The Life We Once Knew

I'm Running on Spite and Fury

Aubergine Studios didn't feel like the same studio it used to be. It still had the homely atmosphere, but I was never quite as comfortable as I once was. That studio used to be my second home, more so than any other place I frequented. Every time I felt bad, all I needed was to visit the studio and I would be alright. Now, it seemed to be exactly the opposite. I couldn't go into the studio with good spirits without expecting them to be dampened.

I knew it had nothing to do with the studio itself, rather, who was in it. Mitch, Ellen, and Linda were still there, and for that I was grateful. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if every familiar face had gone away. Even Minerva was a welcome sight, and I had only known her for a month or so. The problem rested with a certain uptight brunette who couldn't find a hat large enough to contain her big head.

"That was bloody brilliant, it was," I grinned.

Minerva blushed. She stood just before us with her guitar and had just finished the song she wrote. All of us clapped, Linda and I the most enthusiastically. Tabitha gave a half-hearted clap.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Linda nodded, "We'll have to put it on the new album."

"I think it should open the thing," I replied, "It's got a great intro."

Minerva looked like she was going to faint. The first album of Storms Over London, and the newcomer was already opening the album. In any other situation, it would have been Linda or me. Those with more experience and more fame usually go first, but not in our case. Our system thrived on the music and the music alone, not the popularity of the person.

"What about you, Lindy?" I asked.

Linda shook her head, "I don't write, I only play."

"You wrote before."

"I only added chords to your songs," she replied, "And I know you have one."

I grinned, "Don't I always?"

"Exactly."

As I went to the piano, Ellen came in. She always made it a point to visit us in the studio even if she didn't have any work to do. Her visits were as a friend, and I was always grateful for them. To my great relief, she never brought Prudence with her. I never did get along with Ellen's new assistant. Our personalities clashed, especially when I was used to the wallflower of Peter Marvelle. Every time I saw Prudence, I found myself longing for the boy who I often forgot was there.

I was a bit hesitant to play the song. It was special, perhaps one of the most important songs I have ever written. Each word stood as a tribute to the woman I loved more than anyone on Earth. This song was my everlasting proclamation of love for Molly Mackenzie, and nobody would ever know it.

"I met you, I loved you, I lost you," I sang, "Tales of sorrow and love, seen as cliche. You were my dove, but you weren't here to stay."

The song brought tears to my eyes. Linda sat next to me and placed a supportive hand on my shoulder. She understood, I could it it in the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. When I finished, both of us were near tears.

"Amelia, that was beautiful," Ellen sighed.

Tears hung in her eyes as well. She and Linda were the only two people who knew who that song was about. To anyone else, it was just another silly love song. Minerva clasped her hands and smiled, "I loved it."

"It was amazing," Linda hugged my shoulders, "As usual."

I patted her arm, "Thanks, Lindy."

"I think it's a load of rubbish."