First story. Be nice. I feel like this story is about me, but portrayed in two characters. I am a music addict, so yeah. And the chapters will be pretty short, because I REALLY wanted to publish it, and I can't change it because I thought it was fine the way it was.


Chapter 1 – Sweet Pea

The liquid notes of music flow in my bloodstreams. The staff lines form my bones. There is music in every fiber of my body, and I know it just as well.

I have always been a singer, for as long as I remember. I sing in the shower, in my head during class, belting out those notes during choir. I love to sing, and it really is my passion. I even dream about singing onstage, in front of screaming fans.

Take last night, for instance. I dreamed that I was just rocking out onstage, screaming into a microphone, wearing cutoff shirts and knee-high converse in my favorite colors, purple and dark blue. Surrounding me on the stage was a band made up of three other members, who were my closest friends. Liana, our punk drummer, was tossing her head from side to side, hot pink hair flying, as she smashed out the heartbeat of our song. Her older sister, Eva, strummed her guitar, somewhat calm but smiling and doing that weird guitar-bow thingy when you're really getting into it, as her Gothic personality dictated. And our metal-monster Arianna whiplashed her head back and forth as she snapped out the deep, low notes.

This was my dying ambition – to just live my dream and forget school, to be able to wear all those trendy rock clothes that I wanted so badly. Screw math and science. I was fifteen, and I was ready to give it all up.

The alarm clock blared, an annoying, tinny sound. My eyes popped open, and I sat up from my bed quickly. I groaned in frustration, having realized it was a dream and not reality. I really did wish I was doing that, instead of facing another boring day of school.

Yawning hugely, I stumbled out of bed and walked over to my alarm clock, slamming it down. In my head, I was already singing one of my favorite songs, "Here We Go Again" by OK Go.

It could be ten but then again

I can't remember half an hour

Since a quarter to four

Throw on your clothes

The second side of Surfer Rosa

And you leave me with my jaw on the floor…


Yep. I was officially addicted to singing. I first discovered that when I was playing Rock Band with said friends. And for some strange reason, in my dream, my friends looked exactly like their characters in the game; hair, clothes, and all. We used the same names, too.

My character had long, purple hair pulled into a side ponytail and green eyes, because I figured that I wouldn't be able to change my eye color without color contacts when I got older. Looking in the mirror, I mused, Well, my eyes ARE green. I just needed purple hair. And I was good at singing – my friends told me repeatedly and I had even won first place in a prestigious music festival.

It was a great feeling, singing up onstage. It was like being high, only without the drugs. I hoped that sometime I would get to do it again.

Still humming, I brushed my – sadly – blonde hair out, then put it in a braid after washing my face and brushing my teeth.

Downstairs, I drank a glass of milk and ate a bowl of oatmeal, then put on stupid, conservative tennis shoes. I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door, walking through the slightly frosty air for half a block before I got to the bus stop at the corner.

I didn't like having to be the way my parents said I should be, always wearing long-sleeves and shorts or skirts down to my knees. I hated conservative clothes. I wanted to get out of all this oppression and start living.

My lips curved up in a smile as I thought, Next step: dye my hair dark purple.

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