"Creeeeeeek!" goes a door that finally opens after years of silence. Darkness greets Simon as both of his brows go up. Suprisingly, the locks to his place haven't changed. Striding into the place, he flicks on a light switch. His home is awash in a light.
Everything is exactly as he left it. A computer sat in the far right corner, complete with a leather chair he would often move about the place. The man has no TV, but Netflix and him are friends. People don't need an app, or television, to appreciate the streaming giant. Simon sees the familiar oak railing he uses a half wall, divide, to create an illusion of rooms even though the computer's little corner bleeds into the living room.
The hardwood floors mixed with an asian floor. All of it is a welcome sight, even the yellow fish on blue background bit Cristiana added. He never asked for it, but it does warm him a bit in the moment. Walking off to the left, he snags two familiar items.
In one hand a black Stratocaster. The other a small speaker with neatly bound wires on the top. Everything right now, is routine. Plug in the various wires, make sure it's all on and working. Sometimes he may drop a wire, the checks may take longer, but the routine is so ingrained. No matter how much time has passed, part of Simon can do this on autopilot. Even with the small mishaps that show he is a little out of practice. Every step of the routine comes back slowly and surely. He even unplugs the computer in favor of the speaker.
Tuning the guitar, he begins more routines. The fingers start to strum across the chords. The speaker squawks with feedback. Fingers fumble. "Come on!" he yells quietly hoping to somehow rally muscle memory. Fingers continue to fumble. One by one, the fingers fall into formation.
Old warmups come forward. At first, it's a slow process. And he hates this. The logical part of him understands. One cannot ride a bike then suddenly pop a perfect wheelie when it has been years. Yes, riding a bicycle is ingrained, but it's getting mind and muscle harmonized. Letting the old tricks slide slowly into place. Time would help someone pop that wheelie.
And that's what Simon does. He lets time pass just practicing chords. What was seconds, takes tens of minutes. The entertainer in him needs this to sound perfect. To feel perfect. To let the old habits just wash over him, and take hold. So, he hammers at it until the notes flow fast. Until that speaker squawks less and less with feedback, or missed notes. He needs this moment. Deep down, he knows this little fact.
Time is relative, and he isn't even sure how much time passes. Eventually, his brain and fingers start to harmonize. They synch, and that causes the music catalog in his mind to slowly come to life. For all the times people consider Simon to be an idiot, he is somewhat smart. It's just debatable how much of his mind is used to remember music as opposed to important facts.
A song strikes him. The selection gives him pause. It's not a song that he hates, far from. He just doesn't expect it. This has never been a go-to song. Strumming the opening bits, the guitar comes in heavy as opposed to a chello.
his voice carries the first line. Luckily, this is tuned up too."I want to live in fireeee,"
What Simon misses is everything about him. Like so many times before, he is entranced in the song. Yet, this is alarmingly different. The more he plays, the more a grey smoke starts to rise from his fingers. He doesn't bleed normally. His blood has form for a split second before turning into smoke and vanishing into the air. One of the curses of a shadow."With all the taste I dee-ssiiireee. It's alll gooooood if you let me divvvveeeeeeee. With some sharks oooonnnnn the ground."
He sings with his head slanted to the left. And suddenly for the next line there's a shift. The head cants to the right."You looooseee your roouuuuttiinnnee. You looooseee your roouuuuttiinnnee. You looooseee your roouuuuttiinnnee."
Each line causes a shift. First left. Then right."'Cause I fouunnnnd myyyyyy paattth."
If anyone is witnessing it, more signs start to show themselves. The head cants are sharper. Emotion shows in his face. That grey smoke is rising from the eyes, and the fingers now. He's an open wound playing a song that's hitting too close to home."What the hell are you trying? Now I know there is something more. What happened to you? Still stayiing on my path. Are you still denying? Now I know there is something more. That this is the truth. It's all in you!"
The questions causing head cants. People may have a field day with this, if they could see it. Clearly, he is working out -something-. He may not know what it is. Deep down, the subconscious is just pushing it forward. And that misty smoke continues."What do you cooommme fooooor? What did you expect to fiiiiiiind? What do you liivvve fooor? What did you expect to fiiiiiiind? What do you liivvve fooor? What did you expect to fiiiiiiind? What do you liivvve fooor? What did you expect to fiiiiiiind?"
And he is still lost in the trance. The pain he -should- be feeling doesn't even register. Ever the slave to the song, and maybe something more, he continues with unknown head cants and all."So bounnnndddlesssss I feeeeeeeeel. And boundless aaalllll my fears. Stop running back to olllddd tiiiiimes. Stop running back to olllddd tiiiiimes."
And on that last note, he brings the guitar down like a hammer. Wood splinters from the head, and the feedback from the speaker is instant. That noise continues and so does Simon. Down goes the guitar again, and again. When parts of the guitar hang like low hanging fruit, he'll toss the instrument into the right corner like a javelin."You looooseee your roouuuuttiinnnee. What the hell are you trying? Now I know there is something more. What happened to you? Still stayiing on my path. Are you still denying? Now I know there is something more. That this is the truth. It's all in you! What the hell are you trying? Now I know there is something more. What happened to you? Still stayiing on my path. Are you still denying? Now I know there is something more. That this is the truth. It's all in you!"
Broken guitar practically tackles the old computer. The screen shatters as wood, plastic, metal, and everything else meets in a calamity of noise. A scream fills the room as Simon's still lost. All of that mist hitting a fevered pitch as it flows. Waving a hand, the shadows in the room start to dance before shooting out fast.
Nearly everything is a target. Tendrils start to pull down, destroy, and maime anything in the room. There are few parts sacred. Those are some little irreplaceable mementos. What the guitar couldn't destroy, the shadows do.
The whole while Simon is shaking, the mist forming. Pain doesn't register until he sees his hands for the first time. Cuts riddle them. Shadows waver as he sees the wounds, but a single thought causes a chain reaction.
The tears begin to slowly stop. Shadow tendrils begin to resolidfy and work on the room. And Simon is a raw nerve. A moment later the shadows drop. The main room of the apartment is in ruin. And Simon can only repeat the single thought.
(Note: "Path Volume 2" owned by Apocalyptica, various record companies included)"Stop running back to old times."
