The Aviators (A7X)

"Count myself lucky."

You can never tell what he is thinking. That one thing always gets to me. He wears those goddamned aviators all the time. Not that I have any right to complain. He does what he wants. He owns me. And my dog. Well, okay...the dog belongs to him. It's so...grating. But, that's my life really. No. Really. He owns me. I'll show you the papers.

Who am I even talking about? Yeah, I hear you, my friend...and really, I'd love to tell you the whole story, but you would never believe me. Because, who would? I mean if someone came up to you and started blabbing about how the M Shadows of Avenged Sevenfold fame owned them, would you believe them? I know I wouldn't. Except...that is exactly the position I'm in.

And, y'know what? Maybe I will tell you the story. I have plenty of time. Plenty of time...

It's a good tale, a real humdinger. And...those aviators...well. I'll tell you about it. Starting with the man himself.

M Shadows. Well, okay. Matthew Sanders. Matt to his friends, or Shads, or Shadows, or M. Master to me. Yeah...Master. He insists upon the title. I mean...I don't mind really. If I were going to call anyone 'Master' it'd have to be him, right? He looks the part. Those aviators... Anywho...

The first time I saw him was at a concert. Yeah...I know, how the hell does someone like me even end up at a concert? Remember, to the world, I'm just a piece of meat to be bought, or sold, to the highest bidder. Not that Matt would ever sell me. He's taken a shine to me apparently. Lucky me.

I'm not even all that attractive, really...it must be the Italian blood, or something.

Anyway, the concert. My handler at the time, this pudgy fat guy with bad breath, decided to drag me along...maybe he thought he could fob me off on some unsuspecting guy...trade me for some drugs or something, who knows. Anyway, there we were watching from somewhere in the 'pit' and the headlining band come on.

These five inked up men, ranging from really short to built like a tank, prowl onto the stage and basically give the world a big 'fuck you' and begin to scream the house down. M Shadows sure has some lungs on him, I can tell you that now. He uses them to great effect...always...even if it's not a pleasant experience for me. Anyway, I digress.

The one built like a tank. He's the lead singer...and the first thing I notice about him, apart from his tattooed arms [they're massive...or at least compared to my twig-like limbs] are those damned shades. I couldn't get over the fact that the man was wearing aviators indoors at night time. I really couldn't figure it out.

Of course, I know now it's so no one can read him. He's an extremely private person. What the public see isn't what he's really like...I can tell you that for a fact. Not that it's a total lie. On stage, he acts like the biggest motherfucker alive...but he's really very sweet. Even to me.

Yeah, sure. So, you think he should be mean to me because I'm his slave? Come on. Only the biggest asshole would want to be mean to me. And he's not one of them. Okay, so I piss him off a lot and he makes me regret it. He's still sweeter than sugar.

The fans who are lucky enough to meet him after a show or at a meet and greet...they catch glimpses of the real Matt Sanders. But, I see the complete package. If he feels like showing me. Which isn't as often as I would like. But, hey, I can't pick and choose...he's the one wearing the pants.

There I go again, waffling. Must be the Italian blood. So, there we were, or at least I was. I think fat slob disappeared to find some drugs, who knows? And damned if Mister Frontman stared straight at me through those aviators. He was pointing in my direction, singing, screaming some line about ravaging somebody's body.