Me: Yes indeedy, I have written a band story! And it is a tribute to the best section (besides colorguard of course!) the percussion!
Rebecca: You want….BOX?!?!
Toni: Oh-ho!
Me: Dear god…well, I don't own marching band! Enjoy and on with the story!
Rat-tat-tat: The percussion
Rat-tat-tat
Strolling through the mist, backpack in town. Rhythmic clicks ahead stir my head to look up.
Rat-tat-tat
I've heard this often, it keeps the beat of my whirling silk, my flourishing rifle. Heard, never appreciated.
Rat-tat-tat
Echoing through the fog, right on beat. Fast tempo, slow tempo. Wood meets wood, a natural metronome.
Rat-tat-tat
Fellow classmates pass by, over the blue bridge. From one campus to the other. An insolent girl's whisper. Passing between caustic lips, voice high with mockery. "Band geeks!"
Rat-tat-tat
My body freezes and whirls around in rage. Mouth opens to return the name with a swear. But an innocent girl is behind me and the other is far off in the sprinkling weather. I turn back and continue walking.
Rat-tat-tat
The one creating this beat is unaware of this. Flanked on both sides by others, he makes this music all by himself as I cross over the bridge.
Rat-tat-tat
Yelling, breaking the sound. An immature boy tosses his verbal barbs across the parking lot. "Shut up! I'll shove that stick up your ass!"
Rat-tat-tat
The barbs don't do a thing. The clicking never stops. Steady, constant, unyielding. Two more pairs of sticks come in, blending perfectly.
Rat-tat-tat
I pass crossroads and go off in an opposite direction from the metronome creators. One of them hugs a Guard member. Someone from my Guard family.
Rat-tat-tat
She doesn't see the wonder of those clicks, does she? Is it deaf to her ears? Then it hits me: I was like that up until today. Perfect sounds on ears that won't listen.
Rat-tat-tat
That boy, that girl. They just didn't get it. The beat is hard work. Striving to help the rest of the band.
Rat-tat-tat
I walk into the toasty warm school and head to the Guard room. More lovely sounds fill the air around my now open ears.
Rat-tat-tat
Xylophones. Pit players make the band music so much more beautiful. Like that boy, their hard work is never appreciated because nobody stops to hear the dedication through each decibel.
Rat-tat-tat
They are the percussion. An important section of the band. Their love for their craft perfects their work, and they will always keep tempo.
Rat-tat-tat
Boom-boom-boom
~FIN~
Me: So, how was it? Oh, by the way, this actually did happen. Those people insulting them, me more or less stalking them, etc. XD
Paige: And I'm in there, right?
Me: Yes you are peashea.
Paige: Okay.
Me: Becca! Say goodbye!
Rebecca: Goodbye! Read and review!