In the Absence of Light

4

Let me know what you think of this music 😉

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Isaacs POV

I turn the pegs of my guitar, struggling to get it tuned perfectly. I've been trying to play this one set of chords for at least 10 minutes now, but it just sounds shit.

I try it again, moving my fingers along the strings. I'm hitting the notes just fine, but it still doesn't sound right. It's the D-chord. There's probably something wrong with the string slot.

Fucking great. It's going to cost me at least a hundred bucks to get that fixed.

I put it aside, grabbing my acoustic guitar instead. This one is indestructible. Nothing beats an acoustic guitar. I never would've bought an electric if it wasn't for the band.

I quickly glance back at the sheet music, checking to see I've got the right chords. I've played this song so often; I know it by heart. I have to, to perform it. You can't be a musician and not know your chords. It's even worse if you don't know your lyrics, but that's the least of my worries.

I've been playing these same songs for years now. I've written new ones, too, but they don't hit the same way the old ones do. I poured my heart out into those initial songs. You can feel the anger in them. Nothing compares to that.

"Isaac, hey, Isaac," Leah's voice buzzes in my ear. "You're sitting on my shit."

"Give me a sec," I brush her off, trying to focus on the chords.

"Seriously, get the fuck up," she yanks the guitar out of my hands.

"What the fuck?" I scowl. "That shit's expensive!"

"You're sitting on my hoodie and I have to leave!" she shoves me aside, pulling her shit out from underneath me.

"Then fucking ask me to move like a decent person!"

"I did, but you weren't listening!"

"What?" I scowl.

"You were off with the fairies again."

"Fuck, Leah," I let out a frustrated groan. "I'm sorry. I must've zoned out again."

"Whatever. Don't worry about it," she heads into the kitchen. "Don't you have class today?"

"Not until later," I say. "What's the time, anyway? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's 9. My shift doesn't start until 12."

"Then why are you in such a hurry? Just go back to bed."

"Well, one of us has to do groceries."

"I can do it later."

"I don't think so," she scoffs. "You only ever buy stuff when it's on special."

"That's all we can afford."

"That's all you can afford," she corrects. I let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Yeah, no need to rub it in," I respond, but I'm not actually offended. I'm just trying to rile her up. She knows it, too. There's no point in letting the truth hurt you.

I grab my guitar again, accidentally kicking my laptop in the process. It's sitting on the arm of the couch, a few leaves of marijuana littered over the keyboard. The screen lights up with Logic Pro X, but I don't remember making any beats last night. If I did, I may as well delete them right away. Everything I make when I'm stoned fucking sucks.