Opinions? =D
***
Hello there! Come on in! How are you doing today, Sir? Ah, yes. It is rather dreary today. I suppose you must have one bad day at least every month. Haha, but that's just me and superstition. What draws you to my humble little shop today, Sir?
... Ah, I understand. She took it and ran, eh? I suppose that is rather unfortunate. But why my little shop? Ah, I see, you heard from him that you could get it here more easily than anywhere else. Well, I suppose I am a reasonable man, I'll tell you what. You listen to my story, because I'm always looking for listeners, and when I'm finished, I will provide you with one free of charge. How's that? Wonderful!
Hm? Why am I wearing a veil? Sir, I've personal reasons for covering my face, and if I decide to trust you, I might just tell you why whence my story is finished.
Ah! I'm glad you see it my way. Have a seat, my good man, and we'll begin.
***
I was merely 15.
I woke up one morning. Yes, that's how it happened. Maybe if I hadn't awakened that morning things would all be okay, but they're not, and the best I can do is hope that they will be. I woke up, and my mother called me. I ran out into the kitchen, still full of the energy that so seemed to favor me in that age. I ran up to her, and she handed me a lunch.
"Thanks, Mom. What's in it?" I asked curiously.
"Nothing much, really. A sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of milk." She replied, as she had replied many times.
I bounded off to school happily, quite assured that everything in life was exactly where it needed to be.
I arrived home at 4:27PM. When I arrived, I can guarantee you, the chain of events set off were among the most woeful of any that had ever happened in the city of Leopulos. I was walking through my driveway as a man bolted out of my house. A skinny fellow, topless with a dagger jutting out between his knuckles. He had a bag with him and he looked scared. All of these things I noticed later, but the first thing I noticed definitely was that the man was covered in blood. My first assumption was that he was wounded, but I couldn't pinpoint the source of the blood.
He bounded past me, knocking me to the ground on his way. I suppose it was the velocity, otherwise such a skinny man would never have had the force to knock me down. I walked into the house and the smell assaulted me. Blood and sweat and something else I couldn't put my finger on. That smell was horrific and new and it was only the first of many occasions I've smelled it.
I walked through the house slowly, not noting my older sister's bag on the kitchen counter first. She was 28 and had been away from home for years, only visiting maybe twice a year, so I wasn't much used to that bag yet. It wasn't until after I discovered her that the foreign object registered in my head. I walked upstairs to the washroom. It was the first room I went into, I suppose to escape the smell and maybe throw some water over my face to get out of the shock. The site and smell that hit me in the washroom were enough to keep me in that state of shock for weeks.
There was my sister, my beautiful, successful, young sister to whom I'd felt so close, so connected to. There she was, lying facedown in the bathtub(about a quarter of the way filled) naked except for the necklace she would never take off, dead. I could probably guess that about half of the liquid in the tub was blood.
I suppose that shock wasn't enough to stop me, or maybe it hadn't quite hit me yet, but I walked over to her, and turned her over. Her eyes were closed, which relieved me to no end. There was a giant gash in her neck, reaching nearly all the way around. I suppose the dagger had come relatively close to decapitating her. Her open palm held something, a container. I looked away, noticing that her clothes were folded in a neat pile on the sink. 'At least he's an organized murderer.' The thought popped into my mind almost immediately and I sneered a crazy sneer. I guess I hadn't completely cracked at that point either.
It never really occured to me that my sister was dead until later, when I was lying in bed resting. I was tired from all the police questioning. The first thing I did after discovering my sister's body was walk out of the bathroom and back down to the kitchen to phone my mother. That's when the bag's appearance really hit me. I knew I shouldn't have but I opened up her bag and looked inside. There was a relatively large box inside of the bag, which I removed, not noticing that there was another box. It was giftwrapped. I read the label that said "For my favorite little brother!".
I grasped the box curiously, and sat at the kitchen table, unwrapping it. I opened the box slowly, cautiously, as if I were expecting something to jump out at me. I looked inside and the was a chain, with a silver, nearly impossibly small masterfully crafted horse locket. I opened it up and looked inside, and there was an engraving that said "I love you". I've never taken that chain off. Why, here it is. I know, it's beautiful. Anyway...
That was about as much as I could take, so I walked over to the phone and phoned Mom at work.
"Hello?" the voice on the line said.
I suddenly realized that my throat was bone dry. I couldn't say a word.
"Who is this?" the voice asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
I hung up and poured myself up some water, trying my best not to look at the bag on the counter with it's oh-so-bright colors.
I tried again.
"Hello?" The voice on the line asked.
I managed to croak "Mom..." and hung up again.
Looking around in the dream like state I was in, I walked upstairs to my bedroom and laid on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
***
Oh? You have to go? Okay. I trust that you'll be back soon. Good evening, my friend.
***
Welcome back! How may I help you? My story? Ah! Of course! We'll continue this fine evening. Come with me.
***
Now, where was I? Ah, yes, my sister.
Shortly after I made the call, Mom arrived home. Police were called, I was questioned, and I answered every question truthfully, except the ones about murder. I told them I hadn't seen anybody. They wrote it off as suicide.
Later the day of my sister's death I went into shock. I suppose you could call it that. I was too horribly depressed to talk to anybody. I wouldn't move most of the time. I was taken out of school, and became completely removed from society for a couple of weeks.
My Mom was there for me for every step of the way to "recovering". She was supportive, and cheery, and always the same Mom I loved. At some point I decided to go back to school and try to get my life back. My Mom was overjoyed at this at first. That's when things started to get bad.
With me independent again, Mom let herself go. It was the scariest transformation that I've ever witnessed and I really think the day I told her I was going back to school was the last I seen of my real Mom. She started drinking, more and more each day. She got fired two weeks before my 16th birthday. She got violent.
I never really seen her much in a good mood after I went back to school. It was insanity. Things were only getting worse, and not better.
On my 16th birthday, I gathered my things and the funds I'd be saving since I was 8 and took a plane to Montello, a bigger city than Leopulos. I rented an apartment and threw a couple of possessions in there. I figured I had enough for rent for maybe 5 or 6 months. I didn't know what I would do, but I knew I had to do something fast or I'd end up on the streets.
I started talking to as many people as possible, making connections as fast as I could. I found that the relief was amazing. I never had enough time on my hands to think about my Mother or my Sister, and I found that each new person met is a new experience. I was living an amazing life.
That was, until my money ran out. I couldn't pay the rent for my apartment and got a 30 day eviction notice. Mind you, that's the very reason I had made so many connections so quickly. I ended up staying at a friend's place for a while. That's another possible catyclist for what happened.
Allow me to describe my friend to you. He was 26 when I moved in with him. I never really knew his name, because he always insisted on being called Blue. I complied, as I found many of his acquaintances did also. He was a very financially secured guy. Living on his own, off of his parent's money. (They were the CEOs of some far off toy companies I never heard of.)
Blue was a very lively guy, nonetheless. He went out every night to what he called the Variety Club. I tended to stay back at his place trying to figure out how to get out on my own, considering he didn't seem to mind my lounging around, it gave me a lot of time to think.
At some point, I decided the smartest thing to do would be to get out and start making connections again. I started by perusing different clubs and such during Blue's nightly leaves. It didn't take long to realize that if I didn't know what I wanted to do, I wasn't going to get anywhere by meeting people.
That realization hit me hard. I ended up in a slump. For weeks on end I don't think I went out more than two or three times. Blue noticed it right away. He was a very strange guy, but he could read you like a book. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I just didn't know what I wanted to do. Blue, intent on cheering me up, took me out to the 'Variety Club' for the first time that very night. I gotta say, if it weren't for him, I don't think I'd be here right now.
I discovered the "Variety Club" was an actual club, but it was actually called "The Creakin' Rusted Out Hole in the Wall". I suppose I know why Blue shortened it.
I started to frequent that place. They had different acts in every night, and the people that populated the place were every bit as colorful and strange as Blue. Hell, I still frequented it after I met Her.
Oh, her? Haha, I forgot we haven't gotten to her yet. Deepest apologies.
I went to the variety club a lot, but this was by far the most life changing time I went. It was a rather warm night, rain coming down in buckets. I was on my fifth Jack and feeling great. Oh, you know how it is, they never check I.D in those weird swanky places. The band taking the stage was called Red Hood Trio. There was a girl with bright red hair and an acoustic guitar, a rather large man with a crewcut and no instrument was stepping up to the mic, and a bald man with set of bongos on a stool next to the girl.
The man introduced them as Red Hood Trio and individually, himself as Steven Goldenmille, the bongo player as Jeff Adler, and the girl as Willow. Just Willow.
I, in my usual hopeless not-quite-drunken stupor paid little heed. That was, until they began playing.
The bongo player was great. Steven on vocals was great too, as he sounded classically trained. But the most amazing of them all was Willow. I thought I was listening to a big band. So much sound, being belted out of such an insignificant seeming acoustic guitar. In my experience being at the variety club, I had been around a lot of instruments, hell, I learned a couple of chords and melodies from players who seemed friendly enough. But I swear, I had never thought it was possible to make such sounds escape from an acoustic guitar.
I sat there for all of their half an hour set, in complete awe. I swear after the first five seconds I was more sober than a man who's been in prison for 20 years. When the set ended I had to talk to her. I had to, there was no beating around the bush. I belted my way outside and waited for them to come out to pack up their equipment.
They did come out, but they headed straight into the vehicle with their instruments in hand. I had missed my chance.
Well, I was desperate. Amazingly desperate, I noticed everything I could possibly use, and the closest to me was a skateboard leaning against the door of the Variety Club, so I grabbed it. They were just pulling away as I hopped on to the skateboard and grabbed the back of the van.
***
Sir, it's getting late. I think you should get a move on. You want to hear more? I would love to tell you more, but I'm sure you're a busy man and it is getting rather late. There's always a tomorrow, after all. Alright, good evening, sir.
***
Ah, good morning sir! How are you today? Ah, good, good! Why, sir, you seem jittery! Is there anything I can do to assist you? Ah, the story! You want to hear more? Why, I'm flattered that I could be such a source of interest! Haha, yes sir, we'll started right away. Follow me!
***
The van... right? Okay! So I grabbed the back of the van and I followed them. It was a long ride I must say, and it did get rather cold and tiring with all the holding on, but we finally reached a destination at some point. I looked around and noticed something I couldn't believe I missed. There was a mansion, a huge one! It was an amazing sight to behold.
I heard somebody getting out of the van, and I saw a figure walking towards the mansion. It was too dark to tell which one of them it was, so I couldn't be sure if it was Willow or not. As the van started to move again I found myself flooded with fear. What if that was her and I missed her? But what if it was one of the other bandmembers and I followed them and missed my chance at meeting Willow? Surely they would have turned up at the Variety Club again some time, but I just couldn't wait that long.
To me, the irony of picking the less secure choice seemed like the right direction to move towards, and so I let go of the van, jumping off of the skatebord and running towards the figure.
"Hey!" I yelled, and the figure stopped and whirled around immediately, revealing it's identity as none other than Willow, as the guitar's outline was vaguely seen.
"Who's there?" hollered Willow, sounding slightly defensive.
I said nothing but continued running up to her. To this day I don't know why she didn't run away. I would have, seeing a stranger coming towards me, giving no reason as to why they were there. But I ran towards her, and stopped directly in front of her, bent and panting. I looked up at her face, vaguely outlined by the small amount of moonlight around us. She looked down at me.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm... I'm just somebody who needs to know how the hell you managed to make a guitar sound like a whole damn orchestra!" I said between breaths.
From that night on, Willow became my teacher in all things music. She thought I was crazy at first, hearing that I'd followed them all the way to where she was, but I suppose she decided that it was admirable, at last.
For the first couple of months she taught me using her guitar, then handing it to me as I tried to play what she'd show me, and learn the way she'd show me. She got me a guitar of my own on my 17th birthday. Blue got me a pair of rose tinted shades. I swear the time I wore those shades and I time I spent playing that guitar were just about equal. I still have both.
As the months went by and I steadily got better, Willow and I started jamming regularly. We planned practice sessions at different venues and occasionally met up for a friendly time. And as those months went by, I realized that I was steadily falling in love with Willow. I never told her that until I the day I turned 18. That was also the day I learned the most about her.
Willow was exactly one year younger than me, and had left home just as I had. Willow hadn't planned as well as I had, though, and she'd ended up in poverty. She was taken in by a rich man, yet another CEO(I sometimes wonder how many damn companies there have to be for all these CEOs to exist) who had exhibited an interest in her guitar playing. His name was Stephan Hellinger and he paid for her to have top-notch lessons in the art of the guitar, and soon began having her play with other bands live. He allowed her to settle on Red Hood Trio(At the time just Red Hood) and also allowed her to teach me. The one thing Stephan never approved of was love. He absolutely forbade Willow from loving, which is why he tried to keep her away from me after that day, I suppose. He always said that love would hurt her chances of getting where she should be in the world, to the top. Stephan had believed that Willow would be famous from the first time he heard her play, and I suppose it was his dream that he'd be known as the one who discovered such amazing talent. The man wanted to be remembered and I don't blame him for that. To be forgotten is a fate worse than death. But I will forever condemn him for the way he handled failure.
***
Hello there! Come on in! How are you doing today, Sir? Ah, yes. It is rather dreary today. I suppose you must have one bad day at least every month. Haha, but that's just me and superstition. What draws you to my humble little shop today, Sir?
... Ah, I understand. She took it and ran, eh? I suppose that is rather unfortunate. But why my little shop? Ah, I see, you heard from him that you could get it here more easily than anywhere else. Well, I suppose I am a reasonable man, I'll tell you what. You listen to my story, because I'm always looking for listeners, and when I'm finished, I will provide you with one free of charge. How's that? Wonderful!
Hm? Why am I wearing a veil? Sir, I've personal reasons for covering my face, and if I decide to trust you, I might just tell you why whence my story is finished.
Ah! I'm glad you see it my way. Have a seat, my good man, and we'll begin.
***
I was merely 15.
I woke up one morning. Yes, that's how it happened. Maybe if I hadn't awakened that morning things would all be okay, but they're not, and the best I can do is hope that they will be. I woke up, and my mother called me. I ran out into the kitchen, still full of the energy that so seemed to favor me in that age. I ran up to her, and she handed me a lunch.
"Thanks, Mom. What's in it?" I asked curiously.
"Nothing much, really. A sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of milk." She replied, as she had replied many times.
I bounded off to school happily, quite assured that everything in life was exactly where it needed to be.
I arrived home at 4:27PM. When I arrived, I can guarantee you, the chain of events set off were among the most woeful of any that had ever happened in the city of Leopulos. I was walking through my driveway as a man bolted out of my house. A skinny fellow, topless with a dagger jutting out between his knuckles. He had a bag with him and he looked scared. All of these things I noticed later, but the first thing I noticed definitely was that the man was covered in blood. My first assumption was that he was wounded, but I couldn't pinpoint the source of the blood.
He bounded past me, knocking me to the ground on his way. I suppose it was the velocity, otherwise such a skinny man would never have had the force to knock me down. I walked into the house and the smell assaulted me. Blood and sweat and something else I couldn't put my finger on. That smell was horrific and new and it was only the first of many occasions I've smelled it.
I walked through the house slowly, not noting my older sister's bag on the kitchen counter first. She was 28 and had been away from home for years, only visiting maybe twice a year, so I wasn't much used to that bag yet. It wasn't until after I discovered her that the foreign object registered in my head. I walked upstairs to the washroom. It was the first room I went into, I suppose to escape the smell and maybe throw some water over my face to get out of the shock. The site and smell that hit me in the washroom were enough to keep me in that state of shock for weeks.
There was my sister, my beautiful, successful, young sister to whom I'd felt so close, so connected to. There she was, lying facedown in the bathtub(about a quarter of the way filled) naked except for the necklace she would never take off, dead. I could probably guess that about half of the liquid in the tub was blood.
I suppose that shock wasn't enough to stop me, or maybe it hadn't quite hit me yet, but I walked over to her, and turned her over. Her eyes were closed, which relieved me to no end. There was a giant gash in her neck, reaching nearly all the way around. I suppose the dagger had come relatively close to decapitating her. Her open palm held something, a container. I looked away, noticing that her clothes were folded in a neat pile on the sink. 'At least he's an organized murderer.' The thought popped into my mind almost immediately and I sneered a crazy sneer. I guess I hadn't completely cracked at that point either.
It never really occured to me that my sister was dead until later, when I was lying in bed resting. I was tired from all the police questioning. The first thing I did after discovering my sister's body was walk out of the bathroom and back down to the kitchen to phone my mother. That's when the bag's appearance really hit me. I knew I shouldn't have but I opened up her bag and looked inside. There was a relatively large box inside of the bag, which I removed, not noticing that there was another box. It was giftwrapped. I read the label that said "For my favorite little brother!".
I grasped the box curiously, and sat at the kitchen table, unwrapping it. I opened the box slowly, cautiously, as if I were expecting something to jump out at me. I looked inside and the was a chain, with a silver, nearly impossibly small masterfully crafted horse locket. I opened it up and looked inside, and there was an engraving that said "I love you". I've never taken that chain off. Why, here it is. I know, it's beautiful. Anyway...
That was about as much as I could take, so I walked over to the phone and phoned Mom at work.
"Hello?" the voice on the line said.
I suddenly realized that my throat was bone dry. I couldn't say a word.
"Who is this?" the voice asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
I hung up and poured myself up some water, trying my best not to look at the bag on the counter with it's oh-so-bright colors.
I tried again.
"Hello?" The voice on the line asked.
I managed to croak "Mom..." and hung up again.
Looking around in the dream like state I was in, I walked upstairs to my bedroom and laid on the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.
***
Oh? You have to go? Okay. I trust that you'll be back soon. Good evening, my friend.
***
Welcome back! How may I help you? My story? Ah! Of course! We'll continue this fine evening. Come with me.
***
Now, where was I? Ah, yes, my sister.
Shortly after I made the call, Mom arrived home. Police were called, I was questioned, and I answered every question truthfully, except the ones about murder. I told them I hadn't seen anybody. They wrote it off as suicide.
Later the day of my sister's death I went into shock. I suppose you could call it that. I was too horribly depressed to talk to anybody. I wouldn't move most of the time. I was taken out of school, and became completely removed from society for a couple of weeks.
My Mom was there for me for every step of the way to "recovering". She was supportive, and cheery, and always the same Mom I loved. At some point I decided to go back to school and try to get my life back. My Mom was overjoyed at this at first. That's when things started to get bad.
With me independent again, Mom let herself go. It was the scariest transformation that I've ever witnessed and I really think the day I told her I was going back to school was the last I seen of my real Mom. She started drinking, more and more each day. She got fired two weeks before my 16th birthday. She got violent.
I never really seen her much in a good mood after I went back to school. It was insanity. Things were only getting worse, and not better.
On my 16th birthday, I gathered my things and the funds I'd be saving since I was 8 and took a plane to Montello, a bigger city than Leopulos. I rented an apartment and threw a couple of possessions in there. I figured I had enough for rent for maybe 5 or 6 months. I didn't know what I would do, but I knew I had to do something fast or I'd end up on the streets.
I started talking to as many people as possible, making connections as fast as I could. I found that the relief was amazing. I never had enough time on my hands to think about my Mother or my Sister, and I found that each new person met is a new experience. I was living an amazing life.
That was, until my money ran out. I couldn't pay the rent for my apartment and got a 30 day eviction notice. Mind you, that's the very reason I had made so many connections so quickly. I ended up staying at a friend's place for a while. That's another possible catyclist for what happened.
Allow me to describe my friend to you. He was 26 when I moved in with him. I never really knew his name, because he always insisted on being called Blue. I complied, as I found many of his acquaintances did also. He was a very financially secured guy. Living on his own, off of his parent's money. (They were the CEOs of some far off toy companies I never heard of.)
Blue was a very lively guy, nonetheless. He went out every night to what he called the Variety Club. I tended to stay back at his place trying to figure out how to get out on my own, considering he didn't seem to mind my lounging around, it gave me a lot of time to think.
At some point, I decided the smartest thing to do would be to get out and start making connections again. I started by perusing different clubs and such during Blue's nightly leaves. It didn't take long to realize that if I didn't know what I wanted to do, I wasn't going to get anywhere by meeting people.
That realization hit me hard. I ended up in a slump. For weeks on end I don't think I went out more than two or three times. Blue noticed it right away. He was a very strange guy, but he could read you like a book. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I just didn't know what I wanted to do. Blue, intent on cheering me up, took me out to the 'Variety Club' for the first time that very night. I gotta say, if it weren't for him, I don't think I'd be here right now.
I discovered the "Variety Club" was an actual club, but it was actually called "The Creakin' Rusted Out Hole in the Wall". I suppose I know why Blue shortened it.
I started to frequent that place. They had different acts in every night, and the people that populated the place were every bit as colorful and strange as Blue. Hell, I still frequented it after I met Her.
Oh, her? Haha, I forgot we haven't gotten to her yet. Deepest apologies.
I went to the variety club a lot, but this was by far the most life changing time I went. It was a rather warm night, rain coming down in buckets. I was on my fifth Jack and feeling great. Oh, you know how it is, they never check I.D in those weird swanky places. The band taking the stage was called Red Hood Trio. There was a girl with bright red hair and an acoustic guitar, a rather large man with a crewcut and no instrument was stepping up to the mic, and a bald man with set of bongos on a stool next to the girl.
The man introduced them as Red Hood Trio and individually, himself as Steven Goldenmille, the bongo player as Jeff Adler, and the girl as Willow. Just Willow.
I, in my usual hopeless not-quite-drunken stupor paid little heed. That was, until they began playing.
The bongo player was great. Steven on vocals was great too, as he sounded classically trained. But the most amazing of them all was Willow. I thought I was listening to a big band. So much sound, being belted out of such an insignificant seeming acoustic guitar. In my experience being at the variety club, I had been around a lot of instruments, hell, I learned a couple of chords and melodies from players who seemed friendly enough. But I swear, I had never thought it was possible to make such sounds escape from an acoustic guitar.
I sat there for all of their half an hour set, in complete awe. I swear after the first five seconds I was more sober than a man who's been in prison for 20 years. When the set ended I had to talk to her. I had to, there was no beating around the bush. I belted my way outside and waited for them to come out to pack up their equipment.
They did come out, but they headed straight into the vehicle with their instruments in hand. I had missed my chance.
Well, I was desperate. Amazingly desperate, I noticed everything I could possibly use, and the closest to me was a skateboard leaning against the door of the Variety Club, so I grabbed it. They were just pulling away as I hopped on to the skateboard and grabbed the back of the van.
***
Sir, it's getting late. I think you should get a move on. You want to hear more? I would love to tell you more, but I'm sure you're a busy man and it is getting rather late. There's always a tomorrow, after all. Alright, good evening, sir.
***
Ah, good morning sir! How are you today? Ah, good, good! Why, sir, you seem jittery! Is there anything I can do to assist you? Ah, the story! You want to hear more? Why, I'm flattered that I could be such a source of interest! Haha, yes sir, we'll started right away. Follow me!
***
The van... right? Okay! So I grabbed the back of the van and I followed them. It was a long ride I must say, and it did get rather cold and tiring with all the holding on, but we finally reached a destination at some point. I looked around and noticed something I couldn't believe I missed. There was a mansion, a huge one! It was an amazing sight to behold.
I heard somebody getting out of the van, and I saw a figure walking towards the mansion. It was too dark to tell which one of them it was, so I couldn't be sure if it was Willow or not. As the van started to move again I found myself flooded with fear. What if that was her and I missed her? But what if it was one of the other bandmembers and I followed them and missed my chance at meeting Willow? Surely they would have turned up at the Variety Club again some time, but I just couldn't wait that long.
To me, the irony of picking the less secure choice seemed like the right direction to move towards, and so I let go of the van, jumping off of the skatebord and running towards the figure.
"Hey!" I yelled, and the figure stopped and whirled around immediately, revealing it's identity as none other than Willow, as the guitar's outline was vaguely seen.
"Who's there?" hollered Willow, sounding slightly defensive.
I said nothing but continued running up to her. To this day I don't know why she didn't run away. I would have, seeing a stranger coming towards me, giving no reason as to why they were there. But I ran towards her, and stopped directly in front of her, bent and panting. I looked up at her face, vaguely outlined by the small amount of moonlight around us. She looked down at me.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm... I'm just somebody who needs to know how the hell you managed to make a guitar sound like a whole damn orchestra!" I said between breaths.
From that night on, Willow became my teacher in all things music. She thought I was crazy at first, hearing that I'd followed them all the way to where she was, but I suppose she decided that it was admirable, at last.
For the first couple of months she taught me using her guitar, then handing it to me as I tried to play what she'd show me, and learn the way she'd show me. She got me a guitar of my own on my 17th birthday. Blue got me a pair of rose tinted shades. I swear the time I wore those shades and I time I spent playing that guitar were just about equal. I still have both.
As the months went by and I steadily got better, Willow and I started jamming regularly. We planned practice sessions at different venues and occasionally met up for a friendly time. And as those months went by, I realized that I was steadily falling in love with Willow. I never told her that until I the day I turned 18. That was also the day I learned the most about her.
Willow was exactly one year younger than me, and had left home just as I had. Willow hadn't planned as well as I had, though, and she'd ended up in poverty. She was taken in by a rich man, yet another CEO(I sometimes wonder how many damn companies there have to be for all these CEOs to exist) who had exhibited an interest in her guitar playing. His name was Stephan Hellinger and he paid for her to have top-notch lessons in the art of the guitar, and soon began having her play with other bands live. He allowed her to settle on Red Hood Trio(At the time just Red Hood) and also allowed her to teach me. The one thing Stephan never approved of was love. He absolutely forbade Willow from loving, which is why he tried to keep her away from me after that day, I suppose. He always said that love would hurt her chances of getting where she should be in the world, to the top. Stephan had believed that Willow would be famous from the first time he heard her play, and I suppose it was his dream that he'd be known as the one who discovered such amazing talent. The man wanted to be remembered and I don't blame him for that. To be forgotten is a fate worse than death. But I will forever condemn him for the way he handled failure.