[Beautiful Eyes]

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So, I hope Katie doesn't mind me borrowing her idea to post all my entries from the Avril Lavigne's Fictional Marathon in one thread. Bravo Katie, it was a great idea!

They were entries for the contest but are still fan fic short stories so I hope you enjoy them If you have any comments, I'd love to hear them Thanks xoxo

Prompt #1:

Relate a song from Avril's last album to a short story.

Entry #1:

Best Feeling

It was once said that you know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. This statement, however; cannot be fully understood if you have never been in love. But once you have felt the strength, power and intensity of this particular emotion, that statement becomes your life.

I had been laying awake for some time, wishing desperately that unconsciousness would befall me momentarily. I had tried every possible method that I could think of to fall asleep; I had tried clearing my mind, counting sheep, and I had even gotten out of bed for a glass of warm milk, all with little success. Once I had climbed back into the warm bed, the man whom I had been previously laying next to rolled over and wrapped his arm, completely unconsciously, around me softly. I could not help but smile while I contemplated all the little things that made my life great, that small gesture being one of them. I recalled the way his lips would always turn up in a smile every time he looked at me, how he accepted my unyielding and frustrating stubbornness, and the way he prepared my eggs in the morning, just the way I liked them.

As my mind drifted from one dreamlike memory to the next, I came to find myself thinking about that morning. That morning, like so many before, I had woken up to find that everything was perfect. For years before I had come across my waking dream, my life had been simply fine; I did not have many complaints, but then again, I did not have anything worthy of feeling truly happy. I knew that there had always been something missing in my life. I would sit alone at night on my loveseat designed for two with the lights dimmed and I would mull over how there was dead, empty feeling within my soul that had no purpose there; I had no reason for feeling so barren. I had never been able to put my finger on what was going to make me whole until the day that I had what I was missing wrapped around my finger. He had made the very essence of my being complete for the first time in my life and brought so much light into that dark room that I could not believe all the things I had not been seeing before he had come along. Even with his glorious luminosity I had still been able to see clearly. I had been blinded before by people who seemed wonderful, only to realize that they had masked their flaws by forcing their few strengths to outshine them. But with the man who lay next to me, I had been able to see every perfection in him, and could also see, very clearly, that there were no flaws I could not overlook. I was almost unable to believe that I had discovered the most exquisite entity in the world, that which was the man I had keeping me safe and warm every night.

I had come to the conclusion that I would not be laying awake, unable to sleep, with perpetual thoughts flooding my mind had I not been in love. And despite the fact that I was sleepless and, quite honestly, frustrated that I had not yet reached unconsciousness, I was whole-heartedly convinced that I would never change a single thing about that very moment. In the dim light of our bedroom I watched the innocent, sleeping face that had stolen my heart four years ago. Even when awake, that face held a unique tranquility that I envied. But when he was asleep, he looked entirely like an angel, like an innocent baby who did not have a single trouble in the world. There was no form of art that would be able to capture the magnificence of the face next to me that was breathing his sweet breath in and out.

Apart from our slow breathing and steady, matching heartbeats we were engulfed in silence. Sometimes I believed that if his heart stopped, mine would not know what to do. If his, at that very moment, became still and silent, would mind continue to match his and stop as well? I needed him, for he was like a pacemaker attached to my most vital organ that kept my life in rhythmic, predictable perfection. His soul was held in my heart, and I knew that mine was held in his. It made us one person, relying on one another to survive as a whole. And even though I believed that my life was tied entirely to another outside being over whom I had no control, I still felt safer and more alive than I had ever been. I knew that I would be at peace no matter what happened to me as I was next to him because that was the place that I belonged. If, for some unseen coincidence, I did have a sudden heart failure, I would take pleasure in knowing that I had at least died wrapped in the arms of the one I love. And if I slept with him by my side through that night and all the rest until I reached old age, I would have experienced a divine heaven that no mortal on earth deserved.

More than once I had considered the option that I was living a dream. Living such a blissful life makes that thought come to mind quite often. I feared that the moment would come that I woke up from my fantasy on that incomplete loveseat to find that I still held a dark abyss within me. I would pinch myself to bring assurance I was awake and truly happy, only to fall into that panicked state a few days later. I was unable to trust what I had really existed in reality. This is the reason why it is said you cannot sleep when in love; you come to find that what you have while awake is so much better than anything your dreams could create. Whenever I thought about how happy and lucky I was, I could not help but allow tears to flood my eyes at the beauty of the unimaginable chance I had been given.

Just as a single tear had run across the bridge of my nose and down my cheek I felt the mattress stir underneath me. I quickly wiped the moisture from my face as I looked over at the man who had moved next to me, soon realizing that he had awoken.

“Still awake, Avril? Are you okay?” he asked me, rubbing my arm gently with his warm, soft fingertips. The smooth caress of his skin on mine made me shiver slightly despite the warm bed in which I had been laying.

“Yes, go back to sleep, babe. Everything is perfect.”

Prompt #2:

Summer is here and the recording studio is buzzing...

Entry #2:

Silence

I am not one who typically enjoys silence. Music, people or other forms of bustling activity almost always surround me and that is how I feel most comfortable. Even when I am alone with my husband is silence rare; we talk, laugh and sing, vibrating the air molecules back and forth, creating a disturbance that is so small yet so audibly present. I even cherish our steady, rhythmic breathing which is music to my ears. No, I am not one who typically enjoys silence. Not typically.

Sitting alone in the recording studio late at night is one of my favourite pastimes. Those quiet rooms clear my head of all sounds and activity better than any other place. And oddly enough, it is the silence in those rooms that make the recording studio my sanctuary. While the soundproof walls prevent noise from travelling from one place to another, they also absorb the softest sounds: heartbeats, breathing, and they even have the tendency to pull out absent thoughts roaming around in my head and incorporate them in the composition of the walls. It is this kind of silence that I can bear and even one that I will go as far as to say that I welcome.

That night, I was sitting on one of the comfortable, wheeled chairs within the control room of the studio with my feet up on the mixing console, my MacBook placed open on my lap. It was nearing midnight, making the studio an even more ideal place to be; my creativity tends to run high in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning. Though normally, after having been hard at work in the studio for fifteen exhausting hours, I probably would have been distracted, choosing to peruse the gossip sites that I should ignore or the fansites that I adore. However, being at the studio at that time, in that silence, and with those mindless-thought-sucking walls, I had been able stay focussed.

I hummed a slow, balladic melody for the fifth time, thinking of ways to articulate what wanted to express in my newest song. That song was going to be a part of my next album, which was the fourth of my career, and I wanted to make sure that all the songs had a new, unique quality to them. For this album, I wanted a new musical sound and lyrical significance. I had chosen to write and sing about more intrapersonal themes, slowing down the songs to display my maturing voice. Another concept that was out of the ordinary for this record was that I had chosen to work alone, for the most part. I had liked working with co-writers on my previous records because it made the writing process easier and, to be honest, more entertaining, yet by immersing myself in my co-writers’ outside influences, I was in danger of losing my own identity. So I had made the decision to have all the songs on this next album entirely written by myself with the exception of three songs: one of which I had written with Deryck, one I had written with Evan and one I had written with Butch. All three of these people were brilliant songwriters who shared amazing ideas, but most importantly, they were the ones who understood me and knew me best. They were the people who could help me release all that I wanted to say while allowing their own contrasting thoughts and opinions to slip past their conscious minds and be taken into the walls.

Lyrics to the chorus slowly but surely came to mind and appeared before my eyes on the computer screen as my fingers danced upon the keys. I was glad that I had the time alone to write this song. I had wanted to write about this particular situation for a long time but never wanting to do so with a co-writer. It was an extremely personal song and even though I wanted to keep its meaning deep within myself, I felt that I needed to release my emotions through my music. Once the lyrics had been completely typed, I sang the words quietly to myself after swallowing a constricting lump in my throat.

The truth has been slipping out from my head
For now it’s lost, but is best left unsaid.
All of the secrets I had once regret
Lay parallel with what I won’t forget.
After all the time I’ve had to say
I’ll stay silent ‘til another day.

Once my voice had cut off the last note, I was startled by the song With Me playing below me. I reached down next to my chair and searched quickly for my BlackBerry that lay deep within my bag. I listened to the beautiful, sentimental song as I started to dig more frantically to find the device. I knew from the instant the song had begun that I was getting a phone call from my husband, Deryck, for that song was reserved for his calls only.

“Hey Deryck,” I answered once I had found my stubbornly hidden BlackBerry, “How are you?”

“Hey Avril, I’m alright. We had a great concert tonight; I’m sure you would have liked it. But that doesn’t help me forget how much I miss you,” Deryck said, kind as always, “What are you up to right now?”

“I’m still at the studio,” I replied, looking around the dim, empty room that I was in, “I recorded some new stuff earlier today with my producer and now I’m writing again.”

“That sounds great. I can’t wait to hear it. What are you writing about this time?” Deryck asked me, genuinely enthused, curious and interested.

Had I been writing a different song, I would have immediately told Deryck what it was about. This song was another story though. I looked back at the screen and reread the lyrics in front of me. The situation could not have been articulated better than saying it was “best left unsaid”. I had been hiding a small portion of my past for years now but only recently had I been feeling overwhelmed with the urge to tell somebody. The reason I had not told anyone was because no matter how strong the urge was to tell, the difficulty of admitting what I had hidden won over that impulse to release the truth. The only reason I wanted to reveal this piece of my history was so that I could feel at peace with myself and not have to cope with the draining burden of my weighty secret any longer. That was selfish though; it was better to keep the past buried. It would do nobody, particularly Deryck, any good if they really knew.

I didn’t know how to answer, or sidestep, Deryck’s question. I was struggling again with the urge to tell him, but was held back, just as usual. And the fact that I was talking to Deryck, my husband and the love of my life, made my voice dry up faster than rain on parched soil. Neither of us spoke as I battled against myself, searching for any words to say. The more time that passed, the more electrifying the anticipation became. The expectation for me to speak made me feel as if I was suspended in the air, awaiting the moment I suddenly fell. Once I realized that Deryck was not going to speak again until I did, my mind completely shut down. Conscience thought, subconscious thought and absent thought all dissolved from my mind; supposedly I was lucky that my brain functioned enough to keep my heart beating and lungs pumping. But the sound of my heartbeat and breathing was absorbed into the walls and I could not hear anything but the lingering presence on the other end of the line.

As I said, I am not one who typically enjoys silence.

Prompt #3:

Write any kind of literature (Poem, story, diary entry, news article and more) about what Avril experiences while promoting the new album.

Entry #3:

Touching One (and a Million)

I stood unseen in the doorway as I watched dainty, pale fingers tangle themselves into thick, silken fabric of a modern-Victorian dress. The dress was beautifully designed with classy beige lace and forest green fabric, but what made it even more exquisite was its model; the dress hung upon smooth, slender shoulders and gracefully clung to a petite form before the material cascaded into a long, thick skirt which was being wrung over and over by talented hands. Long, soft blonde hair with brown tones covered the back of the dress in gentle waves.

I rapped quietly on the open doorframe to catch her attention without startling her too much. She jumped slightly but then slowly turned to look at me. A small smile crossed her face but once she realized her lips had betrayed some small sign of happiness, she turned away from me. “What’s wrong, Avril?” I asked her, walking forward and wrapping my arms around her shoulders, breathing in the scent of her hair.

She placed one of her hand on my arms that were embracing her as she replied, keeping her head and eyes low, “You make me too happy,” she said softly.

I couldn’t repress a small chuckle. “And that’s a bad thing?” I questioned, lowering my lips to her neck. My light kiss made her giggle as it tickled her sensitive skin.

“Only today it is,” she said, her voice slowly emitting more of her typical carefree attitude as she spoke as opposed to the subdued one she had been giving off earlier, “I love you Deryck, and you make me happier than I ever thought I would be, but that’s causing a little bit of a problem today.”

“You’re not telling me to hurt you in any way, are you?” I asked her, trying my best to cover my worry with a joke.

“No, of course not,” she exclaimed, turning around to face me, placing her hands on either side of my face, “Never. It’s just that—well, you know, I haven’t done much acting before. None of my music videos or any of the other small roles I’ve done have given me the experience necessary for this. I’ve never portrayed such an emotional role in a video before. I’ve been trying to get into character but I can’t stop thinking about how great my life is right now. I need this to be perfect, and to make that happen I need to feel dreadful. You know how important this song is to me; this song is like my baby. I just want to make sure it’s taken care of.”

I looked at Avril, watching as concern crossed her features. Occasionally I would come across her like this, either before an album release, the first day of a tour or, like today, the first day of filming a music video. Typically I would give her a few encouraging words, kiss her gently and she would feel better. But I knew that this was a different situation. Avril’s first single, Everybody Hurts, had been an overnight, worldwide success, and that was something that she didn’t expect to happen. The song was so different than all her other debut singles, being slow- to mid-tempo, mainly acoustic and being one of the most personal singles she had ever released. Avril didn’t choose that song purely because she wanted it to be successful; she chose it because it was one of the most meaningful to her. She wanted the song to touch the hearts of as many people as she could, be that one person or millions. So this video was going to be no different. This was going to be her most emotional and demanding video. I knew from the moment she told me the concept that it would be a challenge for her to portray as an actress: a challenge, but in no way impossible. To succeed, she would have to forget about her happiest memories and reminisce on some of her most painful.

“Av, you can do this. You just have to think about every sad thing you have ever felt. I know you don’t want to remember what hurts but it’s the only way,” I said, encouraging, stroking her cheek, “You also have to forget about me,” I teased.

A small smile curled on her lips. “I don’t want to forget about you,” Avril replied with adorable stubbornness.

“Just for a while, Av. Then I’ll make sure you never forget me. This is going to be a hard video for you, I know. It’s going to be emotionally exhausting. But I have no doubt that you can do this.” Avril moved to wrap her arms around my neck and I curled mine around her back in a tight hug. We remained like that for a few moments before we were interrupted.

“Avril,” her director called from the doorway I had been previously lurking in, “we’re ready for you now.”

Avril squeezed me once more before letting me go, “Okay, you have to go now, Deryck. I can’t do this with you here.” I nodded and kissed her gently on the lips before she followed her director into the next room.

Despite the fact that Avril didn’t want me there, I couldn’t stay away. Usually I would obey her wishes but this situation was an exceptions. She wanted me to stay away because she needed to visualize that I wasn’t there for her like I always am. I couldn’t leave her though; she was going to go through a lot of pain and I had to be there for her when she needed me.

The video was being filmed in an old, Victorian style house. I quickly and silently made my way through the halls to another doorway at the back of the room Avril had entered. She was facing the other direction and remained unaware I was only a few metres away from her.

Avril sat crumpled on the floor and the director and other production staff were fussing over her. Her dress was being rearranged so that her classic fishnet stockings were visible and her hair and makeup were getting their last minute touch ups. Once she was visually ready to go, the director called out to the rest of the room, “Okay, I want everyone who does not have to be here to leave. This is going to be hard enough without everyone watching.” The crowd of people that had been standing in that small room dispersed until there was only one small group of necessary technical operators remaining. The director saw me in the back of the room and wordlessly eyed me as if to say “You can’t be here” but I answered with my own pleading look conveying that I couldn’t leave Avril. He gave a minute, nearly unnoticeable nod, expressing with his eyes that I had to be completely unseen and unheard. He then addressed Avril. “Okay Avril, we’re about to start. Take as much time as you need. Don’t look at the camera, but don’t hide your face too much. We will move the cameras around you to get the shots we need.” Avril answered with a sad nod.

The cameramen started filming Avril as she sat there silently on the floor. Her dainty, pale fingers tangled themselves into the thick, silken fabric of the modern-Victorian dress. The room was silent and expectant tension hung in the room. Though I could only see the back of her head, I could tell that her first tear fell two minutes in. It was quiet at first but then as her tears started to flow more freely, I heard her deep, ragged breaths. Cameras moved around her and invaded her personal space as she started to weep. I practically had to restrain myself in the doorway as I watched Avril suffer; it went against all I lived for to simply stand by as I watched my wife in so much pain. In fact, I don’t think I had ever seen her in that much pain before. I fought against the urge to run up to her and comfort her because I knew, even though she needed me, I could not disrupt her at this time. She continued to cry for several minutes as the cameras flew around her; occasionally her tears would subside slightly but then she would start to bawl again. After ten minutes of tears, the director signalled to the cameramen that they had enough footage and they backed away from the crumpled mess on the floor. I looked desperately at the director, forcing the message that I had to go comfort her into his mind. He motioned everyone to leave the room and nodded to me, allowing me to go to Avril.

I quickly rushed forward, sat down on the floor next to her and held her in my arms. She naturally fell into my embrace and continued to have tears flood her eyes. She laid collapse over my arms, breathing deeply for oxygen. I rocked her gently, kissed her head and said everything I could to calm her. Her tears soon stopped but she continued to sit with me, her face directed away from mine. After a few moments of silence, I needed to look at her face so that I could see if she had fully recuperated, but every time I tried to turn her head to look at me she fought against me.

“Avril,” I said quietly, “Look at me.”

She shook her head back and forth, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why Avril? I’ve seen you cry before. Not like that though. I’ve never seen you in that much pain before. What were you thinking about?”

Avril hesitated for a long time before she turned to face me. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face was flushed with tearstained makeup running down it, “Everything,” she answered, “I thought about when my Grandpa died, and my dog. I thought about when Evan left my band. And when you leave me to tour.” Avril’s body began to shake slightly again so I held her tight, hoping I could hold her together and prevent her from breaking down again.

I couldn’t imagine having to relive the most painful times of your life all at once, particularly when there were three cameras being shoved in your face. Avril had been right; “everybody hurts some days”, but not everyone has to succumb to their deepest miseries like she did. It hardly seemed worth it to suffer through all that simply for a music video.

--- --- --

One month later, I was helping Avril wash dishes in our kitchen when a familiar song pricked our ears. Still with soap suds on her hands, both Avril and I rushed out of the kitchen into the family room where the television was set on MTV. I watched as dainty, pale fingers tangled themselves into thick, silken fabric of a modern-Victorian dress. Moments later, another frame appeared where those same talented hands fingered a chord on an acoustic guitar. I quickly tore my eyes from the music video and looked at Avril; her eyes were riveted on the television, more specifically, the small number one at the upper right hand corner.

For the next few minutes, Avril and I remained watching the video. We always saw our finished videos before they were released to the public, but it was an indescribably feeling to actually see them on TV. Avril video for Everybody Hurts consisted of three main shots which flickered back and forth. In the one scene, Avril was calmly playing an acoustic guitar and singing the song in front of an old, flickering fireplace. Another scene showcased Avril wreaking a crazed havoc in one of the rooms of the Victorian manor; tearing papers, throwing picture frames around and breaking everything in sight. The last scene was the one that had been most difficult. She laid crumpled on the floor with makeup running from her eyes and tears drenching her face. It was the reality of the scene that the video surpass all of her others, and those done by other artists. Her pain and misery was not staged or edited in; her pure, raw emotion and tears made the video soar to another height.

When the video finished, I turned to face Avril. Her smile was wide and her eyes glistened slightly. “It really is a beautiful video, Av. Congratulations,” I said to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and lowing my lips to hers for a kiss. She tangled her sudsy fingers into my hair and awkwardly returned my kiss through her unbreakable smile.

Avril had been right; everybody hurts some days. But there are moments when it all seems worth it.

[Beautiful Eyes]

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