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2005.07.14

[In_Dreams: The_Poster]

Editor's note: You wanted the best, and you're getting it, bitches. WearingTheseChains is proud to present the first entry in a new ongoing serial, "In Dreams", written by our own Mimi Jones-Taylor. Like the greatest work of M.T. Reznor himself, it's daring, deconstructive, and richly colored by a unique and vivid world view. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do. --Gabriel


In Dreams:
The Poster

by Mimi Jones-Taylor


     The Pit was in fine form, a sea of sweat and chaos outfitted in black leather, in sync with every syllable, every droplet of saliva leaving the inside of Trent Reznor’s mouth.
     It took you to make me realize; it took you to make me see the light.
     His performance, beatified with thunderous roars, ended as fast as it had begun. The blazing fluorescent lights quieted the room to mere murmurs. As the crowd slithered towards the exits, Andrea stood, rooted to her spot at the back bar, sipping a Coke. A coal-haired twig-like creature, walking with something resembling a female counterpart, glanced at Andrea’s mousy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses, her extra-extra-large NIN logo t-shirt. The creature burst out laughing. Andrea cast her eyes to the floor, sticky with chewing gum islands in a river of wasted beer.
     Certain the twigs had floated past, Andrea perused the room one final time. It looked like Skip wasn’t going to meet her after the show, either. It was all a miscommunication, she told herself. Internet Private Messages are sometimes misinterpreted. Maybe he’d meant back at the bar, she thought, as two more twigs sauntered past, snickering.
     “Excuse me, miss?”
     Andrea turned around with a hopeful beat in her heart.
     “The club is closing,” said the bartender, “You have to leave now.”
     Andrea nodded, tears forming behind her diverging lenses. Clutching her rolled-up, limited-edition, Spiral tour poster, she shambled towards the looming black metal fire doors with their unpolished chrome crash bars.
     Outside, remnants of the crowd milled about in the cool breeze of midnight’s morning, hauling heavily on crumpled cigarettes.
     “That so fucking rocked,” Andrea heard them tell each other.
     “I wanted him to play ‘Ruiner’,” someone whined.
     “The show was way better in Detroit,” someone else bitched. “He’s such a fucking snob now. It’s all about the money.”
     Andrea shuffled past, sweat dripping from her hair onto her face. The conversations halted, followed by subdued, wanton snickers.
     “Shit, could she even fit into the building?” she heard a thin whiny voice say.
      “Shhhh,” shushed someone else. “She can hear you.”
     “So? NIN’s not for fat chicks. “
     “Oh my gawd…”
     Andrea hesitated, anxious to hear this girl complete her thought.
     “…Did you, like, actually, just say ‘nin’?”
     Andrea turned the corner as laughter echoed behind her. The dim lights of the parking lot ahead caused the ominous frame of the burgundy tour bus to cast melancholic shadows along the walkway, and in front of it stood a forest of saplings dressed in shades of fishnet, leather, and shiny plastic. A bald, muscle-bound security guard, squished in a six-sizes-too-small red T-shirt, held his laughter in check.
      “You can wait here all night, folks, but when they come out, you’re going to have to move.”
      “I don’t care,” said a blonde twig, “Trent isn’t leaving town without me.”
      “Fuck you,” said a ginger twig, “He’s taking me.”
      “Ladies, ladies,” the security guard called, placing his meaty hand between their faces.
     Andrea ducked into a nearby dark crevice, smelling of rotting flesh with notes of ammonia and vomit. She surveyed the scene, determining the best way to pass undetected through the parking lot, and failed to notice the metal door behind her as it swung open and smashed her on the back.
     “Oh my God, are you okay?”
     The nausea welling at the base of her tongue, Andrea held her mouth and turned towards the man’s voice.
     His voice.
     “I am so sorry.”
     Trent’s eyes were gentle, shining with flecks of concern.
     “Oh geez, you’re hurt. Here, come with me.”
     Trent walked Andrea to a black SUV, waiting at the side of the building. Helping her to sit down inside, Andrea experienced the strength of his defined, hulking muscles, bursting through the seams of his long-sleeved T-shirt.
      “How are you?” he asked in a soft voice.
      “Um, okay,” Andrea whispered. “I think.”
     Trent narrowed his eyes as he examined her stare.
      “You look a little dazed. You sure you’re okay?”
      Not knowing what to do, Andrea clutched her poster.
      “Oh, hey, did you buy one of those? Would you like me to sign it for you?”
      Trent removed the poster from her hands, and squiggled his name across the picture with a Sharpie from his front pocket.
      “Here you go, uh…hey, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
      “Andrea,” she said, taking back the poster, as it rolled back into its natural curve.
      “Andrea. That’s pretty. And hey, you know your name, so you don’t have amnesia.”
      Andrea smiled in sync with Trent.

*     *     *     *

      Andrea stood away from the wall, tilting her head to one side as she examined her poster.
      “He looks lopsided,” she said, adjusting the top right corner.
      A knock sounded at her door.
      “Listen, young lady, you turn off that Gee Dee Satanic music before I come in there and give your stereo to the Goodwill.”
      With a sigh, Andrea turned the volume knob to the left until it made a click sound.
      “Stupid bitch,” Andrea muttered, looking into his black eyes, as the dim light of her candles caught the matte finish of the Sharpie marks on the page.
      “Did you hear that?” she asked. “I bet when you lived at home, you weren’t so oppressed. Satanic, hah! She doesn’t even begin to know what that means.
      “You know, she won’t even let me have a computer in here,” Andrea continued, as she got herself ready for bed. “She’s afraid that some pervert is going to lure me out of the house and then I’ll be found dead in an alley and they’ll all blame her for letting me have a computer in my room.
      “So…”
     She looked to her idol once more.
     “What are you doing right now? Guess since you don’t drink anymore, you’re not at any wild parties. Well, that would make us perfect for each other, because I’m underage.”
     Andrea snuggled underneath her goose down duvet.
     “You know, it’s not fair,” she said. “Nobody’s ever gonna believe that you gave me a ride in your SUV. They’ll just think I got this poster at Tower Records earlier. Why were you so nice to me? Is it because I’m not a skinny skank ho, or were you just afraid I’d sue you since you hit me with a door.“
     Andrea’s tears flowed down her face.
     “I really wish that Skip had showed up,” she said. “I would have showed him. I guess I should have known he was just another dumb liar. Like all those stupid people on the message boards. They were probably the ones laughing at me. Betcha Skip took one look at me and ran away.”
     Andrea blew her nose into a pink Kleenex.
     “They seem so cool on the boards, and then, when they see what you really look like, they turn out to be nothing but big, cruel, shitty losers. I hate them all.”
     Andrea leaned out of the bed and kissed the picture of Trent’s cheek.
     “Thank you for being so nice to me,” she whispered. “You’re the best.”

*     *     *     *

      In a hotel suite, Trent Reznor bolts upright from his bed, panting. He shakes his head and reaches for the blue illuminated digital clock on the nightstand.
      “Fuck, 4:30?”
Trent falls back onto his pillows.
      “What a weird fucking dream,” he mutters to the ceiling. “Wasn’t that the girl I smacked with the door? Shit, it was like I was right there, listening to her, seeing her from her bedroom wall. ”
      Trent passes his hand along the side of his face. It’s wet with the soft dampness of a kiss.
      “What the…?”
      He squints at the empty pillow beside him. Reaching to turn on his bedside lamp, Trent picks up the half-empty bottle of Naya sitting on the table, and sniffs the contents
      “No, just water,” he says. “What the fuck is going on?”

Posted by Mimi Jones-Taylor in tales_of_terror | Permalink

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Comments

wow thats really good, i can't wait for more!

Posted by: Jen | Jul 15, 2005 12:32:10 PM

Wow. Wonderful writing. I'm very intrigued (and I can identify with Andrea, seeing as I'm a big girl myself).

Posted by: Kim | Jul 15, 2005 2:23:38 PM

You are the master of the pen. I am both humbled and aroused. That could be because you are the superior writer and I haven't been laid in a while... either way, you rock.

Posted by: Steve's girlfriend | Jul 15, 2005 4:22:26 PM

Mimi, you are KICKASS.

Posted by: Dierdre | Jul 15, 2005 5:07:03 PM

Merci, mes amies, for all your kudos. I notice there are no men posting comments. Jealous much, gentlemen? You should be.

Posted by: Mimi | Jul 15, 2005 7:24:29 PM

Gabriel, you are taking me to task for posting too much on WTC, but I would take you to task for posting too little!

Gabriel, COME BACK TO US.

Oh, and Mimi? YOU ROKK!

Posted by: Dierdre | Jul 16, 2005 4:22:08 AM

Mimi, I'm speechless... you have true talent...

Posted by: mezzie | Jul 16, 2005 7:36:47 AM

Bravo Mimi -- I cannot wait for next week!

And Dierdre, I'm sorry you've missed me, my love. I'll work harder on my emotional availability. ;-)

Posted by: Gabriel | Jul 16, 2005 9:57:14 AM

That was truly impressive. Mimi, the detail and word usage painted an amazingly clear image in my head. Just the way everything flowed made me enjoy the story, even if I honestly didn't care for the content in that story (just not my thing). The fact that you held my attention so well speaks volumes. As an added bonus, I'm sure you'll be adept at irritating many people on a certain message board. Good luck in future endeavors and may you stay with WTC for a good long time. Very impressive indeed.

Posted by: Jay...! | Jul 16, 2005 11:12:48 AM

what a loser u are a loser get a fuckin life

Posted by: normal guy | Nov 23, 2005 11:38:47 PM

just kidding my deepest apologies that was a great piece

Posted by: normal guy | Nov 23, 2005 11:40:54 PM

Your writing is really good Mimi.

Posted by: Rachel | Aug 13, 2006 1:29:56 PM

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