MORGAN'S VIRTUAL REALITY JAZZ QUARTET
By
Amy M. Mihelich
Timeline: Time Unknown
Author's E-Mail: miheliam@whitman.edu
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Hello,I just joined and am still not totally sure if this is where this piece goes, but I'll explain.
I wrote this short story last year for creative writing. My teacher didn't watch anything except "Murder She Wrote" so I didn't think he'd be too sympathetic to my dedicating something to Earth2. However, I just couldn't resist writing something about Morgan. So this is more of an inspired by... sort of thing. I'm not going for accuracy here, it's more of an abstract emotional response to the characters.
I'd appreciate if comments would be sent to me and that this not get forwarded unless you ask me first.
-Amy
Morgan's Virtual Reality Jazz Quartet
A.M.M.
Alone in his prison of foreign plants and birdsong, he tries to ignore the fragrance of the wind and begins to pat his hands on his knees. He longs for the sterile indoors that he grew up in. Where he had some power and knew his environment was being regulated. He slips on the headgear and tries to find his way back to somewhere where he feels like himself. Soon, the video feed has picked up on his movements and he is where he wants to be.
Scrubbed and shaved and dolled up in spats and a tie, he leads the rhythm around the glorious white ballroom with the ends of his drumsticks. Glamorous couples dance by in black and white (his hair slicked down to an obsidian sheen, her lips liquidy scarlet like she's just been drinking blood). They swirl and dip and mouth witty conversation at each other. The saxophone, bass, and piano fall in behind him and soon the jazz is swimming seamlessly into itself and he is completely at home and completely in control.
His wife strolls in wearing a shimmery little red number and leans against the stage, swaying her hips and watching him. Very sexy. "I married a very sexy woman," he says to the audience, nodding at her. They laugh and she smiles modestly. Birdsong follows her movements and the ballroom is getting whiter. A wind stirs the curtains, then his wife's hair, then his own. His wife is behind him with her hand on his shoulder and the room is dissolving in a wash of sunlight reflected off the crystal chandelier and the nearby stream. He opens his eyes and removes the gear. His wife is still watching him, but he is no longer relaxed and at home. He is in the middle of a wilderness he knows nothing about, and even his wife's beauty seems sometimes different to him. He is far away from any familiar landmarks and the images can help him forget for only so long. Eventually, he always has to come back to facing the situation, but still he sits, patting his hands to a now invisible rhythm. His wife rises and walks towards the stream, her hips swaying slightly.
-The End-
-amy
This text file was ran through PERL script made by Andy. Original text file is available in Andy's Earth 2 Fan Fiction Archive.