I shifted my guitar uneasily on my back, feeling the case thump painfully against my spine.
I approached the school building, slowing down my pace as much as possible, the knot in my stomach growing bigger with every step. Of course I had been in shows before but that didn't mean I couldn't get nervous.
Outside the school spot was waiting, his guitar also on his back. He was wearing a pair of blue straight-leg jeans and an unbuttoned navy flannel shirt. Under the shirt he wore a plain gray tee'.
"What's with the dark colors?" he inquired, looking me up and down as we began to walk towards the school's entrance.
I shrugged.
I had to admit I was wearing only dark colors but why the fuck should he care. I couldn't play if I was spazzing out about the green on my shoes like I had that morning. Thank god only Kayla and mush knew about that incident and I don't think even they really knew what the hell had happened to me.
We met up with the others in the band room, 10 minutes till the start of the talent show.
We were the third act so we got a final practice before we had to go on stage.
Outside the band room we could hear the students all hustling into the auditorium, searching for friends to sit with during the show.
Somewhere out there I knew Kayla and Rita and race were finding their seats and chatting blissfully carefree, while the 5 of us were in here sweating and freaking out like you had never seen.
In fact everyone in the band room--including the other bands--was pacing and laughing nervously at dry humor, the kind of humor used only to relieve tension.
The rest of our band was dressed similarly to spot making me feel like the grim reaper in my dark, forest green flannel shirt, gray tee and black straight-legs.
Upon seeing me, both mush and cowboy had inquired about all the dark colors and of course I gave them the same answer I had given spot; a shrug.
The time flew by faster then it ever had and 30 minutes later, a 11th grade M.C. popped her head into the band room and told us we were up next.
My stomach turned over and I felt sick. Both spot and mush's faces went a bit pale.
Nervously, we picked up our instruments and followed the M.C. into the hallway and through a door to back stage. No one spoke although the girl chattered on a bit about the acts before and how this talent show was going to be so much better then the last one and how she was getting grade credits for helping set it up.
No one was listening.
Backstage we silently swung our instruments around our heads, everyone's fingers quaking.
Cowboy dropped his pick about a hundred times; apologizing each time the plastic hit the ground.
We watched from right stage as the curtain closed and behind it a boy began to comment on the previous act, stretching out the time between their act and ours.
In my mind I went through the cord changes over and over again, seeing my fingers playing the riff then the verse then the bridge then the chorus then the solo.
Mush tapped his foot on the ground to the beat of the song. Cowboy tapped the base strings with his fingers, producing a hollow mute sound.
The M.C. ushered us on stage and watched closely as we hooked up our instruments and blink raised the mic to his mouth level. She went around and checked all our amps, making sure the lights were on and that we hadn't plugged our guitars into the headphones jack or something stupid like that.
The feeling in my stomach exploded and I began to feel like I had that morning, the anxiety drumming away at my mind.
Behind the curtain I heard the audience roar as the boy announced our band, The Knell Of Order, playing Love Buzz by Nirvana.
The curtain rose and I felt the blood draining from my face. My heart stopped.
I looked over at cowboy who had begun to play the base line as usual. Four runs of the base line and mush came in with a simple drumbeat, getting increasingly faster with every run of the base. Four more base lines and me and spot came in on guitar, playing equally simple power cords.
Run by run of the base line the song got more and more grungy, dirtier and dirtier, so that it soon seemed to have no rhyme or reason at all in less you listened closely.
I began to do a number of different scales, randomly plucking at the strings as I went along letting spot come in with a power cord every 8 counts.
Four more baselines and it was time for me to take lead. I prepared my self, setting my hands up on the 6th fret of the guitar. The part came and I began to hammer down on the riff, leaving my cords behind for spot to play.
Though the power cords stopped all together. No one was playing them at all.
I looked up from my guitar, still playing the driven base line, though lowering the volume a bit so that if I screwed it over it wouldn't be that big of a deal.
I looked over at cowboy's hands, playing the base line as usual.
I stopped the baseline so I could come in with the random scales as I had been doing before.
Again there were no power cords; only baseline and scales.
The song mellowed out finally and blink came in singing, so that I was able to lift my eyes once more as my fingers played the baseline.
I looked over at spots fingers.
What the fuck! He wasn't playing power cords! He had taken up the lead!
I felt my face turning red as I stared at his hands, working just as fast as mine to complete the baseline before the next verse started up again.
He caught my eyes and grinned feverishly.
I glared heatedly back, my eyes burning into his gaze. God how I wish I had heat vision so I could just burn him up and his fucking guitar along with him.
Blink entered the chorus, his voice just as menacing and grungy as ever. The rest of the band seemed unaware of the wordless fight spot and me were having with our eyes as neither of us backed off lead guitar into the power cords.
You fucking bastard! I screamed at him with my eyes, daring him to continue the baseline.
He didn't fold but instead turned his guitar up louder, blocking out my guitar all together.
The solo was coming up in four measures.
I warned him with my eyes that if he stole that from me he could fucking well consider himself dead.
Two measures until the solo.
The drums began to slow down and the guitar riff came to a halt.
We both started playing the power cords again, preparing ourselves for the solo.
It seemed cowboy and mush had finally caught on to our battle and both were watching us closely, trying to keep the beat at the same time.
Suddenly spot jumped into the solo, his hands flying over the 12th and 13th frets as he hammered away at notes.
I stopped playing and stared at him in disbelief.
That little fucker!
I looked at up at cowboy and mush who looked at spot oddly though seemed unscathed.
My face felt hott as I stared at spot and his guitar, all could think of was 'you god damn fucker'.
Finally I couldn't take it.
He had stolen my god damn lead, a part he had fuckin given to me! He had just taken it during the fucking performance! I mean, we had practiced before and he didn't say anything, he just went right along and played his little power cords while I solo-ed but now…during the fucking show he decided he wanted to fuck me over, steal my lead!
The next events happened as if I were experiencing them in the third person. Like everything I did wasn't really me doing. My mind never told my body to do what it did; my body had its own mind.
Abruptly I took off my guitar, letting it fall to the floor as if it had just slipped from my hand.
I heard to audience cringe as it dropped to the floor, unbroken but still discarded.
The band stopped playing and the M.C.'s appeared on stage to see what the hell was wrong, why we weren't playing.
I didn't see what happened after that; I had already walked out.
In back of me I heard a loud murmur erupt from the audience.
I began to walk down the hallway, my steps heavy and irregular as I made my way to the front door.
The auditorium door screeched open and a pair of footsteps could be heard running after me. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Skits what the fuck was that!"
I turned around to find my self nose to nose with cowboy, his face just as red as mine.
"He fucking stole my lead, man!"
"Yeah I know, but why'd ya walk out!"
"He just started playing it and he wouldn't stop!" I choked out. I knew cowboy wouldn't understand. Only me and spot would ever understand what had happened and why it was so critical.
"So what he stole your solo, yeah it was pretty bitchy for him to do, but get over it!"
I continued to mutter 'he stole my lead', over and over again, still not really sure of what was happening. It felt like it wasn't really me talking.
"Get the fuck over it! Yeah, he stole your god damn solo! But it was a fucking solo, man! And you just fucked up the whole performance for every one else! We've been practicing for four months, man! Four months and you just fucking wasted it! Thats four months of our lives, you fucking wasted cause some god damn poser stole your fucking solo!"
I had been right; the whole group did hate me. Even cowboy did. They all fucking hated me and I hated all of them.
"Well, I'm fucking sick of you all too! You fucking treat me like a zoo animal! 'Aw look at skits he's actually smiling' and 'whoa Skittery actually looks pretty happy for once.' I'm not an animal that does tricks! I can be happy just not with you guys! Being with you doesn't make me happy!"
The months of frustrations I had been feeling suddenly poured out. I couldn't stop them. I wanted all of them to feel the wrath of my thoughts! To be insulted as I had!
"I talk to people when I like them and I fucking hate all of you guys! Every fucking one of you!"
"Well you're not all that pleasant either! Your so fucking depressed all the time! All this black! You never talk! You never smile! What do you contribute to our group! You're not funny, you're not nice, you don't even have money we can mooch off of or anything! Your hardly there even when you are. Like…like a walking corpse sometimes! I try to be nice to you, I really do, but its fucking hard man! All you ever do is shrug or be all sarcastic and shit. And if you are so fucking miserable then why the hell do you hang around us anyway!"
"I don't know!" I snapped back, feeling my voice break up.
Why the hell did I hang around them! I hated every goddamn one of them!
For a moment neither of us said anything, we just stood there, breathing the stale air in and out, making little huffing sounds as the seconds passed.
Finally cowboy spoke, calmly and coolly as if finally coming to a conclusion with his thoughts.
"You know what, fuck you skits, you're a head case all on your own."
I realize only now that when cowboy said 'head case' he really meant basket case. He knew I wasn't meant to have friends. I was meant to always be solo. Always be the lonely, depressed Skittery, warped up his music and thoughts.
At this I stormed off once more, heading for the main doors and slamming them behind me while cowboy stared after me, a bit dumbfounded as to what had just happened.
there it is, hoped you liked (your probably thinking now 'thats the weirdest thing ever lolz') next ch will be up soon.REVEIW