“ Carried away by peace. ”

February flew by, and the spring rolled over the corner. Peeled in slowly, like a predator, approaching its prey. The coldness retreated into nights, the sun returned its gleaming power, and the sky looked ever so bright and clean. Anon, despite previously not noticing much of a difference, liked this slow process of change. There are so many similarities between him and nature – slow changes from cold to warm, melting the mental barriers and opening from a different side. Anon feared this changing, but soon understood that his fear was completely pointless and childish. At the end, he has his friends, who will help him the same way he helped them.

The day at the university went rather uneventful, aside from yet another confrontation between him and Sage. Anon can't understand why she is so mad at him. Her rage seems out of place, as if she is constantly fighting with Nick for his love – Sage has Leo, who she loves unconditionally and barely consciously. Leo, on the other hand, brightened so much that he would make enough solar electricity to support a small town. He turned absolutely oblivious about the constant verbal shanking between Anon and Sage, and only interferes whenever everything turns completely pale. Anon liked this, and hoped he would approach Sage one day and tell her something so that all of this baleful anger will be transformed into peace.

And now, sitting in the car with “Tennant” at his (now beloved) shotgun seat, he is reading away, delving into the little world turned into words. Lately, he was reading much more than he ever thought he would, in the span of several months he read more than ten different books, of varying genres and difficulty. Nick was also slowly getting into reading, choosing some casual drama and romance novels. Anon likes everything that is going right now, having one more reason to stay at Nick's little apartment, preparing for some test and lab works and sharing thoughts about read books.

Suddenly, Anon felt some tension in the salon. The deafening silence, with a quiet ambience of the streets outside the closed windows, was worrying. Everyone in the back was doing their own things, mainly sitting on the phone scrolling away to pass time. Anon looked at Curtis, and noticed some strange tension in his expression. He was thinking about something to share with the band – and something, he knows, they don't really want to hear.

— Curtis? – Anon asked.

— Hm? – Curtis pronounced, not being distracted.

— You have something on his mind?

Curtis shook his head a bit. Anon wasn't convinced.

— Don't hide it. – Anon said. – It'll only get worse.

Curtis thought, then pulled the car aside, parked it, put his hands on the laps and sighed.

— Guys... – Curtis said. – I'm tired of playing grindcore.

His words surprised the band. The least expected.

— What? – Anon said.

— Elaborate. – Nick said.

— Look, guys, – Curtis explained. – I get it that we settled down to create the band and we decided that we are not playing anything besides technical grindcore. As fast as we could. And we are the fastest band in the town, but what comes after that? What can we achieve? And, besides, I feel like I... grew out of it. I want to slow down, guys. I want to hit hard, not fast.

Curtis' words felt reasonable and like something that should've been said long ago. Everyone in the band was tired of playing it, even Anon and Abby.

— And what do you want for the band to change into? Do you have any ideas? – Nick asked.

— When I get home, – Curtis said, – I'll forward some albums that I've been listening to lately. You'll get the general idea. And then we will hold a vote about this.

— I don't think we'll need one. – Anon said.

— Why's that? – Curtis looked at Anon.

— Because all of us are tired. – Anon said.

— Dude, you are in the band for half a year... – Trent said.

— Just the fact that you've founded the band doesn't mean I'm not allowed to feel the same thing, Trent! – Anon said, a bit frustrated. – We are equal. All of us.

— Anon, please, calm down. – Nick said.

— Sorry, mate. You're right. – Trent said after a second of thinking.

The salon was hit with a hungry growl of someone's stomach. Everyone looked at each other, trying to find out who it was, and soon every gaze was locked onto Abby, almost blending in the dark corner of the salon. She wasn't blushing, only looking down at her feet.

— Yeah, I forgot to eat this morning. – she said.

— I'm kinda feeling hungry too. – Curtis said.

Anon looked into his window, and as if on cue noticed a diner.

— I guess we won a jackpot. – Anon said, pointing out the diner to Curtis.

Curtis looked at the diner for a second, then smiled.

— Yeah, we did. – he said.

The crew got out and made their way into the diner. It was rather retro, having a 60-s aesthetics. Bright colors pierce their eyes. Students in aprons, their tired gazes are a sight to see. The crew made their orders, sat at the table and began waiting.

— I guess we really need to change. – Nick stated. – Cause I'm not doing shit if my friends aren't feeling fine.

Trent only nodded. Curtis sharply took out his phone and started typing away, soon sharing the albums he talked about in the car. Anon took a listen – every album Curtis shared was rather heavy, slow, claustrophobic. Something that sounds rather reasonable in the perspective of changing the sound in the band.

— Oh wow. You really want to slow down. – Nick said, then raised her gaze at Curtis.

Curtis nodded. Soon, two waiters, holding their trays filled with food, came to the band's table and placed the cheap and greasy delight. The band, sorting out the food, began eating. Anon looked around, watching how his friends ate the food. Is it true that they can eat half a burger in one bite? – he thought.

— Okay... – Curtis said, his mouth stuffed with food. – Since we... finally decided what to do... – He then audibly swallowed the food. – Let's make an equipment upgrade.

Nick looked at Curtis with light excitement. Trent, on the other hand, wasn't so enthusiastic.

— Because it's not always about how we play, – Curtis explained, – but it's also about with what and where we play. Get the idea?

Nick and Trent nodded.

— We already settled the question about “where”. Now it's time for the question about “what”. I suggest we make a budget and take it from there. Each and every last one of us will put some money into it in order for us to get equally good equipment. If we will have some cash left – we'll get some peripherals. I put my feet down with twenty five hundred bucks. More than enough for me to get new heads and cymbals.

— I'll put one K dollars into this. – Trent said.

— Not more than five hundred dollars, sorry. – Abby said.

— Me – seven hundred and fifty. – Nick said.

Curtis looked at Anon.

— You have some cash, Anon? – Curtis asked.

— Three thousand. – Anon answered.

Now everyone looked at him, with visible shock.

— Three grand? – Nick said, not believing what she had heard.

— Mate, how? – Curtis said.

— I was working as a barista, you know? Besides that, I worked before entering Volcano Uni. So... I have it lying around.

This little surprise lightened the mood of the team.

After finishing the meal, the band returned into the car and drove off to the studio. The sun shined brighter than ever, even though it was just the beginning of March. The sky was clean, like an ocean in a different plateau of reality. Of all the seasons, Anon liked this spring – an early spring, that gleams of virginal pure beauty. A man, desiring for his soul to be clean as this sky and to shine like this sun, will only die trying, as he tries to catch something he is allowed only to see, to witness. This deserves an additional note into the diary. – Anon thought.

The crew made it to the studio. The car stopped, and everyone was soon leaving the salon, except for Curtis.

— Curtis? – Anon asked before heading out.

Curtis looked at Anon for a second, thinking, then said:

— You know what? Fuck the idea about budget. – Curtis said. – That forces us in some kind of shackles, to be honest.

Anon couldn't find a response for that, so he just nodded. Curtis reached inside his pocket, fished out the key and gave it to Anon.

— I'll drive off for a bit. I have some things to check out. Meanwhile you open the studio, tell them what I've said and... don't die of boredom until I arrive.

Anon nodded again and took the key. He left, and Curtis almost immediately drove off. Anon turned, noticed Nick, standing on the staircase, looking back at him with a question in her eyes.

— What happened? – she asked.

Anon approached the staircase, descended and opened the door into the studio.

— Curtis just dropped the idea about budgeting. – Anon said. – Told me it's limiting us. I guess we will have to buy everything on our own.

— Okay, but why did he drove off? – Trent asked.

— Told me he had something to check out. Maybe it's about drums.

The crew made its way into the recording room. Trent and Abby stayed in the mixing room, talking about the apparatus used to capture and mix the music. Meanwhile Anon and Nick got their guitars up and running.

— Wait a sec. – Nick suddenly said, and looked at Anon. – How about you get behind a drumset? Let's jam, while we're alone.

Anon thought for a bit, then nodded, took off the guitar strap and got behind the drumset.

— Just anything that comes to my mind? – Anon clarified and took the drumsticks.

— Yeah, I'm following you.

Anon gave out a quiet jazzy beat. Nick listened to it, and then began strumming the guitar accordingly. The melody they are producing was reassuring, soothing, claustrophobic – just like what Curtis sent in the diner. Soon, the melody changed, and it became quicker, heavier. The dissonance pierced the walls. Nick screamed out random lines she found in her head, influenced by the played melody. And soon, the apogee – a prolonged and a bit painful blast beat from Anon and a beautiful, dramatic, dissonant melody from Nick. In this melody, they both were on the edge of something unseen, something they were afraid of. And now they are dancing their little waltz on this edge, awaiting to embrace this unknown and fiery tomorrow.

The melody slowed down, came to a halt. The silence arose from the floor level, soon soaking everything in deafening nothingness. Anon sat, moving his right wrist in different directions. In some positions he felt a bit of pain. The drumsticks were lying on the snare, looking worn and soon to break. Maybe I've ripped something. – Anon thought. – I really hope I didn't, but this pain makes me worry. Eh, I'll sleep it off – if it won't go away, then I'll actually worry.

Suddenly, he heard a sob. Anon got up to look at Nick, only to see her hiding her face in her hands. Clearly, she was crying. Because she has shown what was possibly the most secretive of her sides. Seeing her like this opened a dull pain laceration inside Anon's soul. He slowly approached her, cautiously pulled her into his hug. Feeling his body, clasped her hands around him, crying into his jacket. Anon, looking aside, quietly told her:

— It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

She, sobbing, quietly replied:

— Thank you...

Her being was as fragile as a porcelain doll. All that matters is her. – Anon thought, and this thought reflected in him with a soft whisper of good karma.

Slowly, she composed herself enough to pull out of his hug. Her hands were placed around his shoulders.

— Fucking hell... That's the fourth time this has happened. – she said, smiling fragilely.

— I didn't count. – Anon said.

The silence arose between them for a quick second, before Anon said:

— Now I should learn how to growl.

She looked at Anon, her eyes a bit surprised. He looked back, saying with his gaze for her to become his teacher. She thought for a second, her gaze tossed aside, then said:

— I could teach you, yeah.

Anon nodded, smiling a bit.

In the following half an hour, Nick tried to teach Anon how to growl. At first he felt pain, but with each and every new take the pain went away, and the growls became heavier and cleaner (if that characteristic can be applied to such a dirty thing). Anon called quits after what was fiftieth take, to what Nick, cheeky smiling, said:

— At least you don't sound like a horny cougar.

Anon nodded.

— Just remember, – Nick said, – practice makes the best!

She suddenly went silent for five seconds, thinking.

— Now that I think about it... A second vocalist... You definitely will have deep vocals... I guess you can take the lead, playing the guitar and singing, but what will I do?

— Back vocals? Operatic? Third guitar? – Anon suggested.

— Back vocals and operatic sounds good, but we should discuss it with our crew. Third guitar just sounds ridiculous.

— Not really. Some bands have a lot of guitarists.

And, besides, you'll be doing something.

— Maybe I'll just take the guitar from you? What do you think?

— Nah, I'm fine.

— Ugh, alright... Third guitar then. We'll discuss it with our mates when Curtis gets back.

Anon and Nick joined Abby and Trent for a small talk and a can of soda before Curtis finally arrived. His appearance in the doorframe was surprising.

— Mates, help me out here. - he said, panting a bit.

Anon and Trent got up, leaving Abby and Nick to talk. With Curtis, they have brought a brand new kit, with some new cymbals to produce really heavy, decapitating sound. With a bit of assistance from Trent, Curtis removed the old drums and placed new ones. Then he replaced the old cymbals with the new ones. Then it was a typical drum check and tuning. All of this took around an hour.

—...But this is a total find! – Curtis said and placed his hand on the thick ride cymbal. – Earth Ride Brilliant Finish, from the eighties! Cost a fair load of buckaroos, but it's here.

Anon nodded. Trent quickly approached Anon and Curtis.

— Curtis, help me out here real quick. – Trent said.

Curtis got down and walked off into the mixing room with Trent. Anon, while he had the moment, decided to take a seat behind the brand new drumset.

It was much heavier, denser and punchier than before. Made precisely with intention to hurt. Anon hit every part, from drums to cymbals, checking out the absurdly burdening sound. Something that Curtis definitely was looking for, for a long time.

Of all the cymbals, Anon was interesting – a second ride, on the left. Curtis said that it was sold to him as a “vintage 70-s ride”, thus the worn look and no markings on the front. Anon nodded to Curtis' words, but didn't really believe it. Anon took the cymbal off the stand and looked at it. Nothing so far. And then he turned it to the back, to notice the "Paiste" logo – definitely modern. He got scooped. – Anon thought, looking at the logo.

He looked around and noticed Curtis and Trent, blabbing about their usual things. Anon thought about telling him. What if he gets mad? – he thought. – Eh, fuck it, it's the least I'm expecting from him. Honesty is the best policy.

— Curtis! Come up here, mate, I have something to show you! – Anon said.

Curtis nodded to Trent and got up to the drumset and Anon, who was still holding the cymbal.

— Yeah? – Curtis said.

— So, you remember you've told me that this cymbal was a vintage one? – Anon asked, and shook the cymbal in his hands.

Curtis nodded.

— Check the back. – Anon said and gave the cymbal to Curtis.

He took the cymbal and checked the back, noticing the logo. His face changed, filled with utter shock. He turned the cymbal to the front and checked out the engraved markings. And after a second – burst out laughing hysterically.

— It's not a 70-s vintage! It's an absolutely trashed modern one! – he said between laughing. – Oh man, I was scooped big time!

He put the cymbal back onto the stand and slowly calmed down, still keeping a smile.

— And you know what? – Curtis asked. – I'm not returning it! I played with it more than it was valued!

Anon nodded.

— Eh... So, that's a lesson for you, mate! Always double check. Always!

 

***

 

Soon, the night rolled around, and Anon was sitting with the crew inside the car. The crew was lightheaded from all the little pre-production work they had begun. It seems that the first album, which they have named “ Apraxia ”, will be made in less time than they’ve anticipated, due to Nick and Trent sharing some demos they’ve made a really long time ago. It’s always nice to have something from the past that can surely be used in the future – just like these demos.

Slowly passing through the night streets, Curtis made it to Noah Arc. The car stopped at Anon’s apartment complex. Anon hid his phone in the pocket and shook hands with everyone in the car. Wishing everyone a safe road and a good night, he left the car. Almost immediately it peeled off, delivering other passengers to places farther than he knew. He stood and watched as it drove off, and when it finally disappeared, Anon walked away to the apartment complex.

He entered the manmade anthill, and his first step inside was really hard, as if his legs were filled with lead. His head was also heavy – heavy with thoughts that he left aside while brainstorming the first album in “ new life of “Tennant” ”. Through force, he made it to the lift and pressed the button. The doors opened, and he stepped inside. After pressing the button of his floor, the doors closed off, and after a second the lift began to rise.

Sooner than he thought, the lift stopped and soon opened its doors. Anon walked outside, looked around, and his eyes caught a giant tall box standing near his door. A package? For me? – Anon thought, not believing what he was seeing. He remembered the line that Curtis said to him: always check twice. With little power he had left, Anon slowly approached the box and read what was on it. It was addressed to him.

Anon looked around, thinking someone was watching him. What if this is a joke? A prank? And what if it is stuffed with dynamite? – Anon thought. – Oh boy, I really don’t want to die today – I’m already dead from all the thinking. Soon, the thoughts about the box suddenly left his already filled head, and he forgot about any paranoia about the contents he had. He opened the door and dragged the box inside.

Now he was sitting on his bed, looking down at this mysterious parcel. It was addressed to him, and was really heavy. The sender was unknown, and that was the reason to worry. The paranoia about the contents of this box soon reentered. His mind, wiped clean a mere second ago, soon was filled with all the dreadful, nervous thoughts about what could be inside. Anon sat like this for around a minute, until he had enough – he stood up, got the kitchen knife, sat down on his knees and cut open the box.

What he saw first, blending with all the white plastic foam filling, was an envelope. He took it, sat back on the bed, ripped it open and took out two notes. Both of them were folded almost perfectly. Without deciding much, he opened one and began reading:

 

“Anon,

It has been quite a while since my daughter deceased. And, for what I believe, it is just about time to finally write you something.

I will not lie to you this time, for the first few months I blamed you and only you for what took place in our lives. I thought that you forced her hand to do such an atrocity. It even came to the point that if I would see you outside, I would rip you in half and toss your body into the sea.

But after that, thinking about that disaster, I came to a realization that it wasn’t your fault. I know, I know, it doesn’t sound reassuring, but just think about this – maybe the odds weren’t stacked in your favor in the first place, and the game was just rigged from the very beginning?

Don’t be too hard on yourself and try to understand what I’ve said here. And after all this – hold on to be better, each and every day.

Sincerely,

R. A.”

 

R. A.? The acronym is familiar, and the fact that whoever wrote this knew about Anon and about this disaster made this only worse. Anon tried to think about who could possibly write to him, but he failed – all the silhouettes that appeared inside his mind were foggy, and the pain in his shin quickly became unbearable. He settled the read note aside, unfolded the second note and read it:

 

“Dear Anon.

How are you? I hope that you are doing rather well. I heard that you’ve managed to get inside Volcano University. Is that true? And if it is, I’m really happy for you. Like your own dear mother would.

But enough with these lyrical sidesteps. So much time passed between this moment and that horrific day. It was (and still is) hard to admit that that day will forever be etched inside my biography, but I managed to accept it.

I hope that by the time you are reading this you have made your mind about what happened. I am sure that you blame yourself, but I want you to know that me and my husband do not blame you. It was not your fault. Not in primary, not in secondary.

We understand you tried to do your best. You tried to adapt, you went out of your way to help our little tooth fairy. But life… It is the hardest subject to understand.

This parcel we’ve sent your way is our little present for you.

And remember, whatever you may think about yourself and no matter how much you blame yourself – you can still return to home of peace. It will always let you in.

Please visit her grave sometime later. And give us a visit too, while we still have time.

Sincerely,

S. A.”

 

Now it is all clear. Anon understands who sent him this parcel, who wrote those reassuring and supportive notes to him. Still, it is hard for him to wrap his head around this. They have gone out of their way to tell him something that he believes is complete bullshit. What goal did they have in mind when they did this? It is really hard to understand. Or maybe it is one of those things that don’t really require any understanding – only accepting that they have happened?

Anon set the two notes aside and reached inside the package. He felt something – he grabbed it and pulled it out. Tossing all the plastic foam filling aside, he held an old guitar – her electric guitar. He settled it beside himself, reached inside again, soon pulling out another guitar – her acoustic guitar. Then again – pulling out a bass – her bass.

He settled all the instruments on his bed, moving the notes to the table and the cardboard with plastic foam filling – into the trash bin. He looked at them, barely comprehending the reality he’s in. Of all the people they could give this to, they picked Anon. Anon, who blames himself for inaction, for cowardice, for treachery. Anon, who blames himself for disrupting a good life and not even trying to help. Anon, who blames himself for what happened that god forsaken day.

With little power he had, he reached for his phone, opened the group chat. Not thinking: he typed: “ Abby and I won’t be needing new instruments. Just got a good ass deal .”

“ Carried away by hope .”