chrysalism. n.
the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
_
Boston, Massachusetts. April 21st, 2017. 1:04 AM.
The small Boston apartment, located directly between Fenway Park and Berklee College of Music, was silent, mostly. The quiet gurgling of a pot of boiling water barely overpowered music leaking from headphones in the living room. She was blissfully unaware of the silence, lost in her thoughts while staring at a wall. The hissing that could only be the water boiling over caused her to jump. "Shit," she whispered.
"Malone?" A husky voice called from the couch. He rushed into the kitchen, headphones hitting the concrete floor. He leaned on the tiny kitchen island, stifling a laugh. "Can't even boil water can ya?"
"Do you really want to insult the person cooking your food, Cole?" She spat back at her brother, hiding a smile. "Last I checked, I'm the one Grandma taught how to cook," she turned to face her older brother, tossing her brown hair over her shoulder. She pulled the pot off the stove and over to the sink to strain the water. "Besides, you guys love my special pesto sauce," Malone grinned.
"Holy shit!" A shriek erupted from down the hallway, followed by thudding footsteps. "Guys! Guys!" The voice got louder as it drew closer.
"Kenny! You're going to wake the neighbors!" Malone glanced at the clock on the stove, it read 1:28 AM. They weren't a group with a normal sleep schedule, they were more nocturnal than anything.
"We won!" The boy skidded into the combination kitchen and rehearsal room, they preferred to eat in front of the TV anyways. "We...won!"
"Dude, seriously? The yelling," Cole held his hand out to silence his brother. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, sharing a confused look with Malone.
"The Stark Records Competiton. We won. He's going to sign us," Kenny panted. Malone dropped the silverware she was carrying onto the floor, making a loud clattering sound.
Stark. Tony Stark. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Iron Man that lived in New York. Malone stopped breathing at the mention of his name. Stark Records was his newest project, honoring his love of rock music. It was obvious that he grew bored with avenging and starting a record label seemed, to him, to be the perfect chance to do yet another 'good deed'. To find his first client, Stark Records put on a competition. Bands and solo artists from all over the world could send in a 2-minute video introducing themselves, stating their dreams, and performing a sample of "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath, one of Stark's personal favorites.
The Taylor family was one with a rich history in Covington, Georgia, a small suburb east of Atlanta. The Taylor name dated back to 1819 when Jacques Taylor immigrated from Rennes, France. 173 years later, Cole Taylor, Kenny Taylor, and Malone Taylor were born over the next 3 years. Their family life, however, was not one they were necessarily proud of. Their father left when Malone was three, and a few months later, their mother was killed in a car accident, one that left Kenny with long-term mental illnesses and substance abuse issues. Cole, the oldest, was lucky to have not been in the accident, only because he was in the hospital, recovering from his third heart surgery. He was unlucky enough to be born with a hole in his heart, one that never closed. He spent his whole life taking medication and visiting different doctors, music was the only thing that helped Cole through his long stints in hospitals. From then on, the children were raised by their grandparents in a strict Catholic upbringing. One by one, the siblings graduated high school but reconvened at the obvious choice of higher education, Berklee College of Music, to continue their music education and career as Hands One Thousand, the up-and-coming female-fronted rock band. They slowly started taking over the Boston music scene, somehow finding a way to carry 15 hours each of education, booking shows as far out of town as Poughkeepsie but itched for something more. So when Kenny, the middle child, came to his siblings with the idea to send in a video to Stark Records, they decided to take their chances. Of course, none of them ever thought they would win. But here they were, standing in the 2-bedroom apartment that all 3 of them shared, staring without a single word being spoken.
