Album 1

His hair was frazzled. The many blonde strands were haphazardly arranged so that they intertwined into beautiful chaos. His weary hand impulsively clutched a steak knife with death at its tip. His green eyes sparkled then blurred as he curled his toes and brought his knees to his heavy chest. He let the darkness cover his eyes for as long as he allowed. His cheeks instantly chilled. The salty liquid slowly traveled down his tongue and then disintegrated. The familiar sensation swept over him as death clattered onto the cold floor. He hung his hands limply over his legs. Some unwanted air escaped his lips, his shoulders relaxed and his hair fanned upwards, but the melancholy wasn’t lifted.

The sigh twisted and turned through the room, seeping through the window of his quiet place without his consent. It traveled past the street lamps and past cars, houses, and other sighs. It was incumbent for the sigh to reach its destination. It glided and fell almost as softly as the snow around it. The unwanted air twisted once more and rested in the heart of her’s.

A flash of light illuminated in the corner of his quiet place. His weary hand dropped to his side like a rag-doll. It was almost as if someone had flipped a switch in his beaten brain. His green eyes, now emerald, shifted to that corner. He stood tall, shoulders back and chest forward. With each step his heart filled his body with an incomprehensible golden warmth. His fulgent eyes instantly became fixated on seven words, “Do u want to hang out tmrw?”

His weary hand was suddenly not so weary as he replied, “Sure.” His still beating heart was so anxious that he even mouthed the words.

A flash of light illuminated in the corner of her thinking place. The corners of her pink lips were tugged upwards as she pulled the sheets over her happy head and giggled.

He leaped into the only accepting thing in his life, it wrapped its arms around him. He simpered, he wasn’t experienced in this feeling that he felt, he just knew he wanted to feel it forever.

***

Note from the author:

I seem to have come across a truly wonderful album, which I shall not name for the time being. I will not present to you my name either and I am not planning on it any time in the near future. The events in this book will be based on the way I interpret the events in the songs (You must figure out which specific songs on your own). As of today, I am unsure how long this story will be. Some scenes/phrases may be hard to understand as they are coming from me (A hard to understand person), but I would like you to interpret them to your pleasing. The way I read these words will be different from everyone else who reads them, which is why I love to write (What you imagine will reveal who you are).

I will add these notes here and there, but I’d rather not interrupt your experience.

Anyways…I do hope you enjoy.

***

Give me a moment to shed sleep from my brain, give me a moment to let the visions of night give way to light. Though, I would much rather sleep forever.

He wrote it with haste.

He slid the leather notebook under his lonely bed and exhaled dramatically. He took a gander at the abhorrent radiation that bled through the window; he blinked and stared longer, dismay clotting his veins. It was his greatest wish to sleep, but it seemed as if he was always forced to wake. He couldn’t quite find the reason to the latter.

The only light he sometimes allowed was the one in the corner of his quiet place. He waited, his somewhat emerald eyes glued to the non-existing illumination.

He draped his legs over the side of his bed. He swung them back and forth, humming quietly but deeply. His eyes didn’t move.

After some time, he tilted his head back. The curtains of his eyes fluttered and then rested. His ears were completely fixed on the twirling fan above that would creak on occasion. His frazzled hair whipped into his face with enough force for it to cause a stinging sensation on his skin.

He sighed.

The sigh twisted and turned, but stayed in his room. He waited and then waited some more.

Suddenly, a spark of courage danced straight through the middle of his beating heart. From his heart, the dance spread to the top of his head, his fingertips, and to the bottom of his feet. He leapt off his bed and slid to the corner, his blonde hair swooped up and then fell down like a feather floating downwards in a light breeze.

Without his consent, his mind ordered his fingers to invite her to see a play with him. After the text turned blue, he immediately regretted his action. His regret then faded, as she agreed to go. He felt as if he was on a rollercoaster, twisting and turning, going up but then going down, his emotions were capricious, he didn’t know whether he found it tolerable or not.

He reached under his bed and grabbed his leather notebook. He wrote a single word on the thick, tan pages.

Hope.

He pictured a life where sadness was not a concept. He pictured a life with her by his side, she caused the happy death of all pain and loneliness.

He tapped his dull pencil against his lips and closed his eyes, pondering a normal life.

Broken boy, mended by her touch.

He shut his journal forcefully, shaking his head. He knew it was foolish to have hope, because he knew the worst always tends to come right after the good. He made the decision to stay between the middle and the bad. And as quickly as the hope arrived, it left, leaving him to explore the void of his mind. He walked around searching for an answer, but it was far too dark to find anything worth his time.

As he figuratively walked around the void, he literally walked around his quiet place with a low, continuous sound dancing from his touched lips. The hum sounded somewhat like deep tunes from a giant bass fiddle in his ears.

He wondered if it were acceptable to allow himself to be happy just for a little bit. But only for a day, he kept telling himself, only for a day, no, only for the time spent with her. He sighed, it was settled.

Happy only with her.

He wrote it with haste.

Before he recklessly tossed the notebook down for another time, he decided to stare at it. It’s leather binding wrapped around once or twice and some pages seemed to be falling out of place. He didn’t know why he wrote so many random phrases in there, but he knew something unknown was compelling him to do it.

This time, he placed the notebook gently on his nightstand, and let himself smile a bit.