Chapter Text
"Sammy Lawrence was a tactical musician filled with endless creativity and imagination that stunned every listener into amazement, and his works live on. But—'The Weeping Willow and The Mad Musician' song is different, seemingly because he had written it for someone sometime before he went insane and then vanished. Rumors say he wrote the song about himself and a woman he loved, others say it was a reference to his favorite song, and some theories speculate it might have not really ever meant anything. Perhaps we shall never truly know. Mr. Lawrence is gone. And if he wrote it about someone, chances are—they're probably either dead or are way too old to remember something like that."
- [REDACTED] DANIELS, 1972, DECEMBER 17TH.
FROM 'MR. SAMMY LAWRENCE', A 50 PAGE ARTICLE ABOUT THE ICONIC MUSICIAN WHO WROTE THE MELODIES FOR THE SILLYVISION CARTOONS CREATED BY JOEY DREW STUDIOS.
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..There was only the sound of birds chirping outside as Y/N slowly opened her eyes, and she found herself blankly staring at the ceiling with a neutral frown.
She felt stiff. She could feel the humid air of the interior brush against her skin, and her body had been covered by the grey blanket that remained sitting on her bed. There was barely any light visible in the room—for sunlight had been blocked by the curtains, and sunlight, she did not crave.
Despite how dark it was, she could tell it was morning. The way the remaining light bounced off of a nearby shelf—and the way the remaining light in the room slightly seeped onto the floor. Y/N stared a little in silence, not uttering a word.
Blankness filled her mind, though her mind quickly swirled once a memory came into her head.
"..oh.. right." She said aloud. "I'm supposed to go to work today."
She hesitated, reluctantly lifting herself upward as a yawn escaped her mouth. Her limbs felt stiff, and her eyes stared ahead, slightly glancing at the room.
There were certain items thrown onto the ground—like mail, or papers, or even clothes. The room smelt foul—like the house had been there for a hundred years. And as she sat, she only felt her frown curl deeper downward on her lips.
Y/N let out a sigh, her eyes half-lidded as her wistful eyes glistened with something empty.
She then slowly turned around with a grunt, and placing her feet on the ground, she reluctantly lifted herself into a standing position—dusting any sort of messes off of her night-gown as she stood.
Like with any other morning for her, or at least the past few mornings she experienced, it was time to get ready. Whether she enjoyed it or not.
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Y/N had moved into the small and cramped bathroom after turning her radio on—bathing in the humid heat as she carried out her usual process. She used the toilet as she often did—but the whole time, her mind remained blank as she stared ahead and occasionally sniffled.
Listening to the morning broadcast from outside of her room, she finished her business—and went toward the tub. Slipping her clothes off of herself, she went into the tub, and carried out the usual process of showering.
And.. during the whole process, her mind felt still. Unable to really process anything. Her body moved on its own—washing water over herself, her hair. Rubbing soap on her skin. And then washing off afterward. It felt almost mechanical. Though, then again, it sort of always felt like that.
And once she had finished that process, she moved out of there. It was as if she barely had any memory of it with how quick it went by, for her mind remained still and blank. Slipping on some clothes she must have grabbed the night before (she wasn't exactly sure, her mind felt blank when she had walked into the bedroom after work, and only became numbness once she finished.. whatever it was she did and collapsed onto the bed), which was a white blouse and a black skirt—she slipped on some boots onto her feet. And dusted herself off afterward.
She.. wasn't really sure if she was doing any of this right. But her family had told her she needed to care for herself. And try to care for herself, she would—if it meant making them less worried about her.
She brushed her slightly tangled hair with a brush that remained sitting on the table. She.. admittedly wasn't all that good at it considering she hadn't enough energy to do something like that. She was only doing it now due to her process of self care. She winced each time it pulled at her tendrils of hair, but didn't dare let herself stop.
And once she finished with that process, she set the brush down onto the table, letting out a sigh.
She went over to the sink, and pulled out her toothbrush, grabbing the toothpaste as well and forcing the past onto the tendrils of the brush. And once she had, she began to brush firmly at her teeth, staring ahead at herself in the mirror as she did so.
Her mind felt weak.. blank. It felt like there was no point in doing any of this. For after all, life was short. And for people like her, anything she did didn't really matter. What was the point in taking care of herself if all life was—was just a never-ending cycle of negativity spurring out into the world? People like her wouldn't ever really amount to anything. Not when she hadn't really accomplished much anyway.
..her mind stopped. Hearing familiar music from the radio begin to play after the host on it spoke.
"I'm so happy! Happy go lucky me.
I just go my way—living everyday.
I don't worry—worrying don't agree.
Winter, fall, and spring—I just smile and sing!"
Y/N blinked. She looked at herself in the mirror. As she stared, she tried numbly to force her lips upward into a smile. And she had. Her lips smiled back at her in the mirror. But the more she stared the more stiff it felt, and the more it began to curl back down into a frown.
She stared still, the sinks rushing sound filling the air.
And afterward, she only let out a sigh—spitting the paste from her mouth and into the sink.
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"Things that bother you never bother me
I think everything's fine!
Living in the Sunlight! Loving in the Moonlight!
Having a marvelous time"
Oh.. how she wished the song was anything like her life.
She moved through the living room, forcing her bags strap over her shoulder. She thought about tying her hair up into a ponytails but.. her hand felt stiff as she reached for it. What was really the point in doing that? It wasn't like anyone at her new job really cared about her that much.
..then again, she was frightened of the idea of them judging her for something like that. She didn't want to seem careless or something. She began to think of whether or not she did a good job brushing her hair, and nearly felt the urge to go back upstairs so she could brush it again.
And.. yet, she didn't.
With a sigh, she reluctantly grabbed the bow and the hair-band that tied her hair up into a ponytail, and moved it to the back of her head—beginning to tie it upward.
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After grabbing a piece of toast for herself, and slowly eating it in small bites as she looked out the window with her mind feeling empty, she finished her quick breakfast in the morning—and had slowly headed to where the door had been.
As she went over to the door, she stopped momentarily—looking over to a fish-bowl that was sitting on a nearby counter. Ah.. yes. Her pet goldfish who she had named.. well.. Gold.
She stared, and weakly smiled. Taking a few steps foward, she slowly grabbed the small bottle of fish-food. Rinsing it over the bowl, flakes fell inside, and her fish darted to where they were. Always darting. Her face was quite the energetic one, wasn't he?
She still weakly smiled, but felt her lips curling downward yet again, and she let out a sigh.
Looking back over toward the door, she began to walk foward so she could leave, and walk to where her work-place had been. Though momentarily as she reached for the door-handle, she stopped.
She saw her reflection in a nearby mirror, staring wistfully back at her. Her eyes wondered over her hair as she stared at her reflection. Her face. Her eyes. Her clothes. Come to think of it, they looked kind of out of place. She thought of maybe going back up to fix them, but..
Her mind quivered with blankness again. She felt nothing in her chest. There was nothing in her. Only numbness. No energy at the idea of doing something like that.
Slowly looking back over to the door-handle, she reluctantly reached her hand out, and twisted it—hearing its small click as she finally stepped out, and shivered slightly at the familiar warm air that blew against her face.
It was time for another day of her new job. And in all honesty, she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Or if she felt anything about it.
Regardless, she washed away these thoughts, and walked onto her doorstep—turning around, and shutting her door. She then grabbed her key, and inserted it into the door-handle, locking it tightly.