“ The clock continues ticking. Be like the clock – continue going forward. ”

The first ever show after a half-year long hiatus. The first ever show in a proper tour, that will last for a week. Four shows in seven days – their absolute limit, their safest option. The tickets were sold out, the merch also received a boost in sales. They barely believe that they got so popular, but the reality knocks them down from their sheets, making them face the utmost truth there could possibly be. This state of joyful confusion brought blissful obliviousness, but the band quickly caught that compromised feeling, looking at every possible outcome not with anticipation, but with a proper sober look. It is their first time playing in a different city, far away from Volcaldera Bluffs – and they are willing to give their best for it.

The sedan they are in, courtesy of Curtis, is revving like an unleashed monster, but inside they feel nothing but the stiff air with a decent smell of gasoline and metallic ozone and utter tense silence. Two miles left until they reach the city, the amount of benzine in the car is more than enough to reach their destination. The feelings are the same they have felt before – joyful anticipation and high hopes. But now there was a new addition to the palette – confusion and fear of the unknown. Typical thing for someone doing something for the first time, despite having enough experience.

Everyone in the band thought differently. Abby was the most silent, she thought that everything will go as is, as planned, with no deviation for good or for bad. Her thoughts were, to say the least, the most sober and rational, but boring and uneventful. Trent thought that everything would go fine too, but unlike Abby he hoped he would strike them all down with a sound those people never knew outside from online space. Nick was constantly asking herself a simple, but the most frightening question – what if? This little question brought so much opportunity both for good and bad. Curtis was tense, he was a soldier – he was prepared for anything that could come. And Anon?

Anon was delved into different dimensions. He didn’t care how the show would play – amazing or terrible. He didn’t care about how they would perform on the stage. He didn’t care how much popularity they would gain. He thought about something else – and, yes, it was his past. No matter how much he avoids it, it seems that the past was engraved into his cornea, so deep no mind cleansing machine would remove this sorrow pattern. He tries not to think, but the absence of usual pain in his shin allows him to traverse his past with ease.

And there is no need to guess why he does that. The nostalgia from one beautiful moment, on the background of constant depression and pain from ten horrific moments. A tradeoff, to hold the balance steady. He could do something else – he had books, he had friends, he had many other things to think about in the end – but of all the things he chooses to delve deeper into his past, traverse the grid of the places he so desperately tried to forget, meet the silhouettes of people he so thoroughly tried to brush away.

Anon knows, from the outside perspective his constant thinking about the past, despite how far he is now from it, looks like he is begging for some attention. But Anon is silent, Anon does not ask for assistance from others – he knows the reason, he knows the needed action, he knows the possible solution. Why does he do that then – because he wants to feel something new about it, think about it from a different eyesight; because he wants to know what caused what. And, in the end, because it is him, and this little territory of a high school and people he knew inside of it – is just yet another part of his huge novel about himself. As where he is now is something he writes down as little phrases in his diary.

Soon, the city made its way into the windows. The urbanistic landscape opened its cold arms, pulling in yet another being into its toxic hug. The sea of buildings, holding people inside like prisoners, in little apartments that those people could call “their territory”. Many, many different shops, so many that the eyes hurt from this colorful capitalism. People wander around on the streets, as blood cells in veins of this city. Anon knows this, because he is a part of it. An alien part.

And sooner than they thought, the band reached the hotel, where they shall stay for this night. The show is tomorrow, and they need to rest rather well, to give out their best. Curtis parked the car, and the band left the salon, grabbing little of their belongings from the trunk. They walked into the chill hall of the hotel, asked for two rooms for two days, and, after receiving their keys, made their way upstairs and into the rooms they got.

To say the least, the little apartment was good. No mold spreading on the walls, no dust wandering like tumbleweed on the floor, the lights were fine, the water was good – the bottom line of comfort was crossed. The hotel definitely cares about their visitors. – Anon thought, as he sat down on a couch in the little living room.

— I thought I was going to die there. – Nick said, with a relaxed sigh, sinking into the couch near Anon.

— Me too. – Anon said.

For a second, the silence returned.

— Say, what do you feel about what will come? – Nick asked, looking at Anon.

— Hm? – Anon muttered.

— I mean, the show! – Nick said with awe, stretching her hands outwards as if trying to grasp something out of reach and looking at the imaginary object she tried to hold. – Far away from Volcaldera Bluffs! In an unknown city! You ought to feel at least something about it.

Anon thought for a second.

— Not really.

Nick looked at him and flapped her hands back onto the sofa with a distinct childish dismay.

— Why’s that? – she asked.

— I mean, what’s the big difference? What’s so different about this show and many others?

— We are in a different place, that’s the big difference! We are playing outside of Volcaldera Bluffs! Possibly even for a bigger crowd on a proper outside scene!

— So what? I get that you’re happy that we managed to go this far. I’m not saying I’m disappointed – I just don’t know what I should be happy about. This is our typical progression.

Nick jabbed him into his shoulder with a light fist.

— Man, sometimes you’re boring as hell. – she said with no anger.

Anon chuckled. Suddenly, Nick grabbed her stuff and stood up.

— You’re hungry? – she asked, walking into the kitchen.

Anon could reply negatively, but, from this singular word, his stomach roared like a grizzly bear.

— I’ll take that as a yes. – she said; somehow she heard the noise.

Anon stood up. While Nick prepares something in the kitchen, he decides to spend some time alone, in a room.

He opened the door and entered. Fresh starched bedsheets, a beautiful view out of the clean window, the soothing silence… Anon feels a strange presence of a ghost – a ghost of a writer. It doesn’t feel out of place, because this room definitely feels like something where a proper writer would stay. He also feels like this ghost slowly enters his body, giving him a strange power to write. Maybe that ghost was waiting for someone to enter, – Anon thought, – to give them something they have died for. Isn’t writing a curse…

Before Anon manages to take a seat at the sturdy black wood table, shining in the absent ray of the slowly settling sun, to settle various things he picked up for this little journey, Nick comes into the room. Anon, hearing the door open, almost instantly snaps to the doorway, noticing Nick and, what was a bit surprising, an apron she wore.

— I’ve managed to make something. – Nick said. – Come take a bite before it cools off.

Anon nods and stands up. Nick leaves, not closing the door, returning into the kitchen. Anon joins her and from the first step spots a rather delightful looking meal she prepared. Steaming hot. Different ingredients, mixed together into an appetizing meal, made Anon’s stomach rumble.

— I heard ya. – Nick said with a cheeky smile.

Anon smiled back. This feels a bit weird – Nick in an apron, in a little kitchen in a hotel, in a city far away, cooking something for her bandmate who shares this little apartment with her. Anon’s feelings tell him – it isn’t weird. It is romantic. Not that overly used and reused platonic bullshit – actual realistic romance. Anon feels like she would do this to him any time of the day, and, definitely, in the future. In a beautiful future, not so distant from today. Before he made an expression that would clearly tell Nick about his thoughts, he brushed away anything he came up with in this little moment.

Nick settles two plates filled with her cooking and takes a seat, waiting for Anon to sit down with her. He takes a seat and looks down onto the plate. It is, to say the least, delightful. The smell of it brings the only good memory about childhood, almost completely forgotten. Nick looks at him, expectantly, thinking about the expression Anon has on his face, his eyes locked onto the plate with food.

— Appetizing? – she asked.

— Of course it is. – Anon replied, looking back at her.

— You better bite it right now.

Anon nodded, grabbed the metallic utensil and took a singular bite out of the meal. Despite the steaming heat, it felt like something divine. Chewing down at it, he noticed the different bits of the taste, composed together to create something absolutely out of this world.

— So? – Nick asked, expectantly, a bit worried (like a cook).

Anon swallowed.

— You kidding me? This is the best thing I’ve eaten in years. – Anon said.

Nick smiled.

— Glad to hear that.

They began eating, and before Anon knew it, the plate was already done for. It was frustrating how the meal ended so quickly, but the taste was definitely worth it.

He stood up and came with the dirty plate to the metallic sink. The faucet was looking new, fresh out of the factory. Anon turned the water on and brushed the dirty dish in it.

— You definitely had some time to practice. – Anon said.

— Playing music all the time gets really boring. – Nick replied. – Cooking for me is a different dimension, with its own rules and etiquette and shit… And that’s why I picked it.

— Oh, I get it.

Nick finished her plate, washed it, put it aside onto the metallic drainer. Then returned to her seat. For a minute there was silence – silence of Anon thinking and looking into the phone and Nick observing him like a lab subject. She tried to guess what he was thinking about, but his thoughts looked like a thorny jungle.

— It’s strange. – Anon said, all of a sudden.

— What exactly? – Nick said.

— I mean, look at it. We are in this hotel apartment, all alone. In a city far away from Volcaldera. You cooked us a meal. Don’t you sense something in this?

Nick thought for a second.

— Yeah, there definitely is something. Fuck… What do you think it is?

— Romance. – Anon answered with confidence. – And sense like we were prepared for it beforehand.

— You think it is?

— Of course.

Nick sneered.

— It’s funny to think how easy we talk about feelings like this.

— We have our reasons.

— Well, mine is that my ma was a psychiatrist, and because of her I grew interested in thinking about feelings and shit. What is your reason?

Anon thought. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, but there is no proper word to conceal what he wants to say under a veil of mystery. There was only one word that he could say in this situation:

— Experience.

Nick, for a second, went silent.

— Oh, right. You said it before.

— Yeah.

Nick looked at him, and noticed how he looked in a bit of distress. As if he’s in an inner turmoil, constantly thinking about variables and perspectives. Looking at him in this state makes something inside her open with a dull pain. Fuck . – Nick thought. – I can’t just look at him like this.

She took her chair and sat near him. A second later she noticed his hand lying still on the table, and she carefully put hers onto his. His skin was warm, welcoming. He looked at her, and noticed a pair of worried, caring eyes looking back.

— I’m here to listen, Anon. – Nick said. – I want to know your problem, so I could help, like you do all the time. I’m open to you – so please, be open to me too. Let’s be honest, alright? What do you hide under that word? What is it that you don’t want to tell?

Anon knows what she wants from him. A full story about how he got here, from the beginning to the end. Curtis already knows, but he knows only the endgame – Nick wants to know it all. And she sounds genuinely passionate about helping, giving him a shoulder as a pay for him always being out there to help not only her, but the band. She sounds reassuring, willing to help. She is his moon that will show him the path without asking anything in return. But still…

Anon sighed, put his phone aside.

— I guess that’s the hour. – he said. – But before I tell you, tell me – are you sure you want to hear this? This is not a fairy tale that you want to hear.

Nick nodded, confidently, ready. And Anon began his fairy tale. About who he was before, about how he got to Volcaldera Bluffs, about his school love, about everything that happened, about that day, about his nomadic life, about the day he entered the university. He told her everything. Each and every word he uttered felt like a brick falling down into the depths of nothingness – nothingness of who he was. A burden slowly burnt, until there was nothing left.

 

Night. Anon was lying in his bed, looking at the wall in preparation for sleep. Silence was soothing, his mind was at ease – he was prepared to go to sleep for around fifteen minutes, and yet there was something holding him back from plundering into an imaginary world. He told her everything, there was basically nothing to worry about, and yet there was, not allowing him to close his eyes.

What would Nick tell others? Will she tell others in the first place? Will she hold this like a secret, thus become closer to Anon, or will she say it to the first alcoholic like a joke? Will she use it as a tool to abuse Anon, or will she assist him with everything she can do, so he would forget about the troublesome past and focus on today, on how far he got here? Simple, yet unnerving questions. The usual paranoia returns, and the pain in his shin crawls back into the hole it was evicted from.

Suddenly, he heard the door open. He got up on his elbows to look, and noticed Nick, standing near the door in her oversize shirt. She looked sleepy, awoken by something terrible, like a nightmare.

— My room is cold as fuck. Like Antarctica. – Nick said.

— Did you forget to turn off the AC? – Anon asked.

— There isn’t one, and that’s the problem. I don’t know what is wrong with my room. It’s like torture.

His room was cold too, but what would warm someone up better than someone else under a sheet of the blanket? Anon knows where this is going.

— Come on in then. – Anon said.

Nick closed the door, drenching the room in darkness, blindly made her way to the bed and lied down onto the blanket. And almost immediately, like a child, wrapped Anon in her cold scaly hands, leeching his warmth. He hugged her back and finally closed his eyes, dropping into the inalienable dream world.

“ Confusion, soon – clarity. ”

 

***

 

“ Hundreds of unknown eyes. ”

The crowd was bigger than they thought. A mass of people waiting patiently for the band to begin. Their constant talking makes for a good ambience as the band prepares mentally. Mood – light, exciting, prepared. They are ready, just a bit of questions left. This evening would go down in their lives.

Anon looked around. Curtis was talking with Trent about casual stuff, to release all the pressure and set their minds at ease. Abby was just out there, doing her own stuff on her phone. But Nick… She looked rather distressed. She knew that the show would be big, she thought she was prepared, but right now she feels like she’s completely naked in front of not hundreds, but thousands of accusatory eyes. She hid her face in her hands, and Anon didn’t like her looking like this.

Anon tossed his guitar onto his back and slowly approached Nick.

­— You’re alright? – he asked.

She jumped a bit from the surprise. Then she turned to Anon, definitely looking distressed.

— Yeah, I am. – she said.

Anon knew she was lying. She isn’t alright. She’s nervous and afraid of giving a bad show, thus putting the band back into the soil from which they’ve come. Anon, not caring about the witnesses, pulled her into his hug of reassurement. A second later he heard the excited roar and whistle dropping onto them like a tsunami, but he turned the noise off, to focus on her.

— We’re prepared for it. This is our show. – Anon said. – We made it this far, it’s only a bit farther now.

Nick nodded, and after a couple more seconds Anon pulled back. Now she looked like she was ready – her eyes turned carnivorous, her grasp on the guitar was firm. Anon returned to his position at the front microphone, looked back at the rest of the band – they nodded, ready to strike the crowd down. Anon turned to the hoard, hungry for some devastation. Curtis gave the beat and “Tennant” opened their show.

The band was crushing it. The first song they played settled the tone and feelings for the rest of their hour and a half long show. The guitar trio created a sound so dissonant and unnerving, yet so beautiful and dark. Curtis hit his maliciously tuned drums hard, punching through the noise and, possibly, his drum heads. The bass, courtesy of Abby, was just the cherry on top of this gigantic cake of terrifying sound.

And all of it could go fine, if not for Anon and him observing the crowd every time he came to the microphone. In the distance, aside from the bland crowd, he noticed two figures, contrasting with every other figure. They were standing, as if frozen in place, looking directly onto him. A pink raptor and a purple triceratops. Anon knew who they were, and was shocked to see them here, so far away from home, on such a grand day. But he hid his surprise under the gauze of music, continuing playing and not bothering to check whether it was them who he had seen or just a mirage.

“ A silhouette that I know. ”

 

***

 

“ Difference in similarity. ”

The landscapes of Volcaldera Bluffs felt different. As if they were out of this little coastal city not for a week, but for a year or even more. The buildings, the streets, the cars, the people, the infrastructure and the shops – everything was the same, and yet so different. As if someone made the same picture and changed the colors a bit. Maybe it’s because that distant building was finally finished? Maybe it’s because that school on the east has received a renovation? Whatever it was, for Nick and Anon, sitting alone in an apartment, it was a good sight to see.

Her apartment was a bit different from Anon’s. It’s clear she cares about it more than Anon does about him. The floors are shining, the window is clear, the dust on high shelves is barely existent. As if she was preparing for this day to come, like many others. Even this cup of tea they drink in the kitchen, meanwhile talking about various things, was also prepared, and thus had this feeling of anticipated warmth in its taste.

The talk was on various things. Music, university, interests, friends – they wanted to talk, and talk they did. Hours passed, but they kept on talking and talking, drowning themselves in a mutual ocean of words. It was nice, but Anon felt like there’s something he wanted to do – something he didn’t do when they were alone in those hotel apartments they’ve visited in a span of a week. Something important, that would settle the dust of confusion and give a proper answer. To pass the torch from one to another.

Nick soon stopped talking, coming up with a conclusion for something Anon has already lost a string of narrative. She waited for him to say something, drinking from the cup of tea that she refilled for the third time. Anon thought how to put this properly, but decided to go along with something simple and plain, that would definitely work:

— I have something for you.

He saw something light up in Nick’s eyes. A childish anticipation. Excitement.

Anon grabbed the pendant in his pocket and revealed it to her. She looked at it like something Anon held onto for a long time, as it reminded him of someone he saw a long time ago. She took the pendant and put it onto herself. Anon looked at her, realizing how similar she is to her . How the same they both look. And now there is just one more detail to notice. And while Anon thought about the similarities, Nick thought about how much Anon did for her, and how much confusion she brought to him with her constant questioning. She felt a bit sorrowful, but only on the inside, as outside she was gleaming with happiness.

She sharply flung onto Anon, to hug him tightly. He almost fell from his seat, but managed to quickly regain control. This is the last step before the final moment. – Anon thought.

“ Gleam, akin to a distant star .”