I swear to God I'm working on the fifth chapter of Between Unsure & A Hundred! I promise! I've even sent it off to Jonuda and theheffalump to be beta'd! It's coming! I just needed this to take a break and stretch my muscles! Please excuse all the exclamation marks but I am very insistent! Please believe me! I'm working on it; I swear!
Okay, exclamation marks aside, the only problem I'm having with chapter five is… getting Joe to decide to go back. I don't want it to be abrupt, you know? Good thing he's got a tough-as-nails boss from Brooklyn!
This is part of the iPod challenge, which I snatched from RhiannaNekozawa – whose stories you should read, by the way; they're wonderful! The object of the exercise is to put your MP3 player or iTunes on shuffle and write a drabble for each song, and you can only keep writing for the length of the song. I didn't do too many, but once I started, I couldn't stop! You guys wouldn't believe all the half-done Super 8 things I have lying around. I'm currently working on a oneshot called "Like Pretty Girls Need Cowboys," a short bit for "Ambitions" for the prompt "freedom," an "Ambitions" piece for the prompt "sweat" (warning: it'll be saucy!), and a billion other things. I'm not kidding. I have a problem.
All babbling aside, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to the characters, canonical occurrences, or songs used in this work of fanfiction. All things affiliated with Super 8 belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot. All songs are listed with their artists. The situations used in this work of fanfiction were created by me to be provided by the characters aforementioned. I gain no profit from this.
21 Guns – American Idiot Cast.
Joe had always been willing to fight for the people of Lillian, for his friends and for Alice and for his father. What he did not realize, however, until he was running through the underground caverns forged by that which needed to be fought, was that he had never – to his everlasting shame – been willing to die for any of them.
Not even for Alice.
The streets of Lillian were freckled with seas of broken glass, layer upon layer of scattered greens and oranges and browns and translucents. Sometimes when he'd be walking, a piece would slice up through the sole of his shoe and into the arch of his foot, and he'd bleed a little, but suddenly blood was a meaningless sort of thing to him, just as it was to everyone else – the sidewalks and houses were all stained by the imprint of the bloodshed; a little of Sheriff Prewett's, a little of Breen's, a little of the lady with the curlers', a little of the telephone line repairman's. It never entirely washed away, just as Joe never entirely was ready to die.
Space Age Love Song – A Flock of Seagulls.
Preston was never good at falling in love.
Robyn helped him out a little bit.
She was short, a dainty sort of girl, with thick auburn hair that never seemed to please her and round tortoiseshell glasses and lots of freckles that she hated. She loved knee-high socks and jumpers and, at prom, the iris corsage he bought for her. Her dress had been short and rust-colored to match her hair, and her shoes had been olive to match her eyes. They only danced to one song, but they danced hard and they danced with smiles on their faces.
Preston had never seen a more wonderful smile. For a few moments, she had taught him something he'd never read in any of his AP classes: that falling in love was, in some ways, the easiest thing in the world.
Alligator Sky – Owl City.
It wasn't until his son's high school graduation that Jackson Lamb realized he had missed out on things. It was at that same time, however, that he decided he would never miss out on things again.
Joe had rocketed away to some far, fantastic galaxy in his absence, and he had begun to glow and burn and pulsate like a celestial body brighter than the sun.
Jackson had almost lost Joe up there in space, but at the last moment, he had managed to grip one of his untied-shoes, and after the mortar-boards had been thrown and the summer had been begun, he embraced his son like he'd never embraced him and said, "I got you now, son. I got you."
You Can Be the One – Late Night Alumni.
Nobody wants to be alone.
Alice Dainard is not nobody.
She walks the streets when the lights have gone out with her hands in her pockets. She passes the local club with its flashing neon lights and exhausting shouting and allows herself to glance inside with a hint of longing, even though all the couples inside will likely not know each other for any other hour besides this; they will make love to each other but not lose themselves and the next morning they will walk in two different directions that never converge again.
She wonders who is more lonely.
She has never stopped implying to a certain brown-haired boy that he has had several chances to be the one – the one – and he has never, she realizes when she walks by his house and sees him silhouetted in his bedroom window, hunched over a model, done anything but miss the point entirely.
All Good Things – The Weepies.
Joe Lamb is too forgiving. This is not a difficult thing to figure out.
Alice Lamb leaves bruises and he pushes them with his first and middle fingers in the middle of the night to remind himself that they're there, little blue and violet markers she leaves on him. She has done a hundred things to prove to him, or to try to prove to him, that she is not right for him and that he would be much more pleased without her beside him, but of all the things he is "too," "stubborn" is another.
All good things, all good things. All good things come to an end.
But Alice is not a good thing. She is a raw thing, a beautiful thing.
I'm in Love With a Girl – Gavin DeGraw.
"Dude, I am so fucking in love with her."
"You mentioned that, fatty. You think we care why, exactly?"
"Because she's a total babe, dude! She's smart and she's hardcore and she's got melons, man, and even when I'm being a jerk and trying to pick a fight and everything, all she does is tell me she thinks I'm great, and that I need to just calm down and shut up and kiss her, and then the other night at Daniel's bar mitzvah she grabbed me by the tie and planted a big one on me, and—"
"Shut up, Charles; for Christ's sakes! Who is this chick you're dating anyway? Are we ever going to meet her or is she busy hanging out in whatever imaginary land you made her up in?"
"Piss off, Cary."
"I'm being serious. What's her name?"
"Donna. She's from Michigan."
"Oh, my God! Does she have one of those sing-song voices?"
"No, you idiot; that's Minnesota! The only voice she's got is the one of some sort of goddess or something!"
"God. I'm going to barf."
Cemeteries of London – Coldplay.
Charles had a movie in which the dead returned not as mindless ghouls and zombies, but as ethereal white spirits who sashayed through the frost-laden paths and gave the living meaningful looks. That was how his mother got her exercise, he was certain – for months he would wander through the graveyard and wonder if he'd see her there, the ghostly remnant of her locket glistening in the moonlight. He'd dream these things too, sometimes, but he never remembered what she said.
She would give him meaningful looks, and that would be all he'd ever need.
The Cave – Mumford & Sons.
Somewhere between late summer bonfires and winter cups of cocoa, Joe grows up.
It's only his appearance that really changes, though – he has always looked a bit more grown-up than he ought to be, like he has seen things that are not meant to be seen until one his halfway through life and possibly fighting in a war. He gets taller, he develops a vengeful five o'clock shadow, his hair gets thicker and longer, he starts to yell louder, and he starts to miss his mother just a little bit less.
Joe has been growing for years. It is not until he starts to look at the world from every angle that he grows up. He and his friends grow in different directions – Cary grows out, Preston grows through, Charles grows in, Alice grows upside down, Martin grows into the footprints he made when he broke his leg.
Alice has a pale blue bikini and round lime green sunglasses. When she reclines in a chair beside the public pool, her legs look creamy and soft, and Joe can never tell if her eyes are open are closed; only that her lips are red, and that she burns too easily.
Joe grows up, and Joe changes.
Get Up, Get Up, Get Up – Barcelona.
It took every fiber of effort in Joe's tiny fourteen-year-old body to keep his voice at a whisper when he tried to awaken Alice in The Alien's underground lair (Martin was the one who wanted to call it a "lair"). He wanted to scream to her, to shout word upon word: "Get up, Alice. Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up. Please. Get up, get up."
The thought occurred to him after a moment that he might not make it home – that he would never see his father, or his dog, or his mother's grave again.
He wondered, then, if Alice was worth it. And suddenly he wanted to cry, because he realized something immensely horrifying and immensely sad: she was.
"Get up, Alice. Get up, get up, get up, get up."
The Freshman – Jay Brannan.
Cary's first girlfriend, Allison, killed herself.
Guilt-stricken, sobbing with his head on the floor.
"You're the only thing that kept me going, Cary, for such a long time. But I guess it wasn't enough in the end."
We were merely freshmen.
"Please don't blame yourself."
Joe had always had to be there for so many people at so many different intervals for so many reasons. But it is hardest to be there for Cary, because Cary is crying and for the first time in his life, Joe doesn't know how a problem can ever be fixed.
I'm sorry for all the angst and for all the OCs, ugh. FORGIVE ME.