Another night of screaming and arguing over money. Another night where he wasn't sure if everyone had gotten enough to eat. Another night where he found himself sitting on a ledge, staring into the bay as ships came in and out. Another night of empty promises to himself that somehow he would escape this life and make something of himself, become fabulously wealthy and not looked down on for where he was born. The teenaged boy groaned and held his head in his hand, looking at the open notebook next to him. There were scribbles of lines, words scratched out and arrows indicating adding words back in, it was an utter mess to anyone but him.
But that notebook of chicken scratch was his best bet at getting out of the life he knew. He'd buy a big mansion with lots of land, or maybe a penthouse in Jorvik City. He'd have a bar and hot tub there, and definitely his own pool. All his clothes would be top of the line, the best that money could buy, and he'd start his own fashion trends. Fangirls would follow him everywhere, trying to get his attention and an autograph. No one would ever call him low class trash or tell him he wouldn't amount to anything because he'd prove them wrong. And his mom would never have to worry about bills or make the choice between the heat or food.
He looked through the book, flipping through pages of his heart poured out in ink on the lined paper. Everything he felt, everything he wanted, but it wasn't good enough. He knew there was something missing from his lines, they weren't enough to impress the people at Star Academy. He had to win that audition, but he didn't know what he was missing. All his feelings had been written into the notebook, and he knew he could make good music, he just needed one hit, one good song, to get him in front of agents and producers scouting for the next big talent.
For a long while he watched the ships move in and out of the bay, flicking the pen against the ledge to a quick beat. Songs needed emotions, they needed passion, they needed a story. He needed to write something that had all those things and was able to connect to the listeners, make them feel like it was their story he was singing about. And to go with that he needed a good beat that would get into the listener's head, make them tap their feet and get the song stuck in their head so they were humming it as they walked down the street and couldn't stop thinking about it. This wasn't a love song he was thinking of, he didn't care about those, this was going to be a song about ambition, about not settling for what you are served. It was going to be a fight song, and a song that flipped the bird to everyone who had ever told him he couldn't do it.
It just had to be written, and he had no idea how to start it.
"Torgny?" a woman, his mother, called out to him. Her voice was raspy from arguing with the other members of their family. He turned and looked at her, giving her a wave.
"Can you come put your brother to bed? I've got another night shift…" she asked as he hopped off the ledge and walked over to her.
"They're making you go in again?" he spat, looking at how tired his mother was already from her already long day.
"If they need me, they need me. I can't tell my bosses no," she sighed with a shrug.
"Make sure he does his homework and gets to bed on time, and the same goes for you," his mother instructed, pointing a finger at him and making him smile.
"Of course mom, anything for you."