Music Masters: CD One

WHITE KNUCKLE RIDE: PART THREE

So much for this white knuckle ride.

As far as Michael Kay was concerned, it had crashed and burned before he'd even hit the first mile.

Michael had mostly forgotten about the pain in his nose once he'd gotten home.

hat he hadn't forgotten, and what was far worse, was the lingering pain in his mind.

There were few feelings worse than being so close to answer and then having it just plucked away.

His chest slowly rising and falling as lethargy seemed to overtake him, Michael was ever so tempted to reach for the picture of him, Rob and Colleen that sat quietly on the cupboard nearby.

It certainly represented a happier time; Michael with his hair just starting to grow out, aglow with a smile, Colleen looking promising and carefree, and Rob with his arm around them both, his smile just barely noticeable under his wide brim baseball cap.

Michael groaned loudly, suddenly slamming his fists into the side of the armchair he was sitting.

"Damn it, man!"

The cursed words escaped his mouth, despite his mind attempting to will them away.

"...where the hell is Rob when you need him!?"

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Elsewhere, Kim Ramone was coincidentally thinking in a similar vein.

Even on a school night, the Dust Bowl was like her second home.

When the streetlights went on after seven o'clock, the Dust Bowl's occupants usually left for greener pastures because its own interior lights had been burned out or bashed in long ago.

So for awhile now, when the park cleared, Kim stayed, and simply relaxed.

For some reason, the mixture of punk rock music and the graffiti-laden concrete decor was oddly soothing to her. As she gulped down an energy drink, having not slept more than four hours last night, Kim just tried to relax.

Unfortunately, her mind was still focused on Michael Kay and his pathetic attempt to strong arm her for information. He was just an afro-headed idiot, she knew that much, but that wasn't a mere boast when she said he hadn't been the first.

A multitude of First Beats had come her way and attempted to push their organization, only to soundly return with black eyes and bloody noses.

Kim had no time for them. She just wanted peace and her music, nothing more than to simply be left alone. But the stress was beginning to eat at her, and the strain in her eyes was obvious.

Much like Michael, Kim also had someone dear to her who often waded into her thoughts at the most inopportune of moments.

For in that brief span of time in which Michael flashed her a grin, Kim had remembered the image of her blue mohawk-wearing brother.

The resemblance between the two was so uncanny that she herself didn't even want to admit it.

Kim stood up as the thoughts entered her mind. She began to walk almost frantically, hoping the movement would jar these memories away and wake her up before her energy drink kicked in.

Though the Dust Bowl was dim at this time of night, Kim had adjusted to the lighting long ago. She crushed her energy drink in one hand, dunking it into a nearby trash can with surprising precision.

The thud of her combat boots was quite audible as she approached the interior of the park. She expected to listen to a few more songs before she headed home for the night. By that time, her mother would be long knocked out, and she could vacate to her room in peace.