Jesus Christ of Rock n' Roll
By J.

Author's Note: Okay, just one thing to say before I start. This is a fiction about Kurt Cobain, well, set in the present, and it's a fiction, but it is a story of how a man and a woman are brought together in a quest to find out the truth about his death, and to write a book on his activities. This is a fiction story and does not provide any solid information about Kurt's death, if you want that then read the books or information. This is a story written by a storyteller. This is not a true story, but it is an emotional story and often resorts to parts about Kurt Cobain's life and uses many of Nirvana's songs (there is a lyric from one of their songs at the start of each chapter). I do not own any of these songs or anything else copyright to Nirvana or other businesses. Okay dokay? Okay. Lets start.

Chapter One - In Bloom

"He's the one who likes all the pretty songs.

And he likes to sing along.

And he likes to shoot his gun.

But he knows not what it means . . ."

~*~

Sasha Pauline Mahogany sniffed as her boyfriend packed his bags, cast a final dirty look at her and walked out of the door, but she didn't say anything. What was there to say, dammit? There was nothing to say, there was nothing even left to cry. Sasha had done all that last night and now she was just getting on with it, despite how much she may miss Graham. She had loved him, she was sure she had, but not so much that she could forgive him having an affair with another woman.

She was doing the sensible thing, getting him out now. She could easily have said she forgave him, and she was tempted to, she really was, because she had a big fear of being alone. But if she had said this time she forgave him, Graham would have done it again, maybe with the same woman but more probably a different one, knowing his sleezy behavior. She always fell for sleezy guys, that was her talent. As well as writing.

Sasha was a journalist, and a damned good one at that. She was always first picked by her boss at D.'s newspaper agency in Scotland. There was talk of a really big chance, a REALLY big chance, because Mr Thomson was planning on sending the top journalist over to America to the small town of Aberdeen no less (which had confused many at first as there was a place in Scotland called Aberdeen) and write a book on the life of Kurt Cobain. Sasha dreamed of something like this. A BOOK! Her, write a book. About Kurt Cobain, her music idol!

Sasha was not only a Nirvana fan, but had read every book available about Kurt Cobain, and watched every documentary on the subject she could in her busy schedule. Naturally she loved to read, she often read a new book every night, so a lot of her large salary went into buying paperbacks and hardbacks from the nearest Waterstones, Ottakers or WHSmiths. Sasha wanted this task and she would do everything she could to get picked for it which it quite often looked like, but she would live on.

Like she would live on without Graham, and a trip to America would be just what she needed, and she was so sure she would get it that she hugged herself there and then . . . partly because she was happy thinking on it, but mostly because there was no one else there to hug her, which saddened her quite a bit. But, as she said, she would live on no matter what.

Forcing herself to smile, the journalist put the kettle on to boil and read her latest article in the paper on the "new" and "exciting" video messaging phone, which was another of those changes in technology that Sasha didn't really care about. The book on Kurt Cobain could and surely would boost her career prospects, and she might be out of this crummy newspaper business and be writing for top music magazines, because what she really, really, REALLY wanted to do was music journalism, but she had been one of those girls who had left school thinking everything would be okay and work itself out, but she was so wrong! She had had to literally drag her way up the treacherous ladder of journalism, at first writing horoscopes for every day (which got beyond tedious) and then gradually her skill was recognised.

And here she was, after all that dragging and clawing herself up, the end product, or so it seemed. Writing a book was always her dream, and to get this she would have to make her new article something really special to convince her boss she was the one for the job.

Sitting down at her Apple Mac laptop computer comfortably propped on a contemporary armchair armed with a cup of hot coffee, she placed the computer on her lap and played with the keys randomly before inspiration came. It happened while she was listening to "Nirvana's Greatest Hits" on her expensive hi-fi system with surround sound speakers. The song that clicked with her was "In Bloom" today, for some reason, one of Sasha's favourites but rarely a muse for her. Still the journalist (for she disregarded the title 'reporter') gave her happy cry of victory and began typing away, first the headline, then the subtitle, then cut it down into little subcategories until she had her template.

After about three and a half hours it was her finished project. Once Sasha was satisfied with her report on the latest developments to electric guitars (she had purchased one of these herself as a guitarist, but she still preferred her faithful red Fender Strat) which she put more effort into than she normally did for product reviews. She wouldn't mind writing a big review on a guitar, but for a guitar magazine for people who knew what she was talking about instead of the general public, of which she was sure some didn't even know what a plectrum was! Appalling though this prospect was, it was the ignorant general public that made her what she was . . . comfortably wealthy.

Leaning back with the printer buzzing and bzing-bzinging in the background, Sasha looked suitably confident that if anyone deserved this opportunity then it was she, because she had worked so hard to get so far. Her only fear was that Mr Thomson might not want to lose her as a journalist because she was good and highly reprimanded (which was partly why she thought she may be picked for the job she didn't even know much about!) in the company, which would be being selfish which she knew her boss wasn't, but he was only human and wanted to make as much money as possible. She would respect her decision and . . . live on, she guessed.

Live on alone, with a lukewarm cup of coffee, three other empty mugs, a king-size bed with only one person sleeping in it now . . . and a hard copy worth a ticket to America, still warm from the printer.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: Hey did you like that? I hope you did! Please tell me you did *hopeful expression* I'd love it if you reviewed. I love reviews! They make me happy. Anyhoo, going to get on with the next chapter before I fall asleep!

Peace, love, empathy.