Skybreak [not to be continued]

XXIII

Even though Michael had forgiven me, I was still reluctant to spend time around the 5 Seconds of Summer boys. I got on with three quarters of them now, but there was still a certain awkwardness between Ashton and I which resulted in too many silences together.

I had spent a majority of the last week in my room with my headphones on: writing music. There was always a new score on my laptop and lyrics were flowing constantly from my head into my small, handheld lyric book. I'd mainly just avoided most social contact with the exception of a couple of occasions, Cal or Luke had come over to help me. My headphones had barely left my head, and I was singing all the time – something that Alaska seemed not to care about. Anyone else probably would have ran screaming from my flat, annoyed with my permanent performances, but Alaska actually encouraged me and applauded my newest pieces. She was basically the elder sister that I had always wanted, instead of the reject brother I was cursed with.

I loved it here and with every piece I wrote, I wanted to stay and continue to live a life in London that had no consequences and where I could live how I wanted. However, no matter how much I blocked it from my thoughts, there was still the inevitable loom of terror that was reminding me I would have to return back home sometimes. The deadline for my exam work was in less than three months, and even though this had melted into my study leave, I was reluctant to miss any of my exams. Also, as nice as Alaska was being about rent, I knew she needed the money to pay for her university fees and that she couldn’t let me have this room forever and I couldn’t afford to stay much longer.

The fear of stopping busking for revision was terrifying and honestly, right now, it was the only thing that was forcing me to see 5 Seconds of Summer. But as I continued to read the magazine, an article advertising this opportunity caught my eye. I read the extract slowly, absorbing every detail, before carefully tearing it out of the page and pinning it onto the notice board in my room after I had highlighted the deadline.

Then, I grabbed my guitar to leave - as I found that playing in front of an audience was the easiest was to practice.

The tube station was fairly quiet which relaxed me as I bravely sang the notes to the beginning of My Chemical Romance's famous "Welcome to the Black Parade." The original song had the first chords played on a keyboard, but as I was limited to my voice and my guitar, I had to improvise and go a cappella. Several of the crowd recognised the song by the well-known American band and I could see the few teens, with their music playing, pull out their headphones to hear me sing and mouth along.

"He said, 'Son when you grow up, would you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?' He said, 'Will you defeat them? Your demons and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made?'"

The atmosphere was tranquil and I almost felt as if I was singing this song to the girl who jumped onto the tracks. Maybe she had joined the Black Parade. I still blamed myself for not preventing her death, but the constant music supply had been distracting me from thinking and consequently, I was able to bear the burden of guilt.

As I reached the chorus, I relaxed as several voices joined me. The lines layered and complemented each other, and I was amazing to see how many people of the platform were joining in. I knew that the song might sound flatter, or emptier, without the other lines (especially as I wasn’t as good a guitarist as Ray Toro and I was missing my Frankie), but with the audience joining it; it was perfect. Even though it was a weekend, which was the main reason for there being so many teenagers, the crowd was still so... caring and supportive.

I kept singing, carrying on, until the song ended and many of the crowd looked at me longingly, all wanting to request another MCR song.

The girl furthest away pushed her fringe out of her face so I could see her black, outlined eyes and shouted for Na Na Na. The elder ones and the tourists, who looked confused probably as they were more unfamiliar with these songs, gathered around me and I slowly went through the main tune.

"It's very simple really. There one word (Na) and it's repeated many times on a few different notes. You'll get the hang of it pretty quickly, I'm sure." I explained as I quickly checked my tuning, and the chord sequence.

"So guys, this is for you!" I waved over to the teens, who were not much younger than I, as I began to speak.

“Look alive sunshine. 109 in the sky but the pigs won’t quit. You’re here with me: Doctor Deathdefying. I’ll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter. Pumping out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you live. A system failure for the masses, anti-matter for the master plan. Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny. This one’s for all you rock-n-rollers, you crash-queens and motorbabies. Listen up.”

I began to start plucking the main tune as the final few words in Dr. Deathdefying’s speech closed:

“The future is bulletproof; the aftermath is secondary. It’s time to do it now and do it loud. Killjoys, make some noise!”

The response was extraordinary. The train had arrived, seemingly pulling along every killjoy with it and they all now shouted the lyrics back to me. I was shell-shocked and could do nothing but smile and continue playing as even the adults joined in on the chorus.

In the background, I could see the proud girl (the one who had requested the song) filming the whole thing from behind a tablet. The grin was evident on her face as we continued to sing together.

It was astounding.