𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 (𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚡𝙱)

Track 01 | 𝗦𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗔 𝗚𝘂𝗻

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March

My fingertips rested on the strings, feeling the grooves of the steel.

The subtle feedback of the mic whistled and hummed low, scratchy notes.

It echoed throughout the arena, the stage on which we stood firmly belonging to the small club we had rented out. The atmosphere was thick and smelled of cigarette smoke, adding to the suffocating tension that was harnessed onto the five of us. The deafening silence fueled my passion to begin.

I turned my head to the right to see Eden.

Her back was to the audience and both of her paws were gripped tightly around the base of her microphone.

I took a step back, looking at Rian, who stood close behind Eden, his glossy, maroon bass shimmering under the luminescent spotlight.

Beside him stood Torrence, his sage-green, Squier Bullet guitar resting firmly within his grasp, his fingers, too, pressed against the strings like mine. Beside him, eighty-eight black and white keys of a digital electronic keyboard, situated formally. 

Behind the two of them was Harley, sitting on a stool before a stacked drum set, two beaten and worn down sticks lying in the palms of his hands.

I felt the heat of the moment.

The plastic guitar pick between my fingers became moist as my paw grew sweaty with anticipation.

The rush of adrenaline was enough to shoot off a cannon inside of me.

I couldn't waste this feeling.

I nodded at Harley, who nodded back similarly, then I nodded to Eden, who nodded back likewise. I nodded at all of them, who all repeated the same action back. It was time.

I turned back towards the front, facing the spotlights that blinded my vision and irradiated every speck of dust that emanated from the medium-size, compact stage we all stood upon. I couldn't see the audience; probably for a good reason.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

Harley raised his drumsticks in the air and clicked them together, four consecutive times.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!"

And just like that, we were off.

Our song started with a power-chord progression from me and my guitar as Harley repeatedly tapped his drumsticks against the cymbals, leading into the beginning verse. Everyone else stood aside, at the ready with their own instruments, waiting for their cue to chime in.

Eden began to bounce her hips to the tune of the guitar-strumming and drum beat combined, and when it was time, she turned around immediately, planting her feet firmly onto the wooden stage, facing the audience. Harley stepped his foot to the pedal of the kick drum, prompting Eden to take control.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

She began to sing into the microphone, pointing her finger out to the audience courageously. 

She's gonna kill me!

She's got a gun behind her back and I got a feeling...