#alien-christ

Continued from here

Rick had targeted this person for their possession. They flaunted out their phone so well, and with a haughty air, he felt obligated to take it. I would be a pretty penny for him to exchange it.

Though he was oftentimes wary of his environment whenever he made money on the side, he hardly expected someone to throw punches at him. Once his stomach was hit, a small amount of bile and blood made it passed his throat and onto the pavement where he lay defeated. The phone was now shattered and obsolete.

The blonde wiped his mouth and picked himself up, worried he was going to get arrested. When he noticed the stranger wore casual clothes, he turned his fear into anger.

“What the actual fuck, man?”

@alien-christ

Mick was always introspective, many thought it was because he was shy that he didn’t talk much. The only way to tell if he was anxious was an occasional stutter in his voice.

The eighties had been better than the seventies to the English blues guitarist. Finally sober, Mick had dealt with all of his demons and looked forward to working with an old friend he’d met during his time with John Mayall. 

However, today he was supposed to be meeting Billy Burnette. Someone his wife (ex-wife, but he’d never say those words) had spoken highly of during her short stint touring with Fleetwood Mac after the departure of their main guitarist, Lindsey Buckingham in 1988. 

Alone in the studio for now, Mick did as he always did. Unpacking his guitar, he found a seat and began to play old blues tunes. As he played Stop Breakin’ Down, he heard the door open, but continued to play as the person came in. Part of him hoped it was Susie, but he knew better. 

Especially after a man walked in. “Hello,” Mick greeted very softly. “I-I thought you may be.. some...someone else,” his voice was almost angelic soft as he anxiously stuttered in front of the new comer. “I’m Mick Taylor.” He paused his playing to listen to the gentleman.

@alien-christ

‘Breaking News, there appears to be a huge fire at the research facility of the ever enigmatic SCP Foundation. Press has been unable to enter the walls since the Foundation’s official founding over one hundred years ago. All we have been told is that something dangerous is contained within each of the Foundation’s individual sites. The Foundation claims they have everything under control and that they have recovered everything that they could, what hasn’t been recovered is most likely destroyed. Nevertheless they encourage the public to keep an eye out for anything unusual or strange in the coming months.’

How long ago was that? Judging by the June breeze that rippled through this world, it would seem that was far back months ago in February. Such a long time ago that was– with the winter vanishing into the past, the snow melting to be replaced. Tall grasses that reached up to the sky, dancing in the wind, with flowers that caught gusts and bowed to the breath of the atmosphere. How long ago was it since he had seen another person in a lab coat? How long ago was it since he was trapped in white walls? How long ago was it since he felt those chains that squeezed the air out of his throat, that made his shoulders pop behind his back, that twisted his wrist– how long ago?

The bark of the tree that supported him felt so firm and gentle, it caught the ‘clothing’ that donned his body, but for the most part he was alright. The light for which shined down through the branches of the trees that shaded him from the bright sun, it provided the perfect lighting for him to write in his journal. The yellowing pages matched with the ink of a pen he had found in an alley way a long time ago, it all worked to sustain his notes and his research, things he had discovered and hypothesis he must test when he recovered completely from his injuries. The burns that covered his body back then were now healing nicely and were being replaced by skin, which was then covered by the clothing that grows out of his body.

The sound of a branch cracking just out of sight made him jump and he almost drew a line on the page, thankfully he did not. Milky blue eyes looked back and peeked out from his side of the tree, making contact with the form that stood just a ways off staring at him. Oh he did not like this, for some reason he detected something he wasn’t all too fond of. There was something wrong here, perhaps this was an unfortunate turn of events, or perhaps it was because of the dull throb in his skull, or maybe even because he was just paranoid. Whatever the reason for his suspicion, he was not pleased to see this stranger. Pulling himself from the ground with a wince, he got to his feet.

“What can I help you with?”