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Rated: E · Short Story · Fanfiction · #2146464
Marilyn Manson has a migraine. Mechanical Animals era
~this is my first fanfiction. Please, critique it. Hopefully you'll enjoy? Yeah~
~third person throughout the story~

Marilyn Manson had been working all week. He was happy that he was finally able to get some sleep.
He was exhausted to the point of not changing into comfortable clothes before climbing into his bed. Actually, it was the sofa but he didn't care.

~time lapse!!!!!~

There was a loud noise that woke Marilyn from his slumber. However, as soon as he opened his eyes, he was flooded with regret.
Opening his eyes had caused an intense throbbing on the right side of his head.

'Great' he thought, 'what a way to start the day.'

He had no idea how bad the pain was until he moved.
All he tried to do was turn his head. But, no. The pain increased. Creeping to the left side of his skull.

It was then that Marilyn knew what the pain was. He has a migraine.

The thought sent a slight panic through him. He had a recording session today. The vocals for 'Coma white'; the last song on the album. What was he going to do? If he misses this recording session, he will delay the schedule. He might not get the album out on the designated date. The one he is determined to release it by.

The panic was only increasing the pain.
He had to calm down.

Marilyn attempted sitting up, in result, making him dizzy and nauseous. He just laid straight back down.

Now, he's just hiding from the world. Sleep is the only thing on his mind.

Actually, there's another thing.
He was going to throw up.
He needed to make it to the bathroom.

Reluctantly, he got up. Pain coursing through him.
He got up off the bed; shaking. So much so, he had to sit back down for a minute.
He ran his hand through his red/black hair.
'How am I going to do this?'

The curtains were closed, which, for Marilyn, was a good thing. The room was a shadow.
This helped the pain, by not helping it increase, but made it near impossible to see.
Getting out of this room will be a challenge.

Getting up off the bed again, Marilyn took a shakey step, hands reaching out for something that could provide support.

A wave of nauseousness attacked him. His urge to throw up increasing.

Picking up the pace, Marilyn cupped his hand over his mouth, determined. Determined to not throw up.

He reached the door to the bathroom. Through the crack, he could see a yellowy glow.
'@#!/ ,I left the light on'

He opened the door. Closed his eyes. Crawled to the toilet. Covered his ears.
He threw up.

He just sat there.
Eyes remained closed.
Hands slowly sliding away from his ears. Transferring to his head.

He just sat there.
Not making a sound but the occasional whimper.
Hoping for it all to end.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

The last thing he remembers is the unbearable pain.

Maybe he fell asleep...

He didn't want to wake up.


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