The roaring of the fans. The pound of the bass. The thud of the drums. The screech of the guitar. It's all a wash of noise, and it overwhelms me. Sometimes, I want it all to stop. The pressure and expectations are too high and heavy for me to handle. Some days, I wish that I hadn't become famous. Some days, I wish that I was still that little boy from Holmes Chapel. Baking. "Harry?" "Yeah?" "You're on in five. Good luck." "Thanks." The wash of noise crashes down on me.