Genesis of Despair

Drake groaned as he heard the terrible sound of his alarm. He practically smashed his clock shutting it off. He pushed himself up heaving a sigh of disappointment. As much as Drake needed to wake up this morning he hated it. Nothing about him liked mornings. Back before he moved back in with his parents, even though he regrets the fact he drank too much, he liked the fact he never had to wake up in the mornings. Drake rubbed his face with his hands before looking around his room. It was still the way it was back in high school, from the band posters all over the walls to the cds on the shelves. He crawled out of bed and went over to a pile of cloths on the floor. Drake started searching through the pile trying to find a shirt that didn't smell rancid. Eventually he found an american flag t-shirt. After finding his shirt he threw on a a pair of black jean and his black converse. Drake then ran into his bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth.

Drake made his way up the steps from his basement to the kitchen to grab a cup of hot tea. Drake poured himself a cup, and grabbed his leather coat that had the British flag sewn on the arm. On his way out the door he grabbed a stack of flyers. Drake grabbed his keys and made his way to his car and cranked up his old mustang. He threw the stack of flyers in his passenger seat and drove downtown. He took a stapler out and began stapling flyers everywhere. The flyer said this: Do you play music? Are you tired of staying in this pile of shit you call a town, ready to get that great band together and leave your past and problems behind? Well good me too my name is Drake Deadgrave. If your interested call the number below. He felt good about this he figured he would have few people call who barely played just wanting to rebel against their parents, but who knows maybe I'll get some good people.

The loud buzz that his alarm clock provided was incredibly irritating, but Logan awoke with an angry face and turned it off. He grumbled something unintelligible, because he was still half asleep. He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, deciding to grab a quick shower, brush his hair and teeth, and get some breakfast. Having done so, and now wearing a black Quicksilver board shirt, with a picture of the ocean on the back, some jeans, and his black vans, Logan went down into his dad's kitchen to see what there was to eat. He hated having parents that hated each other so much and the scene in the kitchen told him that last night's screaming match had been particularly brutal. Shaking his head, and sighing, he put things back in order as best he could. Chairs were turned upright, glass from shattered cups swept up and plates that were cracked or broken were thrown out. Logan decided upon a banana and some yogurt for breakfast; as these foods looked the least likely to kill him or give him an ulcer. He'd rather have had pizza, but there wasn't any.

Grabbing his keys, wallet, and cell phone, Logan decided that today was not a bad day for a drive around town. He needed to clear his mind anyway. he knew that his guitar was just sitting in his room and so, figuring he could use the time to at least get some practice in with it, he threw in the back seat of his old Camero. he hopped in the driver's seat and started the car, the radio blaring one of his cd's. He took of and headed for downtown, since that was where things seemed to happen here. Of course "Downtown" was really a few blocks of narrow streets, with shops and restaurants...nothing much to speak of. Then again, the whole was nothing much much to speak of. After driving for a while, Logan began to notice flyers appearing on telephone poles. At first, he didn't think much of them, figuring that someone had lost their dog or was having another yard sale or something utterly stupid. But, he pulled over to the side, parked, and got out, ripping one off the pole and taking a closer look at it.

Do you play music? Are you tired of staying in this pile of shit you call a town, ready to get that great band together and leave your past and problems behind? Well good me too my name is Drake Deadgrave. If your interested call the number below.

Logan blinked at the flyer and read it again, What the hell? I'll give it a shot. What's the worst that could happen? I mean, I've never actually BEEN in a band before..well, except for elementary school, but where did that take my music career? Yeah. Might as well. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number listed. "Yeah, is this Drake? My name is Logan and I'd like to be a part of your band."

Marshall got up before his alarm, still wearing yesterdays clothes, only to find his room was soaked, and messier than normal. "What the he- Oh! Shit!" he groaned, realizing he'd left the window open and it rained last night. With a heavy heart, he kicked a pair of boots into the closet, and went to the hall closet, grabbing some towels. After drying off his computer desk, bed side table, and floor, then started hunting for some dry clothes. Taking the only dry clothes he had, he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He would've brushed his hair, but he actually liked the shaggy, unkept appearance. Then, he showered, putting on a black shirt, armbands, and his favorite skull ring; a bulky thing that covered up half of his finger; and leather pants with a belt (skull buckle) and the pair of boots he kicked into the closet.

As he walked into the living room, Marshall noticed he had 5 messages on his cell, and he groaned as they all seemed to be from his superviser from work. The first 4 were harmless, asking where he was; Marshall wasn't worried, since yesterday was his day off. The fifth caused him to drop his cup of coffee. She'd fired him. That bitch of a supervisor had fired him on his day off. Growling, Marshall grabbed his phone and left his apartment. He was going to go set things right. He hated his job, supervisor, and pay, but it was the only thing he had to pay the bills!

He worked at a stupid cafe that served only coffee, and a continous stream of terrible bands trickled through. No one came to the stage twice, and most of the bands didn't make it through one song before getting boo'ed off the stage. Even though he played, Marshall'd never even thought about going on stage; the bands didn't get paid for it, and it would count as missed work for him. The cafe was only a few blocks away from his apartment, and he'd made it there before his supervisor did. He sat by the door, thinking about what'd he say to her.
"Why'd you come here? To beg for your job back?" she walked up, smirking. "No," he replied, standing. "I'm glad you fired me on my day off. I just want my pay."
"Come back at the end of the month," she unlocked the door, "I can't give it to you until then." Bitch....
"Fine." Marshall grunted, walking away. On his way back, he noticed a flier:

Do you play music? Are you tired of staying in this pile of shit you call a town, ready to get that great band together and leave your past and problems behind? Well good me too my name is Drake Deadgrave. If your interested call the number below.

Without a moments hesitation, Marshall dialed.

May almost knocked her alarm clock off the table, when she smacked it to turn it off, and sat up dreading yet another day at work. She walked to her closet and found her work uniform, a white button up shirt, black pants, black shoes, and an apron of the ugliest green there is, Thankfully, she didn't have to look at it. After a quick shower, May got dressed, grabbed her backpack, her white cane, and a pair of sunglasses, and walked the three blocks to the towns only grocery store. Two hours after she started work, one of her friends came in and said he'd seen someone hanging up flyers looking for band members, he read it to her. "Do you play music? Are you tired of staying in this pile of shit you call a town, ready to get that great band together and leave your past and problems behind? Well good me too my name is Drake Deadgrave. If your interested call the number below." She didn't think much of it at the time, but as she was walking down an aisle, she bumped into a customer who was clearly not in a good mood. " what are you blind?, watch where your going bitch." the man said in a voice the whole store could hear. May stood there for a moment, a red tipped white can in one hand, her backpack in the other. " Obviously, asshole." she said as she walked past him to the break room. May had only worked here a few months but already hated it, the bosses were assholes, most of the customers were assholes, and she always new the only reason she got the job was so they could say they had a blind employee.

May had had enough of the job, the town, and the People. She wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, but she refused to go back to her parents. With the exception of her roomate, and the owner of the music store, where she could often be seen jamming on her days off, everyone she knew either pitied her as the poor little blind girl, or hated her for not conforming to the hive mind of the shit hole town. She left her apron and name tag on the table, and went home, she could hear the man complaining to the manager as she walked out, clearly leaving out the part about being a colossal douche. She flipped them both off as she left. " Fuck you all." May got home around noon and immedietly changed into something more comfortable, a pair of jeans and a white tanktop, before digging her old worn out bass out of her closet. She played a couple songs on it, thinking about the flyer. Finally, she decided to give it a shot, she needed a change, she thought for a moment, remembering the number that had been read to her and dialed.

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Four Months Ago...

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"I'm sorry Ms. Hart we're gonna have to let you go."
"What!? Why? Is this because of what happened at the show last night? I can come back and make it up to you. I promise I'll do better! I've got a new band lined up, they have a lot of potential and I think they can really bring us up next time."
"There won't be a next time. That clusterfuck you call a show is bad publicity for us, we can't have that kind of rep with our company. Besides, this isn't the first time you've picked up some lunatic garage band and screwed us over. I took the heat last time but this is too much for me, I got nothing against you but this is bad for my business."
"Oh yeah? Well... every one can tell you wear a wig and nobody likes your jokes! click...
Cassandra hung up the phone and rested her head on the steering wheel of her honda civic. A single tear ran down her cheek as she realized that her career was over.

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Present Day...

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A light blue Honda Civic sat outside of a small Diner in the shade of an oak tree. Inside there was a pile of clothes in the front passenger seat, a hotel shampoo bottle rested on the dashboard next to a traveller's toothbrush. Cassandra was sleeping across the back seats covered in a large coat as a police officer tapped on the window. In her mind she dreamt about that night four months ago when she got fired from her last job, the tapping startled her as she practically jumped out of the seat. She got up and cranked the window down. "Miss can I see your liscense and registration please?" Cassandra nodded as she reached for her glovebox and pulled out her registration. "Is there a problem Officer?" The policeman took her papers and looked them over with a blank expression, which only made her feel nervous as if she was in trouble. "Are you living in your car Miss?" Cassandra gave a big nervous smile. Um... no, Sir. It's just that I don't have a place to stay right now and I lost my job a few months ago because the band I was managing got into some trouble so the boss fired me, which is why I couldn't afford my apartment and then I almost lost my car too but... I'll shut up now. The policeman stopped her short. "Alright calm down you're not in any trouble, okay? Just move your car every three hours so I don't have to waste my time." Cassandra felt a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders. "Thank you so much!" The policeman handed her back her liscense and registration. "And put your damn clothes in the trunk so you don't look like a bum will ya?" "Of course, Sir. Thank you again!" The policeman headed back to his car and drove off as she started packing her things in the trunk through the seat. Her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the previous morning and she was practically starving. She checked her wallet to see that she only had about twelve dollars left. Well it's more than I had last week, she thought.

Leon woke up with another random girl under his arm. It was morning like this that you could only tell the amount of alcohol you consumed by the severity of your hangover. The girl woke up and turned towards him and smiled. She was absalutly beautiful. She had a great body and long dark brown hair. And Her eyes reminded Leon of the ocean.

"Good morning handsome..." she said to him. Leaning over and giving him a kiss on the lips.

"Yeah... Get the fuck out of my house" Leon replied to her without batting an eye. He rolled out bed and went to go take his morning piss.

"B-but you said you where going to write a song about me last night" she said shocked at his remark.

"I say that to all the whores I bring home, now leave"

"I am not a whore" she snapped back at him

"We just met last night and you fucked me. Yeah, you're a whore. Now leave"

The girl left his house and Leon got dressed in peace. She said some shit about how she thought he was different. All the girls say something or another like that. But hey, if they wanted something serious, they shouldn't have put out on the first date.

He walked out into the bright sun. It was 12:30 and kids where out playing in the street. "Damn, I'm up early." He thought to himself as he read the flyer they was laid out on his windshield. Dead grave huh? Could be interesting. He called the guys number an waited for the pick up.

Drake was still handing out flyers when he first started getting calls. The first few were what he expected he got dreamers. People who want to be in an amazing band even though they just picked up a guitar. And he would always say the same thing to them "Sorry I like my music to be punk not the players." Drake then hung up the phone and sighed. I wish I could someone who was actually a serious player. Then that's when he started getting a bunch of calls. One of which struck him how forward it was.

"Yeah, is this Drake? My name is Logan and I'd like to be a part of your band."

Drake was taken back a bit. Nobody in calls before really said they wanted to be in it. They mainly just talked about their dreams and shit that he couldn't stand. This Logan guy just was simple and direct. Something about that Drake liked about this person. "Yeah this is Drake and if you want to be in the band head to the address I'm going to send you. Make sure you bring your equipment I don't want someone with a tiny little practice amp, or a little drum pad, in whatever you play in my band. So be prepared to show me what you can do." Drake then hung up the phone and sent a message of the address to his practice space he rented out. As he got more calls from some more serious sounding people he told them the same thing he told Logan. As he finished his last call he hung up his phone and put it in his pocket. "Awesome looks like I got a band." he laughed to himself. After the last call he found a girl who appeared to sleeping in her car and put a flyer on her car window just in case these recent calls didn't work out.

Drake's practice space was pretty much a small hangout. it had a small little stage with plenty of outlets for equipment. It had a big British flag hanging on the wall at the back of the stage setup. In another part of the room was bar filled with booze that Drake hadn't had much of in a while. If these guys gave him a hard time and were nut cases he may drink everything there. On the stage he set up his equipment. He carried his Orange cabinets and his guitar then setup his pedal board. He wanted to be ready when everyone showed up. He knew he would have to prove he was as serious as he wanted them to be about the band.

Logan was listening as Drake picked up and the response came quickly. "Yeah this is Drake and if you want to be in the band head to the address I'm going to send you. Make sure you bring your equipment I don't want someone with a tiny little practice amp, or a little drum pad, in whatever you play in my band. So be prepared to show me what you can do." He then promptly hung up and Logan gave a celebratory fist pump. he was in. he checked his phone for the text with the address and seeing it, began to pack his fairly simple Marshall set into his car. It wasn't easy, but he'd managed it before, once, to try out a solo "jam session" at a local park. That had gone...terribly. Not because he couldn't play, but because he wasn't bragging about it, simply arriving and "shredding" the rythm guitar parts given him. It was almost an unfair experience and he soon began to be mocked by other there, who were clearly jealous. This Drak character didn't seem that way...or so he sounded. He was determined to get the best sound for his band.

If that meant people had to lug their own stuff, fine, whatever. Logan was a little angry, figuring he'd want everyone to use the same stuff, easier to tell how good they were, but then again, this guy was apparently in charge...so, he packed his car. Once everything was loaded, amps, pickups, pedals and picks; and his guitar of course, Logan hopped inside, leaving a vague "going out will be back before midnight" note for his father and driving to the practice studio. Arriving, Logan saw one car there, which he was certian was Drake's. Logan decided to bring in his amps and pedals first, carrying the stacked cabinets one in each hand, and entering the studio.

Noticing that Drake was already setting up, and wanting to make a particularly good impression, Logan decided against too much conversation, for now anyway, and simply began setting up his equipment plugging in his cabinets and hearing the familiar hum of electricity through them. He walked back out to his car, and grabbed his guitar and pedals, bringing them in and setting them up as well. he figured others would be coming, so he left plenty of room, or so he thought, on stage for them to set up. Once all of this had been accomplished, Logan finally turned to face the young man he'd called and asked,"So, how does this all work? You going to try us out individually or as a group? Cuase I mean, surely there's more coming than just me." He also smiled and extended his hand.

May was not expecting much, when she called the number, and was actually surprised when someone answered, even more so when after only a couple minutes of conversation she was told to come to the address to be sent. Wanting to make a good impression, may changed into something more befitting an audition, and packed up her old Squire Jaguar Bass


Almost the instant she recieved the text, she showed it to her roomate, Sara who helped her load her bass and amp into the car and drove her to the practice space. When they arrived at the address, Sara mentioned that there were only two cars there, so at least she wasn't the last to arrive. May walked into the practice space with her bass case in her left hand, her white cane in her right, and her backpack, trying to get a feel for the place as best she could. Sara walked beside her holding her arm with one hand to keep her from walking into anything and pushing a Hartke VX3500 bass amp with the other.

Sara described the building, and the layout as she lead May to the stage so she could set up. May took notice of two Male voices near by, but was concentrating on setting up, they werent talking to her, at least not yet, so she didn't concern herself with them, and concentrated on her equipment. After she had set up her amp, May opened her beat up hardcase and pulled out a well used Squire Jaguar Bass, and plugged it in, plucking a string to ensure a good connection and setting it on a stand. She then turned toward the two Male voices, smiled, and said. " So which one of you is Drake?"

Upon recieving the address, Marshall immediately walked home, and opened the hall closet containing his drum set. A case flew out of it, but he caught it easily and set it on the kitchen counter. He stood in front of the closet for a few minutes, thinking about how he would fit all this in his truck, and after no conclusions, he simply pulled random cases out of the closet and stuffed them in the backseat, bigger cases first. In the end, Marshall had packed the bass drum, several snares, and the cymbals, with no room to spare. Skipping lunch, he climbed into his green truck and sped off.
It took him quite a while to find the address, considering it was all the way across town, and he had no clue was to where he was going. Every few blocks he'd stop and look at the map, feeling a little ridiculous. After 30 minutes of this, he found the Noting that several cars were already there, he hoped he wasn't the last to show. Parking beside one, he hopped out and walked in.