Roulette
10-26-2008, 09:13 PM
This is a story that I've been tossing around in my head for a while, and have posted it on another forum. Unfortunately, as it is generally a forum for the younger audience, there isn't a very large group of people to offer proper critique. Without further ado...
Chapter One
Hearts Are Only Symbols
I touch my pen to the paper, the deep red ink staining the otherwise pristine page. Similar stains are found throughout the rest of the spiral-bound notebook, continued reminders of my writer’s block. This is the third pen I have gone through, and guess what? None of the pens produced anything worthwhile.
I’ve tried everything. I tried writing by the ocean, tried listening to music with the volume turned up on high, tried going into seclusion for a couple of days. Nothing has worked, and I’m about to lose my job because of it. You see, I’m the rhythm guitarist and backup singer for a band, using the current moniker of Sunset Horizon. I know, I know, it’s not a very good band name, but we were running out of ideas. What’s a lowly band to do?
Aside from being the rhythm guitarist and backup vocalist, I’m also the main lyricist. Our first demo was noted for those selfsame lyrics, and our band has become a bit of an underground hit. One review of our album read as such: While Jason [the lead singer] has a pretty average voice for a band of this genre, what truly sets this demo ahead of its ilk are the lyrics. Poignant, witty, and often quite profound, rhythm guitarist Kristopher Larner shines above the rest of his ‘peers’.
Unfortunately, that means that I have got a lot to live up to. Before, I would just write any random thing that came into my head, and then scramble to make it all fit in a manner that was perfect, refined. Now, I sit here for hours on end without being able to write a single line, hook, or harmony.
Throwing the pen down in disgust, I push away from the desk and stand up, grabbing my coat as I walk through the door of my one-room apartment. Walking down the empty streets of Worcester, the crisp autumn air makes me feel a bit better. Taking a right from my road, I walk on to Main Street and step into the grocery store.
The aisles are pitifully stocked, and there’s only four of them. Grabbing a bottle of Coke and a Monster, I go back to the front of the store to pay when I see her. Hayley, the girl that I’d been friends with all through high school. Hayley, the girl that I had never told how I felt. Hayley, the girl that has some sort of secret that she needed to keep from me. Turning on my heel, I scurry to the back of the store quickly, hoping that Hayley hadn’t seen me.
Huddled in the corner, I decide to wait for a few minutes before I come out and pay for my merchandise. Hmm-mh-hm-eh-hm. Standing here waiting for the one I’ve always loved/walking out that front door- wait. That’s a line, right there! Running out the front door, I take a quick turn to the right and-BAM.
Shit. Hayley, the girl that I love-but-have-to-avoid, she was bound to be the one that I ran into. The eggs she bought fall to the ground, that pitiful excuse for a box not protecting them at all. Putting on a fake smile, I begin to explain when she cuts me off. Without even so much as looking at my face, she gets into her car and drives off, going well over the speed limit.
Continuing to my apartment, I begin to write the line I had thought of in the store before I realize that I’ve forgotten what it was. Picking up my guitar and letting out a couple of riffs, I lay on the queen-sized bed that is my only piece of furniture, staring at the paint peeling on my ceiling.
-
I’m twenty years old, and I’ve never been in a relationship for longer than three months. Is that sad? Am I a freak for not having long relationships? I wish I knew, because at least then I would be able to change something about what I’m doing wrong.
I’ve never been in a fight, either. No broken bones or major burns to speak of. All in all, I think that I’ve led a rather empty life, especially compared to my bandmates. They’ve gotten into brawls, experienced heart break, done some pretty stupid things. Not me. Boring Kris has never done anything exciting, aside from beating the next level in a video game.
Ah, excuse the pity party. I’ll try to make sure that they aren’t all that frequent.
-
Speeding through an almost red light, I turn my car into the appropriate lane and continue into the main part of the city. I’m late, I’m late, I’m very very late. I make the tires scream as I drive into the parking lot, slamming my piece of crap vehicle right in between the painted yellow lines. Grabbing my guitar and amp, I scramble through the front door and into the emptied auditorium that we use as a practice spot.
Not surprisingly, everyone else is already there. Jason and Derek are arguing about which one of them should be louder; as lead guitarist, Derek wants his guitar to just scream through the songs, and as lead singer Jason wants to be the one heard above all else. I don’t shout to tell them that because Jason’s voice makes a deeper sound than Derek’s guitar, they can have their mic and amp at the same exact volume.
Running up the three stairs leading to the stage, Alex-the drummer- doesn’t even bother pointing out that I’m late, he just tells me to ‘plug my damned guitar in’ and start playing. Plugging my sunset-red Fender into its amp and the amp into the wall, I just do as he asks. Kicking up a beat and waiting for everyone to get synchronized, practice begins.
And ends.
______________________
Comments, criticism?
Chapter One
Hearts Are Only Symbols
I touch my pen to the paper, the deep red ink staining the otherwise pristine page. Similar stains are found throughout the rest of the spiral-bound notebook, continued reminders of my writer’s block. This is the third pen I have gone through, and guess what? None of the pens produced anything worthwhile.
I’ve tried everything. I tried writing by the ocean, tried listening to music with the volume turned up on high, tried going into seclusion for a couple of days. Nothing has worked, and I’m about to lose my job because of it. You see, I’m the rhythm guitarist and backup singer for a band, using the current moniker of Sunset Horizon. I know, I know, it’s not a very good band name, but we were running out of ideas. What’s a lowly band to do?
Aside from being the rhythm guitarist and backup vocalist, I’m also the main lyricist. Our first demo was noted for those selfsame lyrics, and our band has become a bit of an underground hit. One review of our album read as such: While Jason [the lead singer] has a pretty average voice for a band of this genre, what truly sets this demo ahead of its ilk are the lyrics. Poignant, witty, and often quite profound, rhythm guitarist Kristopher Larner shines above the rest of his ‘peers’.
Unfortunately, that means that I have got a lot to live up to. Before, I would just write any random thing that came into my head, and then scramble to make it all fit in a manner that was perfect, refined. Now, I sit here for hours on end without being able to write a single line, hook, or harmony.
Throwing the pen down in disgust, I push away from the desk and stand up, grabbing my coat as I walk through the door of my one-room apartment. Walking down the empty streets of Worcester, the crisp autumn air makes me feel a bit better. Taking a right from my road, I walk on to Main Street and step into the grocery store.
The aisles are pitifully stocked, and there’s only four of them. Grabbing a bottle of Coke and a Monster, I go back to the front of the store to pay when I see her. Hayley, the girl that I’d been friends with all through high school. Hayley, the girl that I had never told how I felt. Hayley, the girl that has some sort of secret that she needed to keep from me. Turning on my heel, I scurry to the back of the store quickly, hoping that Hayley hadn’t seen me.
Huddled in the corner, I decide to wait for a few minutes before I come out and pay for my merchandise. Hmm-mh-hm-eh-hm. Standing here waiting for the one I’ve always loved/walking out that front door- wait. That’s a line, right there! Running out the front door, I take a quick turn to the right and-BAM.
Shit. Hayley, the girl that I love-but-have-to-avoid, she was bound to be the one that I ran into. The eggs she bought fall to the ground, that pitiful excuse for a box not protecting them at all. Putting on a fake smile, I begin to explain when she cuts me off. Without even so much as looking at my face, she gets into her car and drives off, going well over the speed limit.
Continuing to my apartment, I begin to write the line I had thought of in the store before I realize that I’ve forgotten what it was. Picking up my guitar and letting out a couple of riffs, I lay on the queen-sized bed that is my only piece of furniture, staring at the paint peeling on my ceiling.
-
I’m twenty years old, and I’ve never been in a relationship for longer than three months. Is that sad? Am I a freak for not having long relationships? I wish I knew, because at least then I would be able to change something about what I’m doing wrong.
I’ve never been in a fight, either. No broken bones or major burns to speak of. All in all, I think that I’ve led a rather empty life, especially compared to my bandmates. They’ve gotten into brawls, experienced heart break, done some pretty stupid things. Not me. Boring Kris has never done anything exciting, aside from beating the next level in a video game.
Ah, excuse the pity party. I’ll try to make sure that they aren’t all that frequent.
-
Speeding through an almost red light, I turn my car into the appropriate lane and continue into the main part of the city. I’m late, I’m late, I’m very very late. I make the tires scream as I drive into the parking lot, slamming my piece of crap vehicle right in between the painted yellow lines. Grabbing my guitar and amp, I scramble through the front door and into the emptied auditorium that we use as a practice spot.
Not surprisingly, everyone else is already there. Jason and Derek are arguing about which one of them should be louder; as lead guitarist, Derek wants his guitar to just scream through the songs, and as lead singer Jason wants to be the one heard above all else. I don’t shout to tell them that because Jason’s voice makes a deeper sound than Derek’s guitar, they can have their mic and amp at the same exact volume.
Running up the three stairs leading to the stage, Alex-the drummer- doesn’t even bother pointing out that I’m late, he just tells me to ‘plug my damned guitar in’ and start playing. Plugging my sunset-red Fender into its amp and the amp into the wall, I just do as he asks. Kicking up a beat and waiting for everyone to get synchronized, practice begins.
And ends.
______________________
Comments, criticism?