dulcet prompt #01
At the end of every storm comes a rainbow, but your happy ending seems to be just too out of reach. The past few weeks have been increasingly tough on you – the assessors are more critical than ever and it seems that you are just not up to par. Will you let the demons in your head get to you, or will you fight them off and come back stronger than ever? Do you have a rock to keep you grounded, or will you continue to lose yourself in the seemingly endless fight to please the higher-ups? Hold on tight, soldier, the battle’s just begun. @dulcetcoll
we’re gonna start with a revolution, and make our way back.
we’re gonna start with a boy, he sits with his hand under his chin and his fingers tapping against a keyboard. a boy who’s had his life in his hands and out and in his hands again and back out.in out in out until life finally decided he’s had enough. not him, but life itself. tired of playing, moved onto another. we’re starting with a boy who as he sits int he studio, thoroughly underwhelmed for the first time in his life and completely and utterly spent, he feels a sense of calmness overtake his features.
the song plays as a prelude though it takes him back to a time. small days cramped in a room with several others, whispering lyrics and humming beats against pillows and the bottom of the floor so it’d echo all the way to the company. if we whisper hard enough someone will hear it as a prayer. that’s what he thought back then. if it’s not a prayer it’s something close enough. the days seemed so slow back then but they melt into something better. not memories really, they melt into warmth.
it builds, pretty slow actually but it builds.
days spent tapping against empty desks, staring in front of blank screens dreaming of loud screams. blurring and blurring until it’s dissolved into the screams. the screams the screams the screams. nothing but the screams and only the screams. that’s what it was about, that’s what it started with and that’s what it would end with. nothing but the screams and nothing but the dream.
you’ve lost your way buddy.
not the passion. because he keeps listening and he sees a boy on a stage, on a stage countless time and looking different each time but feeling great. he thinks that it might not be hard, this. whatever it is. it must be a little easy because he’s done it so many times and in not so many thoughts. automatic is what it was. when someone falls off a bike they get back up again, don’t sit on the floor . well some people do but he doesn’t have that luxury, to sit and wallow in an ache, he has to brush it off let it hurt while he keeps going. he’s lost the routine, because he thought it was over, he thought he wouldn’t get knocked down. thought he’d stand tall for all the world to marvel at. that’s not how life works.
he’s got a long way to go.
we have a boy who was so small he wanted to be big. wanted to be huge. we have a boy who stood with shaking legs to have the bottom pulled from under him. here we have a boy who was so afraid he had to throw himself at fear just to remember it was still there, he’d almost forgotten. here we have the start of a revolution yet again. now he’s a boy who’s got a few shards stuck in his chest and few bombs in his throat but he’s about ready to let them simmer. he’s not sure if he should swallow and see if they quiet or open and let them wreak havoc.
he doesn’t open his mouth for a while. he sits at the desk, the computer playing the song over and over and over. images repeat, memories plant themselves in his mind small buds of reminder. small tokens of hope. his chest bubbles and he’s not worried about if it’s a bomb or a shard. he’s made a decision.
here comes the revolution. it flies up slow and nice.
he’s smiling. finally.
time to get to work.