It was a depressing, dull rainy day in Calatonia. The dark grey clouds had covered the sky, sending volleys after volleys of raindrops down to earth, making the temperature freezing. During this time, most sane animals would opt to stay indoor and watch a movie with their friends and families and nurse hot chocolate drinks in their cupped hands and all the other things Will can dream of.
However, that's not the case for him. He don't have any hot chocolate to drink, or any movie to watch, and he definitely don't have any friends and families with him at the moment.
In fact, he don't even have enough money to enjoy any of these things, he was closed to having almost no money left and now, trying to save as much money as possible, he deactivated his Netflix account, turn of lights in rooms whenever possible and only use exactly five cups of waters to wash the dishes to save money on his apartment's bill.
Bored and saddened by the grim fact, he took out his black Gibson guitar from it's case, plugged it in, and began strumming a few random chords.
"God help me if playing my guitar makes me pay more money on my electric bill." He said to himself, then began playing and singing the chords to Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd.
Even though he was an excellent guitarist, his talent was often overlook. This was due to echidna racism in Calatonia, a fact that embittered him. Whenever he went to a pub or a bar to look for a job, they rejected him almost immediately, with the owners saying that his presence would "decrease the satisfaction rating" of their customers and affecting their business.
He had also tried playing on the street. But pedestrians often ignored him, and whenever they did give him money, it was only a few cents, and before he could make enough moneys to buy a cheese burger from McDonald, the police would tell him to pack his things and go, due to the guitar "making loud noises and disturbing the pedestrians".
Now, as he strummed the final chord of the classic song, there was a knock on the door.
He opened it and was slightly pleased to see his best friend, Alex. The wombat was carrying a box of what smelled like chocolate mud cake.
"Hey man," Alex said, grinning sympathetically at the echidna "how's it going?".
Unlike most other animals, Alex was never racist to him. They were best friends since high school and both went to the same university. He was a good friend and, raised in a wealthy family, he supported Will whenever possible.
"I'm good," Will replied, then his eyes switch to the box in Alex's hand and his stomach growled hungrily "what's inside that thing?".
Alex smirked. "a very expensive, good-tasting, chocolate covered mud cake I bought for you." He said.
"Thanks, mate, I'm starving"
"You're welcome," Alex said, grinning "that's what friends are for, right?"
Soon, they were wolfing down the cake. Chocolates were smeared on the corner of Will's mouth and he closed his eyes blissfully as the sweets sent energies coursing through him, and he felt all of his tiredness and drowsiness draining away.
"Wipe your mouth, you dickhead."
"Sowwy." Will said with a full mouth, he took some Kleenex and began wiping the corner of his mouth.
Then the two friends sat on the couch and talked while listening to some Gun N' Roses tracks from a speaker Alex had brought with him.
Alex studied the living room sympathetically. It was littered with clothes, socks, pizza boxes, music sheets and all the other things he couldn't identify. The state of Will's apartment had been going down since his parents died in that tragic car crash, he thought, then realised that the echidna had just asked him a question.
"Oh..sorry, what was that, Will?"
"I said, how's thing going with your dad"
Alex's dad works as a surgeon at King's Throne Hospital, a job that pays him plenty of moneys. He wanted Alex to follow his path and become a doctor too.
"Oh, really well, he's trying to get me to study at the University Of Mack Fallow, but I reckon I'd be better with apprenticeship."
"Good for you."
"How about you?" Alex asked, although he knew that answer "how's things going with your music career?".
"Not very well, I'm afraid," Will said with a humourless grin "can't even pay my bill without selling another disc player".
"I thought you had only just came to an interview with the buffalo bloke from that pub down the road, did he hire you?"
"No," Will said ruefully "can't really expect him to hire a lowlife, talentless echidna like me, eh?"
Alex's eyes opened wide.
"Don't say that about yourself, William Dampbell! What if your father was here? What do you think he would say about that?"
Will flinched at the mention of his dead father.
"Dunno, probably he'll be disappointed." He replied sadly "My father used to say, if plan A doesn't work, there's still twenty-five other letters in the alphabet".
"Sound like one wise father".
"I know".
They sat in silent for another couple of minutes while listening to Paradise City, one of Will's favourite song. Alex had chosen this very playlist to cheer Will up, but so far, he only seemed to be getting grimmer.
"Well," he said, suddenly standing up " Like my mommy used to say, if you ever wanted to succeed, the first thing you needs to do is clean your room".
"Clean my room?" Will said incredulously.
"Yes, clean your room. Take a look around," Alex said, gesturing to the mess around them "see any servant?"
"N..No"
"No indeed! That's why we need to sweep the floor and vacuum the carpet and wipe the stoves and clean the dishes and makes the beds and beat the rugs and put those photographs back onto the shelf and put the guitar away and wash the clothes and iron the jackets and wipe the toilet and clear the fridge and wash those evil-smelling feet of yours." Alex said without pausing to breath.
"Geez, Alex, you really are a good friend".
"Come one," The wombat said, grinning "let's get to work".
Soon, they were bent back, vacuuming and cleaning the floor, beating the dusty rug, washing the dishes, making Will's messy bed, wiping the toilets, scouring the pots and pans, washing the clothes, ironing the jackets and washing Will's unwashed feet.
While doing all of this, Will was singing to himself.
With the clear blue waters of the endless oceans
To the shining moon in the night sky
The truck on the highway
The stars leading to Hobart's byway
Yet here I am without a promise
Oh, a letter from Heaven to Hell
"Nice voice," said Alex from the other side of the room "what song is that?".
"Oh.." Will said uncertainly "it's a song I wrote, nothing too special".
"Nothing to special? Come one, Will, that's awesome! Sing more of that!".
Will hesitated, then seeing Alex's encouraging nod, he continued the song.
And I will fly over the highest mountains
Sail through the vastest seas
Watched by the bright stars
Perish the thought, let me tell
As I send a letter from Heaven to Hell
There's nothing stopping me
So get out of my way and let me be
Tears that fell
From Heaven to Hell
Will hummed the guitar solo to himself, not noticing the broad smile on Alex's face. They continued cleaning up for another three hours or so until it was dark and stopped raining.
The room now was cleaned and neat and tidy. The carpet were vacuumed, the rugs were beaten and free of dusts. The dishes and pots and pans were stacked neatly in the kitchen. Will's black Gibson was leaned against the wall on its stand. The whole room was neat and tidy and clean.
"Well," Alex said, sweats streaked his fur and his hands were warm from the works, same with Will "That was definitely some progress".
"Thanks Alex, I don't know If I can ever manage without you".
"Oh. Come on!" Alex feigned annoyance "that's what friends are for, right?"
"I suppose so"
Alex checked his watch,
"Look, man, i've got to go," he said, grinning "my dad will be waiting and I'm afraid he might kill me for being back so late".
"It's Ok, thanks again, by the way".
"No problem," Alex said as he walked out of the door "and I think you should definitely try playing again, sooner or later, something oughts to happen".
And the door shut behind him with a clicking sound.
That night, while laying in bed, Will thought about the problem of paying his apartment bill.
He don't have the money, he can't borrow any because he can't repay them and he'll be in debt. Alex, of course, would willingly lend him the money but he can't afford to live on him forever. There has to be a way.
Then sleepiness took over him and he yawned. He could go over that problem later, he thought, first, get some good-quality sleep.
Then he remembered something that Alex said.
You should try playing again. Sooner or later, something oughts to happen.
He glanced at his guitar, now leaning against the wall.
Well, I have nothing to lose anyway.