To The Stage (Asking Alexandria Fan Fiction)

• In Progress •

Darkness filled the room. Each corner or wall was pitch black. I rubbed my eyes with my hand and pinched the bridge of my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I inhale the warm air with my cold nose and feel the sting of temperature in every short breath I took. I rolled over to my side and untangled my legs from the thin blanket, I shifted, I kicked, I rolled and I flipped; I still couldn't get comfy. No by a little bit.

All I wanted was sleep. But life decides to be an asshole and not allow me to sleep. I sat up in frustration and I see the pink rising sun peep through the thick curtains. I open them and see the trees I was gazing at this morning. The leaves from the tall trees were a deep dark green with a tinge of orange coming from the bright sun. The bright light burned my sore eyes as I gazed into the bright colors of pink, blue and orange. I turn to my bland room and see the colors illuminating the pale white paint on my bare walls.

I should really consider unpacking. But what's the point?

I walk out of my coven and into the hallway of many doors. I never noticed how many doors were along here, yeah... Like I said earlier, I need glasses. I start to walk down the corridor and feel the ice cold tiles at the bottom of my feet. My feet were dropping temperature in each step I took. All the wooden doors were closed as I walked past them. I pushed my curiosity away, I didn't want to walk in with someone that was naked or doing wierd shit.

I walked along each door and a dim light teased the rim of my vision. I flinched my head in its direction and realized that John was awake in the little studio that we write songs in. He was clearly wide awake and his fingertips were plucking strings as he rested his chin on the base of the deep brown and orange acoustic.

I walked in and greeted him with a quiet hello. He replied as I sat next to him. We only finished 3/4 of a song because I stormed out of the house like a little bitch the last time I was here.

"Working on anything," I said quietly to John as he kept plucking the strings making a beautiful hum in my ears.

"Nothing in particular," he shrugged.

"Oh," I said.

...

"Just a little Memoir, I guess..." he whispered.

"Really?" I replied.

"Yeah, I always wanted to make one. I just need the perfect rythem, perfect words or some shit. I don't know?" He said and he placed his guitar down and placed it on the stand.

"I get what you mean..."

"Yeah..."

"You know, I can help if you want?"

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow in impressed face.

"Look, I know we were never really on good terms, but if we keep this career our top priority. We might aswell get along better."

He nodded and looked at the floor.

"Okay, I was thinking that we can start with basic chords and we can change into octaves and notes as we progress into the rythem and lyrics," he explained as he picked up the guitar again.

He strumed a 'Bm' on the guitar and started to sing instead of growl. The first lyrics shot me like a bullet in realization.

It was about his problem with drinking.