Words were coming out of his pen. He kept on writing. Where did those lines come from? Michael refused to take credit for anything. It was his belief that his ideas were sent from God. A higher intelligence that always helped him. He was a very spiritual person, but not exactly religious. Being a Jehova's Witness taught him a lot about discipline and rigor but never encouraged him to have a direct relationship with the Almighty One. He was scared of God back then.
With his newly found spirituality came this strange inspiration that kept him from sleeping at night. Whatever he was doing, wherever he was going, he could hear sounds, music, lyrics. It was all there, in plain sight for him. The only thing he had to do was take those ideas, polish them and present them to the hungry fans.
He decided to put an end to the songwriting process. A song title...It was quite obvious. "Fly Away". It sounded perfect. It had to be included in the final CD. Quincy knew when to let Michael concentrate. He always saw potential in his songwriting. The Bad album was going to be a huge success. The Thriller hype was still strong and the critics were waiting impatiently for his comeback.
Being such a well known superstar from such a tender age forced Michael to become very cautious. He hated being chased by the photographers. It seemed odd to him that those people were so curious to know everything about his private life. In his eyes, everything was different. The art he was putting out in the world was supposed to be the only thing visible to others. He craved privacy. But no one can have everything in life. Even the songwriting process was sacred to him. He put everything into the music. It was the only thing he knew how to do best.
Approaching the microphone with the paper in his hand, he began murmuring the lyrics. Quincy was recording everything. He knew that everything Michael did in the studio was gold and could be auctioned in the future. Watching him "give birth" to the melody, the chorus, was a delight. The way he chewed his lip and furrowed his eyebrows was precious. He began to stomp his foot. Quincy was beyond excited. He cared for Michael, even though his mouth was foul most of the times.
----
Reese sat on a kitchen counter. Madonna was curling her hair. Their friendship began a few years ago, back when Madonna's first album dropped. They met at a pub in New York and became friends in an instant. Most people were repulsed by her cockiness and racy behavior. To many people, she was too much to handle but Reese loved that about her. She was all about getting out of the comfort zone and having courage to express yourself.
"Your store is the shit. It really is. I am proud of you."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks!" Reese grinned.
"So, shouldn't you be in Vegas now, taking care of the legal stuff?" Madonna knew something was up.
"Madge, I have everything under control. I am here on a quick trip with someone..." She was quite nervous about telling her. Reese knew that Madonna and Michael were rivals.
"Someone? Hm. You have a boytoy and you didn't tell me?" She dropped the curling iron and sat on the kitchen floor.
"Well, he's not exactly a boytoy. It's not like that. I think it's getting serious..." Reese began playing with her hair. Just the thought of Michael made her heart jump out of her chest.
"Is he rich? Reese, why do I have to ask so many questions? Just tell me more. You know I'm a curious bitch." Madonna's fake English accent made Reese laugh.
"He's...Michael." Reese smiled widely and grabbed a bottle of whiskey near her. It was mandatory to drink alcohol in Madonna's presence.
"Jordan? Damn, he's tall as fuck. What the..."
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The Desired Constellation (Michael Jackson Fanfic)
फैनफिक्शनTwo lost souls wander through the darkness. The darkness fades as soon as the two gaze in each other's eyes. A tragic story about love, lust and dark desire. [Bad era Michael.]
