one legged, burned, scarred, punctured lump?
“I need to see.”
“See what, Matt?” my mother whispered. What did she think?
See. I fucking need to see what I look like. I need a mirror.” In my head I was shouting. The voice was not.
“That’s not advisable at this point. Certain decisions were made for your own good. Some sacrifices were needed to save your life.” Said squinty eyes.
Some “sacrifices,” like an arm and a leg?
“I need to see.”
“Let him see,” said a man who hadn’t spoken yet. He stood closest to my parents, his grey suit flashing, very subtly, in time with his heartbeat. The style had been in and then very definitely out a couple of years ago, but it worked for him. Although his face - smooth skin, long lashed brown eyes, rounded chin, nearly-but-not-quite feminine lips, and a Pedro-ish styled moustache - anything would have worked. “He’ll have to find out eventually. Why not now?”
I was sorry I couldn’t smile at him.
Then I reminded myself that the smile would have been bound by blistered lips, pulled back to reveal cracked teeth, or empty dark gaps, along bloody gums. As for my hair I would have ruffled up a bit, just quickly enough that the scent of vanilla wafted out to greet him? It was probably gone. I’d smelled it burning. My eyes were both still there, that was obvious. At least one of my ears. But my mouth didn’t work, my nose didn’t work - who knew whether they were intact or just sunken caverns of flesh? The pretty doctor didn’t see pretty Matt Bellamy, I reminded myself. He saw the lump.
He found a mirror.
It was small, about the size of a hand stretched flat, with the fingers pressed together. Framed with black plastic that maybe was supposed to be shiny but wasn’t, not anymore. He paused, tipped his head toward my father. “Do you want to”?
My father shook his head.
So it was the pretty doctor, the kind of guy Sam would be someday if he remembered to shave and stopped flunking gen-tech, who approached, mirror in hand. He kept it angled safely away. “You ready?”
As if it mattered. I closed my eyes.
The computer said yes.
They’ll fix it, I promised myself.  No matter how much it costs, no matter how long it takes. I can do it.
“Matt, if you want to see, you’re going to have to open your eyes.” The doctor’s voice didn’t quite match up to his pretty face. I liked voices lower, huskier. Of course Sam was nearly a tenor.  A guy could get used to anything I suppose.
Anything, I told myself. And then, deep breath.
Eyes wide open.
I didn’t know computers could scream.
 

Hide From the Scary Scenes
matt and dom
holycydonia
 TITLE:  Hide From The Scary Scenes 2a
AUTHORholycydonia 
PAIRING: Belldom
RATING: M – swearing, drug use.
SUMMARY: Teen Muse, I don’t really know what’s going to happen.
DISCLAIMER: In my dreams I like to lay some kind of ownage on Muse, alas, this is not a dream and I do not own any part of Muse. 
NOTES: I’ve decided this whole story will be dedicated to all those crazy fans who vote more than once on the internet. 
I will try and finish this story, unlike the rest, which are not finished because I am a lazy sod.
 
CHAPTER 2A
 
It was the day after one of the “events” at home, if you could call it home. I was at school, when I ran into him on my way to the music room.
And yes, I have always been that way.
There he was, standing awkwardly in front of me after our little collision.
A little bit taller than myself, blond hair that could have been used in a shampoo ad, and mystical, enchanting grey eyes. Complete the look with baggy jeans, and a hideous jumper, (although I could be commented on my lack of jumper taste) he looked amazing. 
“Oh, sorry man,” the voice just suited everything about him. “Careful next time yeah?”
I just nodded like the twat I was. Gorgeous. Blond. If there is a god, he must be him.  
It took me a few moments before I registered the fact he was still talking.
“Hey, you ok there? You looked like you was off on some other world” Oh, I’d love to be in your world. His voice could have made butter melt; I think I may be made of butter. “ You know, you should get that lip checked out,” Would you like to do that for me? “ Anyway, got five minutes to get to English, I’ll see you later yeah?”
Again, I nodded. I seemed unable to speak. What was this? 
“Er, y-yeah later.” I am a pathetic excuse for a human. But does he mean “see YOU later” or just “see ya later” as in a casual goodbye? 
 
I continued to make my way to the music room muttering and grumbling -making sure no teacher saw or heard me sneak in- and went to my favourite room; number 5.
Now, number 5 is perfect. The piano is actually in tune, the door is somewhat on its hinges and the lights work.
I stretch my fingers and begin to play Rachmaninov’s Prelude in C# Minor; losing myself in the music, I didn’t notice a familiar blond standing in the doorway.
“Saw you sneak in. How long’ve you been playing?” The sudden intrusion making me jump.
“Shit, um, a w-w-while” I managed to stutter out, whilst regaining my breath.
“You’re real good, d’ya take lessons?” If you were my teacher, I so would.
“Ehm, no, never have”
“That’s amazing!” Gaah, you’re too kind.
“Cheers.” Very eloquent Matthew.
“Oh, I’m Dom by the way.” Nice name hot stuff.
“I’m Matt.” I said as I awkwardly extended my hand. Dom shook it. Oh, his, hand is so warm, and soft.. mm-
“Um, do you do that often?” 
“Eh?”
“You know, the whole, I-look-like-I’m-somewhere-else-thinking-about-something thing?”
I never got to reply, because that’s when my teacher came in.
“Mr Bellamy, to the headmaster’s office, NOW!”
Fucking  bollocking arse shit fuck. 
 
So fifteen minutes later I’m sitting outside the head’s office, looking at the dreary interior of the school foyer. How they expect us to learn and create stuff is beyond me. This place just sucks any kind of inspiration out of you.
“Mr Bellamy, do come in,” a raspy voice calls out from within the headmaster’s office. I swear he is Davros. “I rang your mother whilst Mr Shaw was looking for you, as I feel the need to sort something out about your ahem, truancy.” Truancy my arse, and fuck you for ringing my “mother”. “Mr Bellamy, I’m sure you are aware of your, how shall we put it, lack of attendance this year,” No shit. “From what I have heard, you seem to be skipping classes to go play piano in the music rooms.” He said, looking down his nose as he did. 
“Yeah, so? Can I go now?”
“Not so fast Matthew. We still have to sort out a reasonable punishment for your actions, and hopefully this will help teach you a lesson-”
“Yes sir, no sir, not the chains sir! Candle wax you say? I couldn’t bear it.  If there’s ice involved, I don’t see why not. And if you insist on using the whips, well I’m all for that-“
“That is quite enough Mr Bellamy. Detention this week and next week.”
“Why thank you sir, you’ve been ever so kind-“
“Now get out.”
I left the room with a very visible smirk.
 
Walking home a few hours early, I realised how much shit I was going to be in. To be honest, I was terrified. I looked at my hands and they were shaking, it was at that point I decided I wasn’t going to go home that night. A few minutes later I had another revelation. I didn’t have anywhere to stay tonight. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. It was starting to snow aswell, just my luck. 
“So, how’d it go with Davros?” See! I’m not the only one!
“W-well, he gave me two weeks detention.”
“Nice one.” Those lips, are to die for.
Awkward silence is entered here.
“Erm, so how come you aren’t at school?” Smooth.
“To be honest, I just couldn’t be arsed.”
“Fair ‘nuff.”
“Wanna smoke?” We have something in common! 
“Cheers.”
I let the nicotine flood my brain and felt the warmth flow across my body as I inhaled the first draw.
“Fuck school.” Keeping it classy as always Matt.
“For sure. At least I’ve got my drums.”  You could definitely drum me anyday. Shut up brain.
“Yeah that’s a benefit. You play in one of the bands around here yeah?”
“Mm, but it’s shit, I feel like I’m the only one taking it seriously. I think they just do it to get some birds…” I could listen to him talk for hours… “…Earth to Matt, hello? You in there somewhere?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“S’ok, man, I know what you need.”I need you. SHUT THE FUCK UP BRAIN.
“W-what’s that?”
“Come with me.”
Curiosity killed the fucking cat right? 
“Um, ok.”
So I followed him.
 
Tags:

Hide From The Scary Scenes
tea
holycydonia
TITLE: Hide From The Scary Scenes 1/?
AUTHOR: holycydonia
PAIRING: Belldom
RATING: PG-13 for the moment, there’s a bit of swearing.
DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately I do not own Muse, which is a pity.
NOTES: This is not beta’d so if anyone would like to, let me know. Also thanks to ayemifire  for the WE KIDNAPPED TOM KIRK twitterings of inspiration, anyone who reads this and everyone who contributes/ed to the ‘OMGDFM’ thread on ML, you guys are awesome.
P.S I will try and actually finish this story, unlike the rest, which are not finished.



PROLOGUE

 

I could never understand how some people worked. It made no sense, all these different emotions boiling to the surface, happiness, then intense sadness, all caused by another person.

My parents thought I was a robot – an object that could not feel. I didn’t tell them what I thought about them, well not as often as I’d like too. But wouldn’t they like to know. I can just imagine how they would react when I tell them.

 

“WHY THE FUCK WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME – US? DO YOU NOT CARE FOR US? OF COURSE NOT, YOU ONLY CARE FOR YOURSELF. YOU RUIN EVERYTHING.

I eventually got used to the verbal abuse. What I just couldn’t handle was the physical abuse.

“YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE FUCKER!”

Enter a plate being thrown across the room.

This was just one of the many things that had come into contact with my body to cause harm. I could start a list if you want.

Well, there’s plates, mobile phones, a knife, a wine glass, tomato sauce, wine and vodka in my eyes and I would keep going but you get the picture. Then I’d race up the stairs, lock my bedroom door, and let all my emotions come out. Muffled into my pillow of course.

I would hate them to see my moment of weakness.

 

And then comes the day after these events.  I would act as if nothing happened, put up those emotional barriers to try and seem normal.

Get to school. See my friends. Try to hide the fact that I have a swollen lip, bruised eye and strangle marks on my neck. Act normal. Pretend that they aren’t there.

“What happened man?”

“Did you get into a fight?”

My usual reply consisted of:

“Nah, mate, I think I must have attacked myself in my sleep.”

“Again?”

“Yeah.”

Although sometimes it varied.

Got into another fight on the pier. Ran into a door. Fell down some fucking stairs.

Why did I never admit that I was being abused by my parents?

Was I afraid?

 Yes.

If I told someone about my parents; who would they tell, what would they do?

So I never did.

But then I met Dominic.



Museslash lol
dom mouth
holycydonia
Title: No Idea
Author: James Lewis, Joe Hill and Ian Astill
Rating: NC/17
Pairing:Belldom with a random bit of Morgan.
Summary: Not enough to summarise.
Warning: Strange. Don't read if some stuff makes you queasy. hah
Feedback:Would be nice, so i can pass it on.
Disclaimer: Never happened. Please don't take this seriously.
Notes: This happened after a conversation on Skype, when Joe showed us some weird porn, and i was reading Museslash.

Dom slowly puts his cock in Matt's ear and rubs it about a bit
Matt rapes Dom's tight ass.
Dom burrowed his nose deep inside Matt's asshole. Matt didn't understand what was going on, in his vegetative state.
As Dom layed there as Matt's tongue caressed his penis, he couldn't help but think about the Watergate scandal.
Dom pulls out a knife and slices off the tip of Matt's bellend.
He tasted his blood and cum soaked shaft
AND THATS HOW THEY WROTE SOAKED
Matt layed back whilst Dom took his manhood in his mouth. Matt found his mind drifting to partitioning his hard drive.
Matt started singing jingle bells while Morgan cracked one off
While Chris impregnanted a girl from 40 feet away.
With his penis.
And now you know the rest of the story.

Writer's Block: Most memorable concert
wembley
holycydonia
What was the most memorable concert you ever attended? What made it so magical?
Definately my first muse gig.
2004 at Adelaide BDO, i was 12 years of age. couldn't see very well, so some random let me sit on his shoulders and VOILA! i could see!
it was such an awesome experience.

Lazy.
nme awards matt face
holycydonia

Yes, that is me. Lazy, with a capital "L", because i haven't been updating my stories, i start one, can't be bothered finishing it. so i start another.
Ye gads, i am hopeless.

 

Tags:

Forever Young I
wembley
holycydonia
Chapter Une
“Some kind of freak”

There were no dreams.
    I opened my eyes.
I opened my eyes. It was a triumph. If could have smiled, I would have.
    But I couldn't.
Hello?
Silence.
“It might take a while to get the words out,” the doctor said. “I wish I could tell you exactly how to do it, but it’s like moving an arm or raising an eyebrow. You just have to find w way to turn thought into action.”
If I could speak, I might have pointed out that I couldn’t move my arm or my eyebrow. And then thanked him for rubbing it in.
Hello.
Hello.

Can anyone hear me?
Is this piece of shit equipment ever going to work or are you all just going to keep standing there and staring at me like I’m,

“Some kind of freak?”
My mother let loose a whimpery squeal and buried her face in my father’s chest. He didn’t push her away.
“Very good, Matthew.”  The doctor nodded. “Excellent.”
The voice was male, electronic, with that artificially soothing tone you hear in broken elevators, assuring you that “assistance is on the way”. It trickled out of a speaker above my head.
“Can someone tell me what’s happening?” the speaker said
    I said.
“How bad was I hurt? How long have I been here? What happens next? Why can’t I-“ I stopped. “I’ll be able to move again right? Walk and everything? You said I could. When?”
    I didn’t ask why Quinn wasn’t there.
“It’s been several weeks since the accident,” my father said “Almost four.” His voice was nearly as steady as the computer’s.
    One month trapped in a bed, in the dark. I’d missed three tests, a practical exam, who knew how many parties, nights with Sam, hours and hours of my favourite vidlifes. A month of my life.
    “Of course, you’ve only been conscious for the last week or so,” clever doctor said.” And as I explained before, your brain needed this break period to adjust to its new circumstances. Involuntary motion indicated the first stage had been sooner, but, of course, these things vary, and nothing can be rushed, not in a case like this. Given the severity of your injuries, you’ve really been quite lucky, you know.”
    Right. Lucky. I felt like I’d won the lottery.
    Or been struck by lightning.
He didn’t say what would happen if things didn’t go smoothly, or how big the if was. I didn’t ask.
    “How bad?”
The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry?”
    “You said severe. How severe?” I hated this man, a stranger, knew my body better than I did.
    “When we brought you in after the accident… incidentally, although you didn’t ask, I assume you’ll want to know what happened? A chip malfunction on a shipping truck, I believe. It slipped through the sat-nav system, and coincidentally, your car’s backup-detection system malfunctioned, reading the road as clear. It was a colossal unlikely confluence of events.”
    The doctor said I would walk. He just didn’t say how. He didn’t say on what.
    This can’t be happening to me.
    How could it be happening – how could it keep happening – and still seem so unreal?
But then how could it be real? How could I, Matt Bellamy, be a one-armed, one-legged, burned, scarred, punctured lump?
    “I need to see.”
    “See what Matt?” my mother whispered. What did she think?
    “See. I need to see what I look like. I need a mirror.” In my head I was shouting. The voice was not.
    “That’s not advisable at this point,” doctor said. “I only told you about your injuries so you would realize how lucky you are to be making a full recovery. So you would understand that certain decisions were made for your own good. Some sacrifices were needed to save your life.”
    Some “sacrifices”, like an arm and a leg?
    The doctor frowned. “We really should wait until the final, cosmetic procedures have been completed. It’s ill-advised at this stage to-“
    “Let him see,” said a woman who hadn’t spoken yet. She stood closest to my parents, her grey suit flashing, very subtly, in time with her heartbeat. The style had been in and then very definitely out a couple of years ago, but it worked for her. “He’ll have to find out eventually. Why not now?”
    I was sorry I couldn’t smile.
    Then I reminded myself that the smile would have been bound by blistered lips, pulled back to reveal cracked teeth or dark empty gaps, along bloody gums. As for my lovely fringe I would have liked to flick across my forehead, just quick enough that the scent of cloves wafted out to greet her? It was probably gone. I’d smelled it burning. My eyes were both still there, that was obvious. At least one of my ears. But my mouth and nose didn’t work - Who knew whether they were intact or just sunken caverns of flesh? The pretty doctor didn’t see pretty Matt Bellamy, I reminded myself. She saw the lump.
She found a mirror.
It was small, about the size of a hand stretched flat, with the fingers pressed together.
    “You ready?” said the pretty doctor.
    As if it mattered. I closed my eyes.
They’ll fix it, I promised myself. No matter how much it costs, no matter how long it takes.
“Matthew, if you want to see, you’re going to have to open your eyes.” The doctor’s voice didn’t quite match up to her pretty face. I liked voices lower, a little husky, at times. Of course, Sam was perfect; carved cheekbones, and a face nearly as perfect as mine had been.
 Anything, I told myself.
And then, deep breath.
    Eyes wide open.
I didn’t know computers could scream.


   





Writer's Block: Historian's Choice
dom mouth
holycydonia
If you could live in any era of history, which one would you choose?
definately the 70s.

DAVID BOWIE!!!
i would go back, just to meet him in the ziggy stardust era.

?

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