1 Chapter 1 : Prolouge

I swung open the creaky door to my itty-bitty one bedroom apartment, well aware that this place was on its last leg. Yeah, you heard me right. The whole dang building was scheduled for demolition in a measly four weeks! So, guess who's gotta pack up their life and skedaddle? This guy.

I stepped inside, looking around at the chaos that somehow passed as my humble abode. Clothes were strewn about like confetti, and I couldn't help but notice the glorious collection of instant ramen packets decorating the floor. Ah, the aesthetic of a true bachelor pad. The only thing that seemed to defy the general state of disarray was my trusty guitar, standing tall and pristine in the corner. That beauty had been my faithful companion through thick and thin, the one constant in my ever-changing world.

Now, let's talk about my gig. I toil away at a convenience store just a couple of streets away from my apartment. And guess what? Lady Luck seems to have it out for me, because I always get stuck with the graveyard shift. That's right, I stroll through my front door at a delightful 3AM, like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's become as routine as breathing at this point, my friends.

But hey, there's one thing that never fails to bring me a sliver of joy in this topsy-turvy life: my guitar. I plucked it from its cozy corner and began strumming the soulful tune of "Sadness and Sorrow." Ah, that song. It was the very one that first ignited my passion for music when I was just a bright-eyed four-year-old. You see, that fateful day marked the beginning of my journey as a musician, and boy, were my mom and pops over the moon when I told 'em I was gonna be the best darn musician this world had ever seen. But now, looking back, I can't help but wonder if that was the day everything started spiraling into a hot mess.

Here I am, still clinging to that dream of becoming a legendary musician. But what do I have to show for it? No family to speak of, no real friends, and my bank account is perpetually flirting with the abyss. Seriously, what did music ever give me? Zilch, nada, absolutely nothing!

Fueled by frustration, I unleashed my pent-up emotions upon that poor guitar. I swung it down onto the floor, again and again, as if each strike was a direct hit on every misfortune life had thrown my way. And you know what? To some extent, that guitar became a symbol of all the damn things that had gone wrong in my life.

In the end, all that remained was a small fragment of the fretboard, and I found myself staring at the remnants of the very thing that once held such a special place in my heart. It was my unwavering dedication to that instrument that had cost me dearly.

With a heavy sigh, I abandoned the broken pieces of my one true love and sauntered over to my trusty laptop. I figured I'd distract myself with a quick peek at my Spotify stats. Lo and behold, my songs had garnered a whopping six more listeners today! That brings the grand total to 5,000 monthly listeners. Hey, maybe that'll cover my breakfast tab from now on. Slamming the laptop shut with a mix of pride and disappointment, I dramatically flopped onto my bed, contemplating the absurdity of it all.

Sometimes I can't help but wonder: why did music find me if it was just gonna lead me straight to mediocrity? If only I had left it as a simple hobby, maybe things would've turned out differently. Perhaps my folks would still be here, and maybe, just maybe, people would find some use for me. All I ever wanted was to be acknowledged, but now, all I yearn for is to be of some damn use.

Just as I was about to reach for my trusty sleeping pills to usher me into dreamland, my phone began to ring. I picked it up, a mix of curiosity and annoyance swirling within me.

"Hello? Is this Brenden?" a voice quivered on the other end, teetering on the edge of tears.

"Yeah, who's askin'?"

"I'm a friend of your brother. I'm... I'm so sorry to tell you this, but he... he overdosed on some pills. He's gone." The voice broke, and the weight of those words settled upon me like an icy shroud.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. "That's who I forgot... How could I forget?" I silently chastised myself. My brother, estranged and bitter after the passing of our parents, had placed the blame squarely on my shoulders. And now, with his own demise, it seemed I had lost the last remaining tie to my past.

"Would you please come to his funeral?" the voice on the phone pleaded, but before they could say another word, I abruptly ended the call. I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my solitude pressing down on me like a relentless force.

At this point, who could blame me? I mean, seriously. I tick off every box in the "tragic life" checklist. Surely, I've earned myself a free pass, right?

Instead of reaching for my usual two pills, I impulsively tore open the entire pack, popping them into my mouth like they were freakin' M&Ms. I reclined back onto the bed, allowing the drowsiness to wash over me as I mulled over the intricacies of life.

If I could rewind the clock and have a do-over, oh, the things I would change. I'd have taken better care of my folks, sought out genuine friendships, and expressed my heartfelt appreciation to those closest to me. But as the sleepy tendrils wrapped around my consciousness, one question lingered: would I give up on music if given the chance to start anew? As much as I wanted to scream "hell yes!" from the rooftops, deep down in my heart, I knew the answer would likely be a resounding "no."

"I kinda wish I could keep living, just not this life"

And with that my lights shut off, or so I fucking thought would happen.

I woke up to the crack of dawn in a house that sure as hell wasn't my tiny apartment, as I looked around the first thing that caught my eye was a guitar in the corner of the room.

"Oh for fuck sake..."

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