“ Cast all the evil aside, to focus on how you made it this far. ”

Anon sometimes forgets to write something in his diary. When he sits alone, at his apartment, doing nothing but sitting at the table and just waiting for something to happen, he can’t find strength to get to that little black leather covered book, filled with his handwriting portraying his mental state for more than two years, – he can’t find strength to take that like little book, open it on a fresh page and start writing away. This note was done after almost two weeks long hiatus.

Aside from that, he also seems to get onto the path of clearing his lungs of all the tobacco he smoked. His sheer focus on the album made him forget about the fact he didn’t have any more cigarettes inside the only crumpled pack he had inside his coat, forcing him to just stand and wait until his mind would calm down on its own. Some time before, he finally took it out and examined it – nothing more than just a cheap pack of cigarettes, of those nicotine sticks that brought some peace into his mind. For a second he felt disgusted just at the mere presence of this pack in his hand. With a righteous force, he threw it away into the nearest bin and returned home.

These changes make Anon think. When he’s lying in his bed, waiting for the time to finally close his eyes, he thought about how these changes came into his body and mind and what made them appear in the first place. He didn’t know the exact answers to these questions – not because he was not intelligent enough, but primarily because these questions don’t have a clear answer on their own. And the only thing that is left – to guess, and hope he guessed it right.

Anon placed a bet – it was the band that made him change. Their characters, their hobbies and traits, Anon’s slow delving into their mindset and nature, – they slowly got him to change. Their friendliness, unseen openness and, in some way, honesty, pushed Anon’s being into the sector of discomfort. And the process of adaptation included changing what made Anon himself. A stoned face and casual nonchalance, cigarettes and diary – slowly and steadily, it was replaced by other, better things.

Everyone in the band played their role equally. Abby, Curtis, Trent, Nick – each and every one of them nonverbally supported Anon, his being, his mind, soul and body, slowly pushing him out of his deadly comfort zone onto a path of proper healing. Thinking about this while lying on the bed in preparation for sleep, Anon felt something clogging up in his throat, and tears began forming in his eyes – but these were no tears of melancholy, these were the purest tears of joy. He was forever in gratitude before them, for being the ones he needed the most.

 

It has been over a month since the day the album dropped onto the grid of the internet. Thousands of listens, hundreds of purchases – they were making a lot from that singular album, as if their fans wanted for this parallel shift to happen. The fans all across the state wanted for them to come around and play in their little city – to feel the shivers going down their spine as a complex grid of three guitar melodies matches the maliceful drumming and accompanies the destructive Anon’s vocals. And now, with the little state tour in plans, the band just took its time and got back on track in the university.

And the university knew about them. There was no break that didn’t involve at least one person coming up to a member of “Tennant” to beg for an autograph. They were happy to oblige, but Nick and Anon found themselves in a rather unpleasant situation. Of course, they were forever happy that the band made their way inside the little conservative world of Volcano University, but aside from that they soon stopped liking the popularity. As if they overdid the plan – and now it was time to them to eat what they have cooked. And thus, while Abby, Curtis and Trent always obliged to give an autograph, Nick and Anon began closing away, thus turning their autographs into some kind of a relic.

The weekends were the proper time when they felt absolutely free of these examining eyes. Due to Trent returning the keys to the studio, they mainly sat at someone’s home, mainly Curtis and Nick. In there, they did what all other people would do in their situation: relax, play games, drink sodas and (sometimes) alcohol – overall, spend time in the circle of their friends well to forget all the worrying material there was. And, to be fair to them, they have succeeded, and some little time later they have completely forgotten about those adoring fans. And just as if they have programmed the universe – those adoring fans stopped coming up to them too.

When it comes to the state tour, they often come back to the questions they either don’t know the answer to or know the exact answer already. This slow process of deconstruction and reconstruction, in order to get to the golden middle, is something Anon, strangely enough, enjoyed doing. He liked how everyone sat down in silence, their gazes meeting on a piece of the carpet pattern in the middle of their sitting circle, constantly pondering about these questions.

But despite all this, one thing they knew for sure – it’s time to properly update the visuals of their socials. That means new bios, new photos, new posts, new everything. Anon, suddenly, found himself changing his long forgotten socials too, something he hadn't done since Volcano High. (It still hurts to remember, but the pain is so miniscule it’s almost nonexistent.) Getting the only account he has into shape, he found out how little it requires to get something massive done. Before it would take him days to change – but now he did it in a span of ten minutes.

And with the change in their online appearance, the band decided to update the online community for the band. A place where they post snippets, teasers, singles and other boring things. And it all could go really quickly, if not for Curtis and his idea to turn the banner from a typical “the album is released” type thing to an actual photo of the band. This idea got approved in less than a minute of him talking about it, and soon they got down to it.

Nick found a contact of her long forgotten school friend, who is now doing a stunning job as a photographer. After some chatting and remembering the shameful past, they organized a meeting in a place where the photo will be taken. Safe to say, Nick got a talent in talking, because she got her friend to do the photo for the beautiful price of free, despite her friend, quote from his bio, “not caring about who one could be for them from the past, the price is always the same.”

On the sunny Saturday day, the band slowly loaded into Curtis’ righteous sedan and made its way to the place. From the first glance, nothing more than just a gritty, greasy, brutalist apartment complex, towering amongst little cafes and shops. They got inside the complex, got up to the seventh floor and knocked down onto the door of the photographer. The door soon opened, and, finally, after the years of nothingness, the photographer and Nick reunited.

Safe to say that they have spent a lot of time chatting behind a cup of good tea and some freshly made pancakes. To remember the past, that they both righteously forgot. To remember the present, with all its troubles and tribulations. To remember the future, this anticipated veil of the new world awaits at the next step. So much time has passed, so many people were met and forgotten… A lot to remember, and they were glad to finally talk about it.

Finally, after what seems an eternity of their blabbing, the photographer organized the band and the poses for them. They were standing behind a huge white matte material, side to side like in the army. The picture was taken, and it all could end there, if not for Trent believing they don’t look rather “unique”, as if they are the same band as those failed black metallists who died at the age of twenty from their guitarist who killed them all and soon himself in his righteous drug infused frenzy.

Photographer had an idea – the band should bring something that resembles their roles, so they could be recognized easily. The band, excited for what would come out with this idea, left the apartment, to return in less than an hour with things to accompany them. They stood yet again, but this time Curtis wasn’t happy – he, as he said, was blending in. The photographer, after some pondering on the kitchen, soon found a solution for that.

In the final photo, the band stood side to side, looking into the lens with a gaze straight as a horizon. Everyone in the band was, almost, of the same height – and definitely of the same ideology and passion. White matte matter as a background to perfectly separate them from the static of the modern music scene in Volcaldera Bluffs. Above their heads, like the swords, were hanging different items that resemble the role of each and every one in the band. There is no use for any complex wordings – the photo was just beautiful. Soon, it was turned into a banner and a photo to accompany the pinned post in the band’s online community.

And soon, there was just silence and calmness. Nothing else to do, aside from just blabbing and learning in the university, tasting the amount of days between them and the temporal, yet absolute freedom shortened and shortened day after day. Something big is waiting for them at the edge of it all, soon to strike them, to give them a proper test. And standing on this little threshold of liberty, Anon finds himself in a constant turmoil. Inside, several beings fight for the right of being king of the hill that is his soul. But despite this constant battle commenced inside him, he feels completely calm, patiently waiting for the day that will brush the battle, the fighters, the blood spilled, aside, turning them from rock to ash, turning Anon into who he was at his highest. This day that he longed for, for just too long, is soon to come, and he knows about it.

He just has to wait.

“ Just one more degree, just one more… ”

 

***

 

“ The unnoticed beauty of day-to-day life. ”

It was a typical Sunday. The sun glistened in the windows. Wind wandered around in slow pace, bringing in smells from across the street. Its purity was of those things a man can barely comprehend. Standing outside, one can feel the entirety of Volcaldera Bluffs opening to him, feel the city under his feet. In this dire moment, the silent observer feels a breeze, coming in from the ocean. Bliss slowly crosses the mind in two, covering trails of any worries. Reciprocating the world with a word no one knows.

Anon was sitting inside his apartment, recording himself playing on a guitar. Despite not having any good equipment, a proper camera for example, his improvisation played well for him. He knows the music he plays, and thus strums the strings with a feather-like ease. His mind is clear of any thought, focused entirely on playing this six-string beast. It was his fourth attempt at trying to play the song entirely without any mistakes, solely relying on memory. Hard, but achievable, and by that fourth attempt he nailed the song down to perfection.

After stopping the recording and waiting as the footage transfers from his phone to now a proper PC setup, Anon looked down at the guitar lying on his laps. He looked over it again and again, examined it thoroughly, desiring to bring that pain in his shin back, but despite all his efforts, nothing happened. He looked over it, knew who held it, knew how much that person felt about this guitar, and yet he doesn’t feel anything, as if he completely forgot. The memories remain intact, he still remembers his past, but now doesn’t feel anything about it. Anon doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or not, but it's nice to not feel any pain in his shin.

The footage transferred. Anon put the guitar aside, put the phone on charge and moved his focus to the PC and the pirated copy of a known video editor. After some simple editing, he got a little video – a snippet of his practice sessions. After the video was rendered, Anon, before uploading it online, decided to spend some time watching some good Volcaldera Bluffs content there. Scrolling down in the recommended section, Anon soon spotted something rather strange. Nothing of the video, or, at least, the preview, didn’t say that it was strange: just a masculine dinosaur pointing a gun somewhere down the range. The title also didn’t sound strange: “FROM 1911 TO ALIEN: Getting to know how to operate handguns!”, – from what Anon knew about the gun side of YouSnoot, it sounded rather optimistic. With nothing else to do, he clicked on it.

And what he saw first was rather surprising. A background consistent of mainly yellow and occasional black supports the upload date of 16 th of October. The sky, or at least the little there was, was overcast. On the front there was a jeep with an open empty trunk, showcasing barely visible firearms – the subject of this video. A dino on the right, with a rather sexy mustache, dry fires an SMG. All of that doesn’t sound rather surprising. Except for one being on the left.

On the left, in his usual outwear, holding a phone, which serves him as a microphone, sitting with his unusual serious gaze and staring down the camera, – on the left was Curtis.

To say Anon was surprised – is to remain in an awkward silence that would last just a tad bit more than needed after committing something definitely unexpected in front of beloved friends. Which, speaking normally, means – to say nothing. Curtis as the main character of the video. Of the video with over two million views. Of the video, posted on a channel with over three hundred thousand subscribers. Definitely a sight to see.

— If you believe, – Curtis says in the video, – that this video will be objective and constructive, you’re wrong. I’ve never fired a proper sidearm before. I didn’t even Gruugle it. – A cut. – I’m not even going to Gruugle it. – He and his partner turn to the camera and shake their heads.

Anon watched the video entirely, and came to his senses a couple seconds after it finally stopped. It was hard for him to wrap his mind around this. Curtis is a guntuber. Curtis is a guntuber with a huge audience. Does this audience know about his musical side? If so, then why is the band so miniscule on the musical radar of Volcaldera Bluffs? There’s just too much for it. Anon craves for a proper answer, and what’s a better answer than an answer of the guntuber himself.

 

Are you secretly making gun vids online?

 

The response is almost immediate.

 

OH, YOU FOUND OUT ABOUT IT?!

 

Curtis sends several laughing emojis.

 

Yeah, I do make these vids. In fact, I was doing them waaaaay before music!

 

Now that is just sick. – Anon thought. – Having a popular guntuber as a friend – who else has this privilege? Anon feels calm and reassured, the surprise gnawing inside brushes away like dust.

Curtis is typing something long…

 

And since you’ve found out about it, why don’t you show up to the gun range? Just hit me, I’ll get you right away!

 

Anon thought about it for a quick second before replying. In some wicked way, some shooters, especially those who were aiming for maximal realism and replication of our saddening reality, taught him a thing or two about shooting guns. The only missing part was the feel of the recoil, the weight of the weapon, the smell of burnt gunpowder. And now he was given an opportunity to shoot some guns with his friend. And maybe even get one into his own hands. The feeling is near orgasmic.

Anon types:

 

Fuck yeah.

 

***

 

And now they are here. An open field in the depths of Volcaldera Bluffs. Several targets downrange, already malnourished from all the lead they’ve eaten. The sun on the clean blue sky radiates hope for the future that no one thinks about at the current moment. On the table near Anon are several different weapons, from a pistol to an LMG – all in possession of Curtis and his father, the owner of this range and an avid 2 nd Amendment advocate. Of all the American things out there – this, potentially, could be the biggest American thing.

Curtis waits, as Anon throws his gaze from one gun to another.  He could just take one and begin firing away down the range, but he values his wrists. And the problem was – all the guns look rather heavy, powerful, chambered in a caliber that kicks in with raw recoil like a mule. The other side of this problem is that Anon is afraid to ask Curtis to bring him some less powerful guns, so the curve of his gun knowledge would grow a bit differently. Soon, after what seemed the longest minute in their lives, Anon finally took the Desert Eagle – the only pistol there was.

— So you know a bit about how to operate a gun, yeah? – Curtis asked.

— A little bit. – Anon replied.

— I’ll stand behind you, support you if anything goes downhill.

Anon took his position, Curtis stood behind him, arms ready to catch him if he was done for from the recoil. Anon takes on the sound-proof headphones, looks at the Deagle in his hand. Several pounds of processed stainless steel. An instrument of surrender. A legacy in the world of art. Anon put the second hand on the grip, and while keeping the finger off the trigger looked down the range through the iron sights. In games they were barely readable, but in reality they are just fine. Then Anon took off the safety, checked the chamber, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

An explosion of a shot easily pierced through the sound-proof headphones. Eyes managed to capture the little moment of the gigantic muzzle flash. The slide racked forward at what felt the speed of sound, almost hitting Anon in the face. The gun almost flew out of his hands, but he managed to control it. After a few seconds of silence, looking down onto the gun he just experienced in real life, he began feeling weird in his wrists. As if something is missing, or, what’s worse, something is added.

Curtis patted him on the shoulder to bring him back into the senses. Anon gave him the gun.

— It’s your first time firing a gun. – Curtis explained with a tone of an avid gun nut. – And of all the guns you could’ve fired, you fired the Deagle. Which is, like, the biggest pistol there is right now.

— Didn’t you make a video about a .50 BMG pistol?

— That was a rifle, turned into a pistol. And this is a pistol right away. There’s a distinct difference.

Anon nodded.

In the following hour, they both fired a lot of different weapons, wasting so much ammunition that the government could cry. Curtis, as much as the person that values fun over most things could tell and teach, told and taught Anon the basics of operating a firearm properly. In competition and automatic fire, in the clank of the AK and the clonk of the MG42 – they both had fun they barely could achieve before. But soon they both got tired, and so they returned to the car. Before leaving the range, Curtis gave his dad a call to report to him about what they did at the range and if there were any emergencies.

And now they were driving home.

— So, only you own such a big channel? – Anon asked.

— Hm? Whaddya mean? – Curtis asked back.

— I mean, are you the only “yousnooter” in the band?

— Oh, of course not! Everyone in our band owns a channel.

— For example…?

— Trent. Little did you know, he was not only a musical nut, but also a technology nut. Especially sound technology. That’s why he’s so thorough when it comes to finding a studio and new recording equipment. And that’s why his thoroughness pays off all the time. Cause he knows what to pick and what to not. He owns a channel, barely reaching fifty thousand subscribers, but the way he does it makes me believe that he will reach the number in no time. Besides, he does videos regularly on the weekends and has a lot of material to talk about, while I am doing them at least once a month and barely care about the editing and other shit. Mostly relying on me as a person with a heat of passion.

Anon nodded after carefully listening to this prolonged monologue.

— So, that means Nick also has a channel?

Curtis sucked some air through his teeth.

— That’s… I’ll just tell you that I don’t know. She never brings it up. Even in the conversation about them. Maybe she has a channel, maybe she doesn’t. Who knows.

— Oh… Well, count me in. I brought my little account into my life.

— Oh, nice! And what type of content do you do?

— Just musical shit. Like snippets and other things.

— Oh, right, right, right…

Soon, the car stopped at Noah Arc, but Anon was not in the mood of leaving the car. In some moment he felt like speaking something Curtis never expected out of him, something so out of pocket he would question his own existence. And what is the best out of pocket thing than what Anon had to experience?

Anon sat, almost static, and that made Curtis worry. He gave him time to collect his thoughts, but it went on for just too long.

— Mate, you alright? – Curtis asked, looking at Anon directly. – You don’t look hot.

Anon turned to him, looking at Curtis with either hope or despair.

— You remembered something bad? – Curtis guessed.

— Yeah.

— Mind telling me? I promise to not spill it out.

Anon threw his gaze aside, thinking. Curtis, worried, gave him a slight pat on the shoulder.

— You know that keeping everything inside yourself is bad, right? No reason to bottle it up. Trust me, you can tell me anything – I’ll hold it a secret between us.

Anon looked back at him. After careful thinking, he decides to tell him the little truth there was:

— Right now you are talking to the national hero that “stopped” the shooting of Volcano High.

To say the least, Curtis was shocked. His eyes widened, his pupils, already small and insane, retracted even more, into little dots.

— But… I don’t think that I’ve stopped anything. In fact, I dealt more damage than people think. Because in some way I caused it.

Curtis was at loss for words. Of all the things he expected to hear, this is the least expected.

— Why didn’t you tell us before? – Curtis muttered.

— Because whenever I remembered it, I felt pain in my shin. Where I was shot at. The less I thought about it, the less I felt pain. But now… since I don’t feel any pain… I consider telling that Nick.

Curtis went silent yet again. Barely believing what he had heard.

— You will not say it to anyone, yes? – Anon asked.

— This is not the thing that one can just drop on people out of nowhere. – Curtis said.

Whatever Curtis meant by this, Anon took that as a “yes” and soon left the car, thus leaving Curtis to ponder upon the truth he had listened to and the truth he didn’t expect to hear.

"The age of enlightenment."