chronicles of charisma

𝐢.𝐢 - 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐜

chapter one - alec winters

➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣

❝Medicine, law, business, engineering, 

these are noble pursuits and necessary to 

sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love,

these are what we stay alive for.❞

—Dead Poets Society (1989)

➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣

The last thing the person in my dream tells me before I wake up is this: "I've fallen in love with your art a thousand times, and every time you play, I love it a bit more. Now, have you ever tried painting?" But the memory of the dream slips away soon after I wake up.

I grumbled complaints of tiredness as I rubbed my tired eyes, awaking them from the exhausted slumber. I sat there for a few seconds, looking at the alarm clock that was drilling its annoying noises into my ears as I finally gave in.

"God damnit." I sighed, reaching for a random book sitting by my desk as I threw it at the clock, stopping the ringing. Satisfied at my expedient way of silencing the alarm, I dragged myself out of bed and was welcomed by the usual mess of music sheets, guitar pics, piano books, and other music related paraphernalia. I stumbled down the stairs, entering the kitchen where I brewed myself a pot of tea to help ease the sleepiness. I guess my bothersome roommate already left for work since there were dishes in the sink that weren't there yesterday.

Being done with his usual bullshit, I go back to my room, quickly changing from my pajamas into my usual attire of jeans, which was an AC/DC shirt and a flannel or any sort of button down sweater. I snatched up my apartment keys as I hurried through the door, glancing back at my depressing, empty apartment as I slammed the door shut.

Stepping outside the lobby, I was struck by the loud honking of cars that were late to work and the bright fluffy cloud sky above me.

"Good morning, Time's Square.." I muttered to myself as I walked towards the street, hailing down a taxi which drove me to the Guitar Center.

Guitar Center is my quaint little workplace on 25 West 14th Street. Walking into the shop, the familiar aroma of the wooden floors hit my face as I was greeted with a familiar face of Otto Sullivan, my best friend who doubles as my coworker. His face instantly lit up as he walked up to me, snickering. "Hey man, long time no see. You're looking as dead as ever," Otto teased.

And as much as I hate to admit, he was absolutely right in calling me "dead as ever". My clothes were wrinkled and nearly outgrown, my hair was frizzy and wild, (which doesn't pair well with long hair at all) but that didn't stop me from making my own clever remarks to the man in front of me.

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed while turning on my heel to open a curtain, to let more sunlight into the murky, and honestly, quite depressing room, filled only with instruments and two men. "You're still wearing that pizza stained shirt. It's honestly disgusting. Surely you have enough money for one nicer, cleaner shirt."

Spinning back around, I see Otto simply roll his eyes and return to the acoustic guitar he was tuning. I, however, was too busy admiring a piano, and not just any piano. The beautiful Steinway & Sons piano that sat in the back, luring me to crescendo a pretty Moonlight Sonata, or maybe even the sheet music that I wrote myself the night before, which was still scattered on the piano lid.

I take a step in the direction of the glorious instrument, ready to start playing any of the songs that come to mind as soon as I sit on the piano bench.

I had first fallen in love with all-things-music as far back as my memories go, which has to be as early as three or so. There are photographs of me in my parents' scrapbooks of me learning my first instrument - a piano, of course - as well as the guitar, bass, and the tenor sax (from my high school band days). I started writing music later in my later years of high school until now. It's a huge dream of mine, perhaps even my lifelong goal, to perform a sold-out show on a giant stage with songs that I compose, maybe even with a band that I form. I can imagine myself playing on stage, a big audience cheering for me, singing along.

But instead I'm working at a small music store with three employees who teach people how to play guitar in the middle of New York City. Even though it's far from what I dream of, it's not so bad. I can pay the bills working here, and I actually do enjoy this job. I love teaching the instruments I love most and - I can't even think about working a boring office job, sitting around on a desk, hunched over a computer all day.

I do sometimes wish for something better though. Wouldn't everyone?

As I'm about to start playing the glorious piano, I hear Otto's annoying voice stop me, which makes me start groaning in exasperation.

"Alec, bro, I swear to God. Please move. You can show off on the piano later, after we get paid."

"But-"

"AH-ah-ah! I don't want to hear it. Go. Counter. Now." Otto demanded as I flipped him off, having no choice but to force my legs to begrudgingly move towards my work space as I slugged into my seat. 

Another long day ahead of me. One of many, many more, I think sorrowfully as I wait for something...or someone to save me. As I start zoning out, settling my head on the desk as my mind numbs.

After a few moments of wading in my boredom with my head down, I begin fantasizing, that...surely one day a person - a lover? - will come running to take me away from this hellish life I've been living in-

"God, Alec, get yourself together. You're here to fix instruments, to teach. Not to be delusional and daydream all day." I mutter to myself as I gradually lift my head up, fixing my posture and snapping back to reality.

a/n: first chapter done !! i know that the tense of the story switches like, five hundred times, but bear with me for now please, it'll get better.

also i have no clue what the actual guitar center looks like, as i'm too lazy to research THAT hard...this story has a mix of real places (guitar center) and imaginary ones (ex. lolita's bakery)