Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction
Time: 0700.
Morning Before World Con Festival.
26 Hours Before Expected Deportation.
♪ ♫ ♪
Through the halls of a mediocre apartment complex, the sound of music blared from a barely furnished studio flat on the highest floor level.
♪ ♫ ♪
It was a sound that came from the wee little nest that Roisin Rushe (aka Voyager Extraordinaire) had called home for the last six weeks—her possessions barely surpassing that which could be carried in a backpacker’s rucksack. Well, unless one counted her drunken purchase of a Batman Deluxe Toddler Sofa Set, her assortment of colourful posters that brightened the otherwise blank white walls, and of course…
Betsy, the Viper’s Bowstring hemp plant that Ro had been nurturing for some weeks, hoping that a commitment to take care of something outside herself would bring some semblance of responsibility into her wayward life. So far she had managed to not kill Betsy, which the cheerful Irish chickity was pretty damn proud of, if she did say so herself. Why... she even felt like a regular green thumb, she did.
Time to turn up the music.
♪ ♫ ♪
Sure, it was a wee bit early in the morning for such noise, buuuut... one little song wouldn’t hurt anyone... right?
Besides, she had to return her key to her landlord in an hour and then she would be gone forever. So it was okay. (By the way, Roisin tends to exaggerate at times, so GONE FOREVER was probably a bit of a stretch, but still. From what she’d heard, a five year ban—or something—was likely, so it might as well have been forever, eh?)
Oh well. Irregardless of what the future held, worrying seemed as pointless now as it ever did to the little bird. So instead she simply turned the shower knob that she was currently standing beside, peeled off her pajamas, and stepped into the steam and cascading water that looked so inviting and cloud-like.
A girl’s gotta be clean before journeying into the down and dirty streets of Washington for her last hoooorah! And hopefully a root beer float. I’m really going to miss those once I’m back in Ireland.
As the tempo of the song began to rise, Ro broke into a little two step as she started to soap up her hair. This side-to-side bob quickly evolved into a full blown shimmy, as she absentmindedly sang along to the foreboding lyrics that accompanied the otherwise upbeat melody:
I took a little journey to the unknown
And I come back changed
I can feel it in my bones
I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see
Now the darkness got a hold on me
Holy darkness got a hold on me
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh
La-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh
La-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da
How long, baby, have I been away?
Oh, it feels like ages
Though you say it's only days
There ain't language for the things I've seen, yeah
And the truth is stranger than my worst dreams
The truth is stranger than all my dreams
Holy darkness got a hold on me
I have seen what the darkness does
Say goodbye to who I was
I ain't never been away so long
Don't look back
Them days are gone
Follow me into the endless night
I can bring your fears to life
Show me yours and I'll show you mine
Meet me in the woods tonight
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh
La-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh
La-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da
Yeah, the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams
Holy darkness got a hold on me
I have seen what the darkness does
Say goodbye to who I was
I ain't never been away so long
Don't look back
Them days are gone
Follow me into the endless night
I can bring your fears to life
Show me yours and I'll show you mine
Meet me in the woods tonight
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh
La-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da-Da
Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh...
♪ ♫ ♪
Oh.
...
...
Dafuq?
Startled out of her little song and dance, Rosie’s eyes shifted towards the wall directly to her right, from which a swift pounding of fists sounded from the wall shared with the apartment next door.
“ROSIE... NOISE,” the raspy voice of an older female shouted before breaking out into a nicotine fit of coughs and cackling.
“DO YOU FUCKING MIND?”
Oh.
...
...
Shhh... ugar.
“I, uhrm. Shit. Sorry, Susan.”
Roisin scrambled out of the shower to turn down the music, leaving water tracks behind with absolutely no intention of drying any of it up. “This is my... swan song?” the lass shouted up in jest to ‘Susan’ (which was not her neighbour’s actual name, but a nickname that Ro conjured up during their last run in) as she dried herself.
At this precise moment, just outside her bathroom window directly opposite the pane of glass, a robin having its breakfast on the hanging feeder that had been filled with fresh seed a few days ago. Bird watching was just so mesmerising.
“Don’t worry, Sue. You won’t be bothered by me much longer. Not after...”
...today.
Sticking her forehead up against the glass, Roisin sighed.
This is the last time I’ll see you, she considered as she watched her feathered friend flutter its wings. What beautiful colours it had, ones that gleamed gently in the sun as it feasted in contentment. The robin had been a regular visitor to Roisin for some weeks and, just like her little studio nook, she felt rather sorry to say goodbye to the bird.
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