Enter Night 《Cliff Burton》

3

         All the way to college that day, I was thinking about what had happened earlier that morning. It was all too surreal - the only proof that it happened was the video.

Shit. I'd forgotten to delete it. I turned my camera on to look at the video one last time. By chance, I landed on the part where he had glared at the camera at the end. My finger hovered over the delete button. I hesitated. I knew I wouldn't forget any of this, but.. I still wanted to keep it.

          I pressed the button. The video disappeared.

          Someone tapped on my shoulder and I gasped, turning around. I sighed as it was only Michael.

"Hey man. You scared me," I told him.

"Yeah, I can see that," He said, fixing the strap of his guitar case around his shoulder, along with his backpack. We continued walking together. He then squinted at me. "Is something else wrong?"

          I looked up at him quickly. "Uh, yeah, actually," I admitted. "It's, um, I forgot to turn the camera on last night. You know, Pete's recording thingy? Yeah." Something told me if Cliff didn't want anyone to know about the video, then he certainly wouldn't like it at all if I told Michael what happened that morning.

Michael chuckled. "Yeah, that. I recorded myself successfully, unlike you."

        "Have you watched yours already?"

"Yeah. Nothing special. I have weird sleeping positions, though,"

         I put my camera back in my bag as we neared campus. We headed out to Musical Theory, which was always the first class everyday. Band practise was right after, for the rest of the school session.

         During the practise session, none of us talked. Pete didn't bring up the recordings, and neither did Michael or Brian. I thought Pete had forgotten about it, but when the song we were playing ended, he took out his phone.

          "Guys, remember the deal yesterday?"

I silently cursed.

         "Yeah, I got mine!" Brian and Michael said together, looked at each other confused, and simultaneously laughed. I chuckled along as well.

          "I go first," Brian said, taking out his own camera. He opened the video and skipped to the middle. "Look at this shit. I was nearly hanging off the bed. For two hours straight." We all snickered.

           "My turn," Pete said. "I've always noticed, I seem to stop at one position for most of the night. Usually about three hours in to sleep."

"That's because you reached the REM, which means rapid eye movement, stage of sleep," Michael said, "That's when your dreams are most vivid, and you're paralyzed so that you don't act out your dreams."

            Pete pointed to himself on tape. "So this is when I dreamed I had sex with Tarja from Nightwish?"

"PETE!!" We all yelled at him together, before bursting out laughing. Pete turned bright red and hid his face with his long blond curls.

          Everything went surprisingly pleasant and we watched Michael's video as well. That was until Brian talked to me.

         "What about you, Ronnie?"

My smile ceased.

"I forgot to turn the camera on before I fell asleep," I fed them the same story I fed Michael earlier. Pete nodded sympathetically.

        "Damn. Can you record one tonight?"

"Why did you want us to do this anyway?" I asked.

"I don't know, I did it myself and it was fun. Don't do it if you don't wanna." He shrugged and played a random lick on his guitar.

         "Hey that's cool, man!" Brian said, impressed. "I love the little down picking parts."

"Me too!" Michael chimed in. "You're a spontaneous riff machine, dude!"

"Should this go on the demo?" Pete smiled shyly, taking out his notebook to write the riff down.

           And just like that, the subject passed. I sighed in relief and joined the demo discussion.

Michael and I walked home together as usual, fighting the unfriendly Swedish weather. Michael was saying something about a new pack of strings he found, but I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Cliff - and if something would happen that night.

             "HEY!" Michael yelled in my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "What the fuck, dude?" I said.

"I asked if you bought any new strings. You're tuning out, man. You should be on What's Gibby Thinking About."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I don't have enough money yet. Let's go play a gig to get some cash," I suggested.

           "Alrighty," Michael said, but kept staring at me. "Say, something is wrong, right? I know you well, Ronnie."

I looked away. "Just, eh, some stuff on my mind. My shampoo is running out, but I can't get more. You know, money."

          Michael looked unconvinced. "No, quit playing with me. Something is wrong."

I looked into his eyes. He was my best friend. We'd known each other since we were toddlers; I could tell him anything.

         One look into his worried eyes, and I caved. I opened my mouth to speak, "Last night..."

Right at that moment, a strong gust of cold, too cold even for Ljungby, wind came, blowing Michael's cap off his head. "Hey!" He cried out, and ran after it. I tried to follow him, but my legs felt like stone. I frowned.

"Don't you even dare to think about telling him," I heard a familiar voice snap right in my ear, and jumped for about the tenth time that day. No doubt who it was. I just nodded.

           Michael finally managed to grip his cap as the wind died. He put it back on his head. "Damn, what the hell was that?" He muttered. I said nothing.

"So what were you saying? Last night?"

I shivered as another cold breeze engulfed me, as if reminding me of what not to do.

"Um, last night... my mom yelled at me." I settled for that. Michael raised his eyebrows knowingly. It was credible, since my mom did yell at me sometimes, usually over my "loud bass playing" or "terrible music". She would also sometimes hit me if I pissed her off enough.

The breeze calmed down further.

        We walked in silence once more.

A/N: Fun fact - last night I dreamed I wrote this part, and as I finished, it began to snow outside. I live in the Maldives. Ironically, it rained all day today.