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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

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Unlike the Rest

By: Trayton Harmon

When I woke up I was covered in cold sweat. The words in my dream were perfect, exactly what I was looking for. I quickly leaned over and reached under my bed, my hand finding my notepad and pen. I sat up and positioned the notepad on my lap and clicked my pen out. Scribbling as fast as my hand would let me, I struggled to remember the words.

I sit and write in the moon light when the mood strikes, no mic, just a pen and pad tonight. I fight with the norm; mental beats flow faster than my ink dries and I finally feel at home.

As the rest of the verse came into my mind, I slowly looked up from my pad, dropped my pen, and blinked as a single tear ran down my cheek. I picked my pen back up after a minute and continued.

How come I only feel at home when I’m alone with my shallow heart and soul colder than fresh snow, like a blanket over my emotion that my pen spills. I spill the beans with the sickest beats and I never admit defeat unless I’m facing me.

Feeling empty, yet relieved, I let me head fall back to my pillow and placed my pad and pen back under my bed. When I closed my eyes, I was already seeing the notes for the beat. I fell asleep wondering what to name the song.

My name is Luke and this is my story. From the outside it may not seem like much, but it’s worth the world to me.

My alarm went off at 6:30 and I tiredly rolled out of bed. I got dressed and walked upstairs to find some breakfast. After eating, I routinely got ready and grabbed my backpack. Then when I was about out the door, I stopped. Running back downstairs to my room I dropped to my knees and unzipped my backpack. I slid my notepad in next to my binders and books and quickly ran outside and drove to school.

I walked down the crowded hallway, seeing everyone’s mouth moving but not hearing their words, just the music in my earbuds. I sat through class after class just watching the clock waiting for study hall. After what seemed like forever the bell rang and I walked across the hall into Mrs. Peterson’s room. She smiled at me and marked me on the roll. I sat down in the back of the classroom and pulled out my pad. With a click of my pen I started scribbling words on the page, pausing occasionally to tap out a beat and make sure the syllables fit.

The classroom filled up and the noise level went up with the growing number of kids. I kept adjusting my iPod’s volume to hear my music over the pointless chatter. Tap tap tap, scribble scribble scribble. Look up at the ceiling, think of the right wording, scribble some more. Suddenly a hand slapped my pad sending it flopping into the floor. I hurriedly took out one earbud and paused my song. The first thing I noticed was the Mrs. Peterson was no longer in the room. Then I dared glance up and saw the three faces I was expecting. And dreading.

The leader of the little posse, John, spoke first as always.

“Whatcha writin’ there? Love notes?”

He never ceased to amaze me with his cleverness. But his biceps made up for what he lacked in intelligence, and it was common knowledge that he loved to use them for things such as hurting kids like me. I’d had my face smeared on enough walls and lockers to know firsthand.

“Dude, will you just leave me alone? I’m just doing homework,” I said. He just smiled and motioned one of his two cronies to pick up my pad. Sidney leaned over to get it. He was about as dumb as a board, but like John, he could lift more weights than I’d ever dreamed of. And he would cripple you if you mentioned his name. Guess how I know? When they first confronted me I thought it would be a good idea to use my extensive intelligence and vocabulary to poke at Sidney’s name thinking he was too stupid to get the pun and I could walk away feeling like I’d won at least a small victory. That wasn’t quite the case. Instead I walked away feeling about 100% more sore than I would’ve otherwise.

As I was trying to think my way out of the situation John and crew were reading over my lyrics. I was desperate for escape and my face was twitching with fear and irritation. Not even the few people who I fully trusted had read the contents of my notepad. Not my parents, friends, girlfriend, or anyone. To have these idiots reading the raw product of my life in verses was horrifying.

Suddenly the three bullies were laughing. John threw the pad behind him, a few of the lose pieces of paper I kept in it flying through the air. Dillon, the third bully, spoke up for the first time.

“Little white boy thinks he’s a rapper,” he said smirking.

“Come on guys, just leave me alone,” I said, already feeling hope abandon me.

Before one of the other kids could say anything, Mrs. Peterson walked back into the classroom. She saw the scattered papers and the three bigger kids standing around me. She must’ve figured out that something was wrong because she asked, “What’s going on boys?”

“Oh, we just saw Luke accidentally drop his pad so we came to help him clean it up,” Dillon said. He wasn’t as big as his two friends, but he was noticeably smarter than them, so he did most of the cover-up work for the crew’s evil deeds.

“Did you know that he’s a rapper? His whole pad is filled with lyrics. After high school, he is thinking of going big. He was just telling us about it,” Dillon continued.

“Oh, Luke that’s fantastic,” Mrs. Peterson said. “It’s great to dream big like that, but it’s always good to have a ‘plan B’ too, just in case it doesn’t work out like you planned.”

At that my face hardened. I didn’t know where Dillon got his information, I certainly didn’t tell him, but he was spot on. Mrs. Peterson, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more wrong. In my mind ‘plan B’ just lowered your chances at achieving ‘plan A’. I just muttered something that could’ve been ‘ok’, just eager to deflect the classes attention from me.

The rest of the class hour couldn’t have passed more slowly. Everyone was staring at me and I even though I couldn’t hear them, I knew that they were whispering about me and laughing. After class I hustled out of the room and quickly walked to my car and drove to work where I could just listen to music and be left alone.

The next day at school was the worst ever. Kids whispered to their friends and glanced at me, but always fell silent when I got closer. A few called out, “There goes the wanna-be!” In class, nobody would sit next to me. Even kids who I used to call friends wouldn’t make eye contact with me. The words I dreaded most came from my second hour teacher. “Ok kids, we’re doing a group project next. Please get in groups of three to five and we’ll get started.”

The class went into momentary chaos while everyone scrambled to find their friends. Of course, after the groups were established, I was left standing alone in the middle of the class. I didn’t dare look at anyone so I began memorizing every detail of my shoes.

“Luke, you can work with me for this one,” Mr. Rights said after what seemed like an eternity of silence. I shuffled over to his desk hanging my head low. I was never a popular person, but never had I felt so completely alone. It was probably mostly my teenage brain’s fault, but I felt like the whole world was against me. I turned bitter and depressed so my grades started dropping, I disrespected my parents and teachers, and pushed all my friends away. My lyrics turned dark and angry, and my mind began turning into something I wasn’t proud of.

Of course, I kept writing. It was the rope tied around my waist that wouldn’t allow me to fall over the edge. I would sit in my car, letting the engine idle so I could listen to music and I would write for hours. Winter, summer, sunshine, rain, whatever. My brain was always working in fifth gear, making rhymes and coming up with clever ways to play with words. I found a recording app and started putting my lyrics to more complex computer-generated beats I put together. I felt like some sort of idiot rapping into the speakers of my iPad one, hunched over, trying to be as quiet as possible so people couldn’t hear what I was saying. Not that it was very hard, seeing how nobody would listen to me even when I wanted to be heard.

I think it was a Wednesday and I was sitting at my computer writing a story. I found that I liked writing stories because they helped me get my ideas out on paper so I could turn them into songs, plus it was fun creating characters and seeing what they would do if they were my life and how their personalities worked. But, like always, I was listening to music. I forget the exact song I was listening to, but an amazing thought struck me. I could create an anonymous YouTube account and put my music out there for all to see. Instantly I was opening new tabs figuring out how I could get an account.

Within the next week, I had singlehandedly filmed three music videos, edited them, and got them looking as professional as I could. Fuze. My stage name, because when I burn out things blow up. I was more excited than I could handle. I was doing it! It was a miracle that nobody from my school saw them, but others began seeing them. My account began getting more and more subscribers. I was working myself to the bone writing, recording, filming, and editing, trying to have at least one new song out every month. Complete strangers complimented my music. To say the least, my confidence started to pick itself up from rock bottom.

I knew my good luck wouldn’t hold out forever though. A fellow classmate approached me right as lunch was ending. I found this strange, to put it lightly. Nobody from school had talked to me for months. I guess it was just curiosity that kept me from walking away before any words could be exchanged.

“Fuze, huh?” he asked. “I hope you know that your music is horrific and you need to just give up on it and just be a normal high schooler. Do yourself a favor and delete that account before anyone else sees it.”

The words crushed me. I felt as if I didn’t have the strength to stand up anymore. I can’t remember making any conscious decision, but I punched him as hard as I could, blood spurting out of his nose. I dropped my backpack and hit him again, sending him tumbling back and sitting down hard. But no way was I done. My vision blurred red as I kicked him over and over. I was on my knees over him hitting him when the other students got to me and pulled me off.

Next thing I knew I was sitting in the principal’s office, crying. Two police officers where visiting with the principal. I couldn’t hear their whispered conversation, and I didn’t care. I still wasn’t really thinking straight. Then a small group of people walked in. Dressed in all black and looking very daunting, one stepped forward and said, “Excuse us. We heard about what happened with young Luke. We will be happy to pay for the victim’s hospital bills and any other resulting expenses.”

The principal and police officers where a little taken aback. “I…guess that would be ok,” one of the police said.

The man in black looked at look and smiled. “You can go home kid. You’ve had a rough day. Take it easy and don’t worry about a thing here.”

Feeling dizzy I thanked the man and stumbled out of the office. On the way home I couldn’t help but think that the man somehow look familiar, but I couldn’t place him. When I got home I sat down at the computer with the intention of looking up who the man might be. Then after sitting motionless for a moment, I felt stupid. What was I supposed to look up? Who is the Man in Black?

Late that night I was still unable to fall asleep. Words swirled through my head, some rhyming, most not. I quietly unzipped my backpack and pulled out my pad and, finding a pen on the floor, began scribbling. I plugged in my headphones and played music quietly while I wrote, my feelings from the day all pouring out onto the page. The hurt of the words said to me, the feeling of uncontrollable violence, and the confusion of my unknown savior.

After about a half hour I glanced down at my iPod to change the song and saw something that sent chills down my spine. The face of the Man in Black was staring back at me from the screen, gone after only a second, but most definitely there. I made the connection in my mind. It was Buddy DeSylva from Capitol Records. Capitol is one of the biggest record labels out there, how did Buddy know me? With the question still on my mind, I put my pad back and went to sleep.

Only a few hours later, my alarm went off and I had to get up and go to school. I tiredly got dressed and ate a quick breakfast before driving to the dreaded building. When I walked in, nobody talked to me, but they all cast nervous glances my way. It never occurred to me that people would fear me, but I guess it’s only natural. I suffered through the whole day with the nagging feeling that Mr. DeSylva was still around somewhere and I needed to talk to him.

Finally, school ended and I walked out to the parking lot. I had a lot of things on my mind and I didn’t pull out my pad once during school because I feared my classmates much more than they feared me. So I sat in my car writing as fast as I could. I had the music turned up to the point where I couldn’t hear anything outside of my own little bubble. Then, in a moment where my subwoofers weren’t powered all the way up, I heard a knocking on my window. When I looked up I saw no one else but Buddy DeSylva.

Startled, I turned my music off and shut down my car’s idling engine. I opened the door and stood up, reaching my hand out to shake his. I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I waited for him. Finally, he spoke up. “Sorry about any confusion I caused yesterday,” he said.

I stuttered something about how it was fine, and thanks for coming.

“I couldn’t help but take notice of you when one of our artists came to me saying he saw a few of your videos on YouTube. I really like your music style and, according to our rap artists, you have a gift for words that can’t be taught.”

“I…I…I’m overwhelmed sir,” I stuttered. “Can I ask what artist came to you?”

��Nathan Feuerstein. I dare say he’s one of your biggest fans.”

This was crazy! Nathan, also known as NF, was famous. I listened to his music all the time. I couldn’t believe he knew my name, who I was, and actually liked my music.

“Dude…,” was the only thing I could muster.

Buddy just laughed and said, “We could actually arrange for the two of you to meet if you would like that. But first things first, I wanted to give you this.”

He pulled an official-looking piece of paper out of his bag. He handed it to me and said, “This has my phone number on it, so if you have any questions, feel free to call. I understand that this can be overwhelming and crazy, so don’t feel rushed. You have all the time you need.” He shook my hand and strolled away, a black Mercedes waiting for him a few parking spots away.

I got back in my car and turned it back on, scared to look at the paper. Eventually curiosity won over. I read it through, and with a start I realized what it was. It was a contract. I could sign my name at the top, fill out a few other pieces of information, and be an official artist of Capitol Records alongside NF, Katy Perry, and many other famous artists. I drove home slowly, clutching the paper in my hand, never wanting it to leave my sight, but scared to put a single wrinkle in it.

I got home and called out to my mom. I told her everything. She knew I wrote music, but was never really a fan of rap, so she didn’t listen to much of it. She asked me if this is what I wanted and if I read the contract through. I had of course, more than once. She explained a few things I didn’t really understand and I walked down to my room looking at the paper. I sat on my bed for a while, just thinking. What happens when you sign the dotted line?

Eventually I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the bottom of the page. On the second ring Buddy picked up on the other line. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Luke,” I said. “I was just calling to tell you that I’ll sign with you. I just don’t really know the protocol for this type of thing.”

He laughed and replied reassuringly, “What’s your address? I’ll come over and help you all through it. But ask your mom first.”

I yelled up to my mom, “Mom! Can the Capitol guy come over and talk to us?”

“Yeah sure,” she called back down. “Ask him if he wants dinner.”

Into the phone, I asked, “My mom wonders if you want dinner.”

“That would be great! I’ll have two colleagues with me. What time should I be there?”

“Ummm…can you be here in an hour?”

“That works, thanks Luke! I’ll see you in a little while.”

I hung up the phone and jumped off my bed, throwing clothes under my bed and trying to make my room and the living room as clean as I could. Then I ran upstairs and told my mom that Buddy would have two other people with him. She said that was okay. I grabbed the contract off my bed and set it on the dining room table after I wiped it off so good it almost sparkled. I grabbed plates and forks for everyone and laid them nicely on the table. “Mom, is Dad going to be here tonight?” I asked.

“No, he’s off on a business trip until tomorrow night. I sent him a text telling him all about what’s going on. He’s excited for you.”

“Oh ok, so only five plates.”

The knock at the door came right on time. I looked at my mom and she motioned for me to get it. I walked to the door and opened it. Then I just stood there dumbly, staring at the three men on the doorstep. Buddy stood in the front, beaming. “I thought you might be excited. I heard that you were a big fan of Marshal, so I asked if he could some with me and Nate even though he’s not with Capitol.”

Marshal and Nate, Eminem and NF, were the two beset rappers ever. Some say that’s just my opinion, but I’m pretty sure it’s a fact. And here they were, standing outside my house with the founder of Capitol Records. I was convinced I was dreaming.

My mom walked up behind me and invited the three of them inside, noticing that I wasn’t going to be able to speak for a few minutes. I stood aside and each of the men shook my hand as they entered, first Buddy, then Nate, and finally, Marshal. We followed my mom to the dinner table and I pulled out chairs for all of them. We all sat down to our heaping plates filled with ribs, mashed potatoes, and gravy. “My compliments to the chef,” said Buddy. “I hope we didn’t cause you any inconvenience.”

“Oh no,” my mother said. “It’s a pleasure to have you over.”

We made small talk until we finished eating. Well, everyone but me. I was too busy taking in every detail of Marshal and Nates face. After I cleaned up the plates Buddy looked at me and said, “Well, let’s get started!”

He walked me through the contract and Nate helped him explain what everything meant. I understood Nate a lot better than Buddy, and I signed the dotted line. Buddy smiled at me and said, “Perfect Luke! We’re overjoyed to have such a skilled young artist with us! I have a surprise for you, so while me and your mom talk about a few legal things, I’ll have Nate and Marshall show you.”

I followed the two rappers out to Buddy’s car and watched as the opened the trunk. Nate motioned me over and asked, “Have you ever been in a real recording studio?”

“No, sir,” I replied. “I’ve been using an app on my iPad.”

Nate grinned and said, “Just wait to see what you can do with this stuff.” He handed me and Marshal each huge speakers and some weird spray bottle. Then he pulled out something that looked a little like a big keyboard, but without keys, just dials and buttons. Marshal said, “We can put this stuff all in your house somewhere or we can just teach you how to use it and set it up somewhere else. Whatever works.”

“We should be able to fit it in my room nicely,” I said and they followed me downstairs. We set all the equipment down on my bed and I moved my little shelve to a different location next to my dresser, leaving one whole wall empty.

“This is perfect,” Nate said. “Do you know how to wire speakers?”

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“Ok, let me hurry and plug these in here…,” he said, plugging the ends of two wires into the keyboard thing.

“Alright,” he said, handing me the wires and pointing to the speakers. “You hook up those and me and Marshal will go grab the legs and mics.”

Set-up took about an hour. When we finished, my room looked like a professional studio. Microphones and speakers were set up in the best locations and one whole wall was taken up by the computerized recording equipment. Nate and Marshal gave me a crash course on how to use it and their phone numbers so if I had questions, I could ask. Buddy came down and gave me his congratulations and handed me a check for $10,000 and my mom one for the same amount. “A signing bonus,” he said with a wink.

Me and my mom were both the happiest people on the planet when the three of them left, walking out the front door with handshakes, corny jokes from Nate, and lyric tips from Marshal.

I immediately headed down to my room and began playing with my new recording studio. My mom came down and watched me. She eventually said, “So is our house going to be this loud all the time?” I wasn’t really sure what to say. I noticed the little spray can that we hadn’t used and wondered what it was. I called Nate, feeling kind of retarded considering he was probably only a few blocks away. When he answered, I said, “Hey, so what’s this little can for?”

“Oh crap,” he exclaimed. “That’s soundproofing plastic. It’s completely clear drying and won’t damage your walls or paint at all. Just spray it lightly around your door, window, and on your walls. Sorry man, I forgot about that.”

“It’s fine! Thanks,” I said and grabbed the spray and started coating my walls in the stuff. I couldn’t see it, it just made me walls a little shiny if you stood in just the right place. A few minutes later my mom came back down and expressed how happy she was for the soundproofing.

Nate came over to my house once or twice a week after that. We wrote music and he helped me learn how to expertly use the recording equipment. Buddy came over a few times just to see how I was progressing with my music and said he was impressed. One day after Nate left, me and him were talking. He asked if I could have an album ready in a few months and we could schedule my first on-stage performance. I was a little nervous, but I promised I wouldn’t let him down. The $10,000 checks in the mail every month reminded me that this was my job now, and that I could be fired at any time.

I worked from the minute I got home from school, sometimes skipping dinner to record my music. Nate helped me a lot, teaching me how to set up albums and how to get album art done. Three months later I had organized and recorded enough music and I had my first album. It was my pride and joy, hanging on my wall above my computer.

My show was in three days. Nate, Marshal, and Buddy all came over and gave me advice and reassurance that I would do fantastic. I practiced all my songs so mush I sometimes woke myself up singing them in my sleep.

On the morning of my show, I met Buddy and Nate at the airport. They had a private jet reserved for me. Buddy promised that after a few shows I would be able to buy my very own, but said he didn’t want me to have to be stuck in a car for hours right before my first show.

It was a short flight, landing forty minutes after taking off. I was instantly met by a limousine and driven the short distance to the stadium. Buddy told me that I had sold out, so the stadium would be packed full of people waiting to hear Fuze’s newest music. I sat backstage wiping sweat off my hands and remembering the order of the songs.

I still had ten minutes until I had to walk out on stage, so I pulled out my pad and began scribbling. I’m a little different than the rest, sittin’ backstage stressed, people out there expectin’ the best. Can I do it? Of course I can, two strokes and I hit my powerband. Exhausted haters better pipe down. Rhymin’, lovin’ the sound… “Luke?”

I jerked out of my little zone. “Yeah?”

“It’s time.”

I stood up on shaking legs and began the walk to the stage. It was a very short distance, but it seemed to pass in slow motion. I was handed a microphone and received a few slaps on the back and I heard a few words of encouragement breaking through the haze in my mind. I pulled up the hood on my jacket and a second later the noise hit me.

The crowd was breath-taking. I saw hundreds of faces in the dim light, hundreds more blurring into the background. In the spotlight, aimed a few feet in front of me, I saw Marshal and Nate. It took me a second to realize that they were doing my introduction. I couldn’t believe it. Here were two famous artists and they were introing me, a teenage kid? I smiled, pulling my hood a little lower to hide the visible show of emotion. I was told to keep a poker-face until my first song began.

When the two were done with the intro, ending with a very dramatic ‘FUZE!’, they spun out of the spotlight and walked to where I was standing in the shadows. They both smiled at me and told me I’d do a fantastic job. They told me to just imagine myself recording the songs in my room until I was confident enough to focus on the crowd. I just nodded, not really hearing the words, just feeling emotions rise up inside me. I was actually doing this. The thing I had never dared dream, and here I was on a stage in front of thousands of fans. I vaguely wondered if any of my school-mates were down there, waiting to see what was going to happen.

Then the beginning of my first song broke into my consciousness. I waited right up until the first word I sang before stepping into the light. I kept my head down as I let the words flow, looking at my shoes, my brain immediately taking Marshal’s advice. I was just in my room, recording my music where I felt most comfortable. Alone.

About a minute into the song I dared glance up. The crowd was stunning. The first song was a fast paced one, ‘a good ice-breaker’ Buddy had said. I was lucky that I was in a slow part of the chorus or else I wouldn’t have had time to catch my breath without falling behind. I stared into the eyes of the people on the front few rows, making sure to keep my eyes in the shadow of my hood. I saw the acceptance and love of the fans, even though I knew I had never met any of the before.

I was overcome with emotion by the end of the song. I pushed back my hood and, waiting for the applause to end, I addressed the crowd. In the lull between songs, my voice rang out on the mic. “I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight, and for the support you have all shown me.”

That was all I could get out before the next song started. A little way into the first verse, I went to the very front of the stage. I got on one knee and gave high-fives and handshakes to the fans. I couldn’t believe this. People were climbing over other people to just do something as simple as touch my hand. I walked up and down the stage-front, touching the outstretched hands of all the fans I could manage to touch. Then I sat myself down, legs dangling my legs into the crowd.

By the time the song had ended, I jumped down and walked among the people. They were all singing my lyrics along with me and I could see the emotion sliding across their faces as they related to my experiences. I reached the edge of the first level of seating and was forced to turn back. Some fans picked me up and I was held up my countless hands as the crowd moved me back to the stage.

The whole show was an emotional roller coaster. The deeper, more pain-filled songs were met with tears and fans relating. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t alone all those times I was certain that nobody knew how I felt. During the faster, more up-beat songs were met with hands and lighters in the air and the loudest cheering I had ever heard. When I was out of songs to perform, I was a little sad. I felt like I had so much more to share with these people, so many more memories and stories, so many more people to meet and talk to.

I was cheered off the stage, hesitantly stepping out of the light and into the congratulations of my team. Buddy, Nate, and Marshal all backstage grinning and telling me ‘You did so good!’ We had a party in Capitols private studio a few blocks away from the stadium. It all seemed surreal and dreamy, like I was floating away from my body, watching the whole thing from above.

That night I lay in bed feeling happier than ever. I fell asleep think about each of the faces I had seen, each pair of eyes I had looked into and saw a friend in. The feeling was overwhelming.

The weekend passed and on Monday I had to return to school. Buddy said I should still get an education even though I already had my career, and I was fine with that. When I walked in I wasn’t really expecting much to be different, but I guess that was a stupid thought. People who I was sure didn’t know I existed a few weeks ago were smiling at me and saying hi and when people called, “Hey! There goes the rapper kid!” it wasn’t an insult like used to be. I had friends in every one of my classes for a change.

I eventually found that only some people really wanted to be my friend, others just wanted to bask in my fame. It was pretty easy to figure out what people belonged in what group. And something else came into play that I had never considered before. I had come to rely on the privacy I got from not being known, and now that everybody knew me I was stripped of that privilege. I had to find quiet places at lunch to write my music if I had an idea during school. I never really got used to writing with people looking over my shoulder. My feelings were appearing on the page in scribbled words that anyone could read, but only few could understand.

But I guess, like Marshal says, “beggars can’t be choosey.” When the check came in the mail it was staggering. I knew I could never do this for money, but it certainly was a nice side effect. My lifestyle changed very little while my bank account grew my leaps and bounds as I kept performing shows and putting out new albums. I was still the same person I was before I picked up a pen and started writing. They say that money is evil, but nothing can change a person without the person being willing to change, for better or worse.

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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

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In the Shadows

By: Trayton Harmon

Two dark figures slide through the shadows, expertly avoiding the faint glow cast by the streetlights. Dodging car headlights without even a moment’s hesitation, the two shadows climb onto the roof of the nearest house with deceptive speed and silence. Dropping to all fours, they speed up, leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

Crouched behind a parked car, two more cloaked figures watch silently. Waiting for the two on the rooftops to be out of sight, they slowly break cover and move in pursuit. Staying on the other side of the street, they quickly gain the rooftops and pick up speed, cloaks streaming behind them.

The chase lasts an hour. The cloaked figures slow down and stay low, keeping out of sight while staying alongside the loping shadows. Finally seeing the car of an exhausted teenager driving slowly down the road, the taller of the cloaked figures motions to the other. A slight nod of the head and the two leap to the car's roof, bouncing off it immediately, tackling the two figures on the other side, all four tumbling into the backyard of the unlucky house. The confused driver stops, but not seeing anything continues driving, turning the corner and disappearing.

A violent struggle commences in the backyard, both sides not able to gain any advantage on the other. The shorter of the cloaked figures draws a handgun and fires two rapid shots, each dropping its target. As inhabitants of the neighborhood wake up and lights flip on, the cloaked figures instantly grab the bodies and abandon the scene, and not a second later, the backdoor slams open, a man holding a shotgun silhouetted in the light. He sees nothing, but hears the faint sound of hurried footsteps retreating into the night. He thought they sounded like they might have come from his roof, but dismissed the idea. Nobody could have gotten up there that fast.

Caleb and Jesse, both 17 years old, where two vastly different characters. Nobody could figure out how they became friends, but there they were, walking down the halls together between classes. Caleb was about an inch shorter and very shy while Jesse was very outgoing and friends with all the people Caleb labeled as ‘cool kids’. All their classmates would agree that they were both a little different though. Nobody would be able to pinpoint exactly what was strange about them, but they all knew it was there.

After school, the two friends met up at their favorite hang-out. Jesse got there a bit earlier, and when Caleb walked in and dumped his backpack on the floor, he rounded on him. “Why!?” he asked in a firm voice, barley holding back him anger. Caleb, shrugging, replied “it worked, didn’t it?” “And woke up the whole neighborhood," retorted Jesse. Glancing at the bodies of the two demons, Caleb dropped his voice. “Why are they coming back? I didn’t think they show their faces for years to come,” he said. “Lord Nomed must be up to something again. Him and his demons are dangerous, and if they’re our hunting again, then we have a huge problem”, Jesse whispered gravely. “Oh, ease up loser. We only live once, might as well not be all down and dismal all the time,” Caleb said with a smirk. Jesse grinned back, but not a second later they both doubled over with pain. Gritting his teeth with pain, Caleb said, “Looks like someone’s out causing trouble again.” Grabbing their cloaks, they sprinted out of the door.

“We still have hours until darkness”, the demon hissed to his companion. “You know how impatient Nomed is. We have to get going," the other hissed back, long black tongue slithering out to wet his thin grey lips in anticipation. “Those two kids in their ridiculous cloaks think they’re terribilis. It’s time we taught them how it feels to lose everything you love, starting with their cute little girlfriends," the first growled. They both barked their hideous laughter as they loped off.

Homing in on the source of their pain, the two friends kept to the shadows, a task made difficult by the still sinking sun. Dodging cars and pedestrians, they ran to the south side of town. Without breaking stride, Caleb muttered “See?” A slight nod of the head from Jesse and they dropped into a crouch and followed closely behind the loping shadows. They followed for an hour before the sun set and streetlights began flickering on. Jesse noticed Caleb slightly twitching and they ran. “What’s wrong, man?” he asked. “Taylor’s house is up here," Caleb replied. Glancing at each other nervously, they both speed up.

“It’s this one," growled a quiet voice in the darkness. Two shadows dropped silently onto the back porch and the back door swung open. Sliding into the house, the shadows closed the door and crept down the stairs. Coming to a pink door, the two shadows stopped, opened it, and slid inside, silently closing it behind them. Failing to notice two rumpled cloaks piled in the corner, the shadows stood over the sleeping form in the bed, blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. One shadow extended a clawed hand toward her throat.

A flash of movement and two more figures lunged, one toward the girl and one toward the demons. The first placed his body over the girls in a protective movement and the other struck out at the demons, taking them by surprise and knocking them off their feet. One expert stroke of a knife and the struggle was over. Awoken by the noise, the girl scrambled to turn around, screaming at the bloody sight and the dark figure standing over her. In an instant, one figure picked up two cloaks, the other picking up the lifeless demons. Opening the window and leaping out, one figure turned to close it and hesitated for a second. “Caleb?” the girl whispered. Shutting the window, the figures disappeared into the night. The girl’s light was flipped on by her dad has he rushed down to check on his daughter. “It’s ok daddy," she said. “Only a nightmare. Sorry I woke you.” Satisfied with the answer, her dad hugged her and went back upstairs to his room leaving Taylor to her own thoughts.

The next day at school, Caleb met Taylor at the front doors like he usually did. They hugged and walked into the building hand in hand. “How did you sleep?” Caleb asked. Spinning him to face her, she held both his hands in hers. Looking into his eyes she said “Good. Where were you last night?” “Well, after school me and Jesse hung out for a little bit, then I just went to bed. I didn’t sleep very well though," he said with a tired grin. Taylor had noticed little bags under his eyes that morning. “Are you alright?” she asked him. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry! Want to talk about it?”

“Will you meet me here after school? We can go to my house and I’ll tell you about it.”

“I would love to!”

Later, at Taylor’s house, the two sit down on the couch, Caleb with a Dr. Pepper and Taylor with a Lemonade. Popping open his can, Caleb, not making eye contact with Taylor, asks, “So what’s wrong?” Taylor hesitates for a moment before replying. “I dreamed about you. It all seemed so real. Even now I’m not sure if it was really a dream.” Swirling his drink, Caleb looks down at the floor. “Was it?” she asks. When Caleb finally looks back up at her, she notices that his eyes glisten with tears. “I want you to promise you won’t leave me if I tell you a story," he says.

An awkward silence falls between the two teenagers. “I promise.” It’s barely audible Taylor whispers the words so softly. Caleb sits back and takes a long draft of his drink. “Ok. Here goes nothin. When I was born, my parents were so glad to have their first child. They thought something was a little different about me, but dismissed their feelings thinking it was normal. Then in middle school my mutation manifested in its full glory. I was a shy, kinda jumpy kid back then.” “I noticed," Taylor says with a small grin. Caleb laughs. “Oh goodness, you didn’t know I existed. You’re so popular and I was so uncool and antisocial.” Taylor blushes slightly and smiles as she says, “Actually, I always liked you. It just took you about an eternity to even talk to me, and then even longer to ask me on a date.” “Hey, I’m tired of your crap," Caleb replies, voice dripping with sarcasm as he smiles. “But anyway, back to the story. I was sitting at home alone after school reading a book just waiting for my family to get home. I must have left the door open because a cat got into the house. Of course, I didn’t know what it was, all I heard was a soft scratching and quiet footsteps upstairs. I freaked out and something changed in me. I couldn’t control it back then, but I can now. Watch.” He grinned at her and his canine teeth grew about an inch and got sharp. His fingernails and muscles hardened. Taylor gasped. “Apparently, my dad was bitten by an infected wolf when he was young. I guess I got lucky enough to get that wolfs genes. I’ve only ever told one other person about this.” “Jesse," Taylor says under her breath. “You’re right. He was always curious, and he asked if it was contagious one day. I told him our private specialty doctor, the same one who treated my dad when he was bitten, said it wasn’t. Next thing I know, he’s dragging me and my family to the hospital. He asks the doctor to give him some of my blood. 'Just to see what happens,' he said.The process took about 10 minutes and it changed our whole lives. He turns into the same thing I am. As much as I hate that he shares my curse, it’s nice having someone who I can relate to. We test our bodies, pushing them to their limits together. We’ve benched over 400 pounds, jumped over 15 feet vertical, and 40 feet horizontal. Our reflexes are incredible. Jesse has caught arrows shot from the newest compound bow at very short range and I’ve dodged machine gun fire. We also have this sixth sense that sends pain flashing though our bodies when someone we love is in danger. That’s why we came to your house last night. Those demons attacking you are old enemies. They came into the scene seven years ago. They worship chaos and destruction. Their leader, Nomed, is very clever. He realized that we were the ones messing with his plans and is determined to silence us. He’ll kill us, break us, cripple us, whatever he can do. And we have no choice but to stop him, but we have no help because nobody would accept that things like us and the demons exist. I’m anxious just walking down the halls at school, worried someone will find out who I am.” Caleb falls silent and Taylor scoots closer and holds him. “I’m so sorry”, she says. “I’ll do anything I can to help you.” Caleb holds her at arm length and looks into her eyes. “Take this.” He has a short blade in his hand. He spins it so the hilt is facing her. It’s a beautiful piece, it’s hilt a shining black, blade slightly blued, and a strange engraving on the crosspiece. Pointing at the symbol, Taylor asks what it is. “My symbol”, comes the simple reply.

The week after Caleb reveals his secret to Taylor, he and Jesse come to the decision to tell no one else, no matter the circumstances. Then, after a short argument, they agree to tell Jesse’s girlfriend too. Little does the pair know that their world is about to change in a major way for the second time.

Weeks go by the demons are silent. The tension is palpable when the now enlarged group of four is together. Caleb is walking up to the front doors of school one day after lunch. He’s right one time for the first bell to ring, so there’s a crowd of kids hustling to get to class. He sees Jesse across the parking lot and waits for him on the stairs leading up to the doors. Jesse runs to meet him and doesn’t notice the shadowy forms slipping through cars in the parking lot and on the roof of the school. Caleb, however, sees them and meets Jesse’s eyes, fear evident in his. Jesse stops in his tracks and cocks his head to one side, an understanding question in his eyes. Where? Caleb replies with a small sweeping motion with his arms. Everywhere. The whole exchange took about two seconds. The very second Caleb’s arms are back at his sides the shadows come out of hiding and attack in force. Kids scream and run around as Caleb and Jesse drop their backpacks and undergo their special ‘change’. Leaping down the stairs, maybe 15 feet down and 20 across, Caleb hits the ground running. He gets to Jesse’s side right as the first demon gets to him. Knives seem to appear in the kid’s hands and they slash the first demon to pieces, but more fill its place. Indescribable violence comes next, lasting for what seems like an eternity. Once the swirling bloody fight, time stands still. One demon has both Caleb and Jesse pinned down. His hissing laughter fills the silence. “Looks like the tables have turned. Perierat.” His jaws open and a hundred black pointy teeth descend towards the kids’ exposed necks. Then he stops, the tip of a blade protruding from his stomach. The demon falls over, his grip failing. Standing there is Taylor, breathing hard and holding the knife Caleb gave her, both hands gripping the hilt. Caleb jumps up and kisses her. “I thought I’d never see you again”, he breaths as he pulls away. Half the student body and seven cops all stand in a silent circle, watching in amazement. “I guess we’ve been caught red-handed”, Jesse says and he and Caleb laugh and they slap high-fives, both smiling, still in shock over their near-death experience.

The next few weeks are a blur. Police question them, news reporters follow them everywhere they go, and people are always gawking at them. The days fly by, and before the two friends know it it’s been 3 months. “I’m used to feeling different when I walk down the halls,” Caleb tells Jesse one day at school. “But never this different. I liked having nobody know me.” Nodding his head Jesse replies, “Yeah, I’m not sure that I like the fact that everyone knows what we can do. They shouldn’t be scared of us, but I feel like they are.” “Well, whatever. No use worrying about it,” Caleb says. Smiling, the two hold their heads high, telling jokes and laughing all the way to their next classes. All around them, kids unconsciously leaving plenty of room for them, but looking on cautiously thinking that they looked like normal people.

It takes weeks more, but Caleb and Jesse are accepted by their peers again. Their gift is by no means overlooked or dismissed, but people realized that gifted or not, they were just two more kids trying to get through high school. One day after school, Caleb was hanging out with Taylor. A group of their classmates approached them. One stepped forward and said, “Sup bro.” He extends his hand and Caleb shakes it. “Name’s Michael. Taylor, can I borrow your man for a sec?” She smiles and nods, releasing his hand and kissing his cheek quickly. The two boys walked away, and step after step passes away in silence. Finally, Michael speaks up. “Dude, you and Jesse could be kings with your powers. You could drop out of school and become some of the most powerful people in the world. Why are you sticking around?” Caleb thinks for a minute or two before responding. “I guess I just see myself as a normal kid. I don’t have any plans for college. I figure I can use my power for a career. But everyone’s gifted somehow or another. I know I never talked to you before today, but I always knew who you were. Everyone’s heard of your reputation as an athlete. That’s your gift. I presume that you’re going to take on of the hundred scholarships you’ve been offered and go to college, maybe get drafted and go pro and make a phenomenal living. I’m just doing the same type of thing you are. You don’t seem like a cocky type of guy, so I would bet that you don’t see yourself on a higher level than other people. Again, same with me.” Nodding his head, Michael absorbs this explanation. “That makes sense. I’m really not that good at sports though.” Caleb laughs and says, “See? Everyone knows you are, but you don’t see yourself as better than them. I know I could beat anyone on the planet in a fight logically, but I don’t think that I’m better than anyone.” Without noticing, they had turned around and were almost back to their friends. Michael stops and turns to Caleb. “It was good talking to you man. We should go play some ball one day.” Caleb nods and they bump fists. “Oh, one last thing,” Michael adds. “Thanks for being so humble. I’ve had a problem with cocky thoughts coming into my mind lately. I’ve never really said or done anything, but you kinda brought me back to earth just now.” Caleb smiles and says, “You know, I was just about to say that same thing.”

Later that night, Caleb is walking Taylor up to her house. She says, “So what did Michael want to talk about?” “Oh, just guy stuff,” Caleb says, grinning. She hits him lightly. “Whatever, silly,” she says. They kiss goodnight and Caleb gets back in his car, puts it in gear, and begins the drive home. He turns up the volume on his music and bobs his head to the beat. Then he hears a line and, stopping the car, he pulls off to the side of the road and calls Jesse. “Dude, listen to this,” he says when Jesse picks up. He rewinds the song a few seconds and Jesse hears the words. “There’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance. It’s called humility. Confidence smiles. Arrogance smirks.”

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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

Text

The Boy’s Mask

Wind-blown leaves swirled around the boy as he stood staring at the stairs, rails, and curbs. Slowly spinning his board around, around, and around again with one hand. The other tugged absentmindedly at the mask he wore. He hated the mask, especially when he skated. The sweat made its adhesive strips itchy and irritating. Nevertheless, he took a short running start and skated until the sun went down, the mask never leaving his face.

As far as the boy was concerned, his real face was repulsive. Every morning, safely behind the locked door of his bathroom, he took off the mask and grimaced as he glanced into the mirror. All day, every day he hid his face. He walked around school head tilted slightly down so nobody could see the pain and fear in his eyes, the only part of his face he couldn’t cover up.

One day the boy was skating, his mask infuriating as ever. Struggling with a new trick, he grew reckless. The boy, frustrated and thoughtless, started a run too fast. Losing his balance due to the speed and difficulty of the trick, the boy fell face-first into the concrete. As he climbed to his knees, he stared down at his mask, torn to shreds laying on the ground in front of him. In horror, he ran home and tried to fashion a new one, but to no avail.

After days of hiding in his room, the boy decided he needed to skate again. Maybe it would clear his head. He went to the deserted skate park and rode as hard as his body would let him, confused but overjoyed. He kind of liked the feel of the breeze on his face. His real face. With both earbuds in blasting music and the intense concentration he had developed, he didn’t hear as one of his good friends walked up and skated over to where the boy stood, contemplating his next trick. When the boy realized he was no longer alone, he ripped one earbud out as he hid his face under his hood in shame and tried to walk away. The boys friend grabbed his arm. “Bro, don’t you wanna shred for a while?”, he asked. The boy mumbled a reply, and tried to turn away again. His friend, holding fast to his arm, asked what was wrong and pushed back the boy’s hood. After a moment of tense silence, his friend laughed. In horror and shame the boy tried to run away for the third time, and for the third time was stopped. His friend, smiling broadly, said, “Dude, I like it. That mask looked awfully uncomfortable. Let’s shred.” The boy, in amazement, stuttered, “H-h-how did y-y-you know about m-m-my mask?” Laughing again, his friend replied, “Nobodies happy and carefree all the time. I ain’t no idiot.”

After the initial shock, the two friends skated for the rest of the day. That night, the boy looked into the mirror and smiled. Not the forced smile the mask portrayed, but a real smile. The boy still has the torn mask hidden away, but has never again made the attempt to repair it or make a different one. He had come to see the real beauty people, including himself, possessed. No mask or alteration needed.

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riderandwriter · 8 years ago

Text

Life of a Rider

A violent kick of a booted foot and the bike roars to life, the two-stroke engine humming with power underneath the rider. With a puff of blue smoke, he lets out the clutch and sends a spray of dirt into the air as he bursts out onto the street. His mind reeling in confusion, the rider eases his bike through the gentle turns of the road as he speeds toward the towering dirt hills that indicate the track.

Heart burning with pain and anger, the rider slides to a stop on one of the flat table-tops. He looks out over the turns and jumps. Closing his eyes to envision his run, the rider tries to concentrate. Etched on the backs of his eyelids is not the perfect dirt bike run, though, but infuriating images of a girl who was once important to him. Eyes slowly opening, the rider's vision is tinted red. Another puff of smoke and spray of dirt and he’s off, recklessly yanking the bike through hairpin turns and over the no-man's-land of doubles.

Now sweating after a long hour of hard riding without any break, the rider is forced to a stop, out of fuel. As he refills the tank, images of her still swim at the edges of his vision. Behind the dark tint of his goggles, a tear mingles with the sweat, quietly sliding down his face, finally falling onto the dusty ground. Again sitting on his bike, now with a full tank of fuel, the rider pauses, foot poised, ready to kick the engine to a start. Thoughts violently clash in his mind. What if there was still a chance? What if she still has feelings? What if she could see me right now? Shaking his head to clear it, he decides to try big air in place of speed. With renewed hope, the rider takes off towards his favorite double, two twelve foot hills of dirt about 85 feet apart. “This should take my mind off her”, the rider says dryly to himself as he approaches the daunting jump, a slight smirk hidden behind his helmet.

Coming to a stop on the straight portion of track leading up to the double, engine idling, the rider forces his thoughts off the girl and focuses on the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, the rider opens up the throttle, gently letting out the clutch. As he accelerates toward the jump, he hears the telltale buzz saw sound of the powerband an instant before it kicks in, and a smile comes to his face as he feels his back-tire biting into the hard dirt and throwing him forward. As usual, time seems to slow down as his tires lose contact with the dirt and float into empty air.

About the same time the rider got on his bike, a 5’6” pretty, blonde, teenage girl stands looking at herself in the mirror, a single tear tracing its way down her face. A good while passes before she moves, but she finally turns her back to the mirror and falls face down on her bed. She can’t figure out why she let him go and still misses him this much. Hours pass and she’s still lying in the same position, in too much pain to fall asleep but too scared to go do something because she might make another mistake.

As the rider leans into a whip, the extra adrenaline from his anger throws the bike off balance. He takes his feet off the pegs and lets go of the bars in one motion and pushes the bike away. Looking down, he tries to position his body to take the immense pressure of a forty-foot fall. The bike sends an explosion of dirt into the air on contact, landing about five feet from the rider. Landing awkwardly on his knees, the rider blacks out from pain. The last thought through his mind was that nobody knew where he was.

The girl, still lying on her bed, finally can’t take the increasing pain any longer. With her strengthened resolve, she grabs her keys, jumps in her car, and heads to his house. She arrives and the boy’s mother answers, and seeing the tears in the girl’s eyes, asks what’s wrong. Explaining the situation, the boy’s mother replies in a soft voice, “He wasn’t here when I got home. His bike is gone though, so I was just about to go up to the track and see if he’s there.” The girl hastily said, “I’ll go up there and check it out for you.” Smiling sadly, the boy’s mother said that would be great, and as the girl turned and ran down the stairs, she slowly closed the door, watching out the window until the girl’s car was out of sight.

Upon arrival, the girl didn’t see anything at first. Getting out of her car, she saw a gas can. Worry instantly gripping her heart, she ran up the twelve-foot launch ramp of a double. She saw that the landing ramp of the double was strangely torn up. Running at full speed to the top the hill to examine the weird gashes in the dirt, she saw the back tire of the rider’s bike. Sliding to a stop at the top, she stared down at the horrific sight of the rider’s crumpled form. Screaming in pain and anguish, a new wave of tears streaming down her face, she runs down to him and lays his head in her lap, putting her forehead on his, crying, repeating the words ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is my fault! I love you!’ over and over. Tear-soaked fingers dial 911, and after that, the rider’s mom.

As the ambulance comes skidding to a stop and the boy’s mom pulls up, the girl leans over the boy and gently kisses his lips, one of her tears landing on his eyelid. Unseen by the girl, his eyelids flutter, but he is whisked into the ambulance before he wakes up.

Sliding into consciousness, the boy thinks he feels something familiar on his lips, and his eyelid is slightly wet, but he was sure he hadn’t cried for at least an hour since he wrecked, and who knows how long that had been. But these thoughts are soon overcome by the throbbing in his legs and the minor stinging pain caused by the IV in his arm. He tries to sit up, but dizziness rushes over him, and he begins to fall back into the blackness, only hearing a soft but frantic beeping noise and seeing some white forms surrounding him.

A bright white light blinds the boy temporarily, but he recovers and sees a face that seems familiar. Then his brain makes the connection. It’s her. The straight, blonde hair, the dazzling smile formed by angelic lips, and the beautiful face in the middle of it all. ‘What is she doing here?’ he thinks, and then mumbles to himself without thinking.

The girl had been sitting at the boy’s bedside for hours, only taking a short break when his mother wished to have a moment alone with him, ‘just to watch his peaceful sleeping face’ she said. It was about 4am when she detected movement from his eyelids, and about five minutes later, he mumbled some words. “What’s she doing here?” Scooting her chair close to him, she gently pushed his hair back. “I’m so sorry”, she whispers.

Confused by this recent turn of events, the boy’s pain-filled mind decided to forgive her (afterward he admitted that it was rather strange how fast he came to that decision). He took her hand in his and as he held it, he closed his eyes. Right before drifting off to sleep again, he thought he could remember mumbling something and feeling something warm next to him, almost like someone had wrapped their arms around him and held him, making the pain in his body take a backseat to the soft warmth.

The boy’s mother quietly opened the door and leaned her head in to tell the girl she could have a break if she needed, only to find her son curled up next to her, her chin on his forehead, both sleeping soundly. A smile came to her face as she closed the door and walked down the hall, knowing everything was going to be alright.

The boy had a strange dream that night. He dreamt of a man standing next to him. He was a well-built man, sturdy and dependable, with a face that spoke of honesty and compassion. He looked into the boy’s eyes and said one simple sentence. “Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak; it only shows that you are strong and wise enough to know that people make mistakes.”

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