"Your performance somewhat lacked something. Happiness, dear. You may be in an alternative band, but you don't want the audience to take out their razors and start cutting open their own wrist flesh. You want them to jump up and down; you want them to scream louder than a woman giving birth, you want them to enjoy the show they're paying for."
He eyed her still figure before adding, "You might be singing 'I am a creature of the night… you make me wanna die…', but that doesn't mean you must stare the demons out of the crowd as if they're there to throw you with pink roses or something like that."
Her eyebrow shot up, and she lunged.
For his throat, of course.
Sarah Amaury has always been an unstable character. Her constant emotional shifts are always so unpredictable, and when they occur, it's a rare scene. People close to her never know when to expect another out-break or emotional break-down. It always seems to be one of the two, or nothing.
She likes to call herself that. She does nothing, she feels nothing, she thinks nothing, she hears nothing, she says nothing…
It's either sung, or played on some sort of musical instrument. Interesting how some people get so addicted to music and all its mystical components…
The talent is there, don't get me wrong, but there's something just so unnatural about it. Is it because of the fact that it's an addiction? Or more of a rare drug she can't get enough of? Or maybe, is it maybe because it's the only thing she ever does apart from eat or sleep? Maybe.
Maybe she's involved in something more serious, maybe…
No! Never shall anyone want to think such a thing! Would they?
Lightly, slowly, effortlessly…
She ran an over-sized comb through her white blonde hair that hangs just below her lower back. They curled in a very natural fashion, as if she simply scrunched them gently – while wet - while walking outside in the wind. Her hair was soft, like cotton after washing them with special softening clothes' washing liquids.
Light bangs framed her small, round little face, emphasizing her light, wool-like skin. Her lips were painted a marshmallow- coloured gloss that seemed to shine in every ray of slight light that fell on them.
A single eye stared from underneath her fringe.
It was thickly lined with a dark charcoal liner that seemed to emphasize a smoky, lazy look. Extra dark grey shadow echoed the deep liner, and popped the colour of her eye.
The colour was…
Cerulean. A type of sharp blue colour.
Who would've thought a girl with blonde-hair-blue-eyes could be so queer?
A silver choker blinked in the mirror's spotlights, as she continuously pulled the comb through already perfect albescent locks. She sighed, and stopped.
Staring at her reflection, many things seemed to happen at that moment.
Firstly, the door to the silent dressing room swung open and banged loudly against the wall behind. There was a figure in the door frame, and it seemed to be blurry from all the shaking. The figure appeared to be murderously angry.
Secondly, the girl combing her hair didn't even seem to notice the interruption, as if she was expecting it from the very moment she started her mindless grooming!
Lastly, the person started screaming as if he was in horrendous pain from head to toe. He was facing the ceiling, and his knees were slightly buckled while he cried out to some unknown force that was torturing him so much.
It took the girl a split second to realise that the mysterious force was in fact, she. She rose from her seat, and slowly faced him, glancing slowly at his anguished and sorrowful figure. Her lips were pressed into a hard line, and she waited for the racket to ease.
It sounded as if he was choking, but he was actually trying to form words.
"Why?" it finally came out right. Even though every soul in that room knew he wanted to say more, even though every soul in that room knew that he wanted to spit the dire words in her petite, fragile face; that was the only word that could sum his feelings up, quickly and painlessly.
She seemed to dread the moment, "The show…"
"Screw the show! Give me an answer!" the power in his voice seemed to appear out of thin air, and he glared at her hatefully. How could such a little… little girl have caused him so much pain and dread? She was nothing but reckless, stupid, rash, insolent, impudent adolescent! Nothing but!
"No, the show comes first, Drake! We had a bloody agreement!" the girl hollered at the man, and stormed past him, out of the dressing room, heading back stage. The rest of the band was sitting on crates, inhaling smoke from a pipe being passed around. They appeared downright high, and the girl exploded.
"What's going on? The show! The fans! It's been more than an hour!"
"We were waiting for you and Dra-", the main guitarist reasoned.
"We're here now! Let's go!"
The six band members, including Drake and the girl, filed onto the blackened stage. Everybody took their places with their instruments and/or microphones.
"Good evening…" the girl murmured into her main microphone, standing near the edge of the stage; the centre of attention.
The crowd erupted as soon as her voice filled the jam-packed stadium, deafening the girl.
"Sarah and the boys are ready to blow minds… literally. Hit the bass, you pretty reckless people."
Fans screamed bloody murder once again, but was drowned out by a deathly bass run by Spike, who rocked in a blinding spotlight which was suddenly cast upon him. The percussions joined him shortly, and soon everyone but Sarah was off into their own musical fantasies. Her voice only came in at the eighth bar. One more bar to go…
"Take me, I'm alive.
Never was a girl with a wicked mind,
but everything looks better
when the sun goes down…"
So? What did you think?
Please leave me e review, giving me your thoughts on what you'd want to happen.
I have a plot already, but yours might be better :)
Thank you for reading!
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P.S: This story is slightly based on the songs from "The Pretty Reckless". Although the band is mine (made up names), the songs aren't mine.
Songs used in the story: "Make me wanna die" and "Miss nothing"