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Well, this is it. Tonight’s your big night, the night that could make you famous. Tonight is your (and your band’s) first real gig. This night could set you down the same that rock legends followed before, or send you plummeting down among the numbers of rock ‘n roll rejects. And here you are, standing out in front of all of your fears, feeling almost naked if it hadn’t been for the guitar slung across your front.
Anxiety gnaws at your stomach, but it’s not from the hundreds of adoring fans or even the song you’re going to perform. No… you’ve had a look at the jumping crowd and they all look the same, you’ve heard the song thousands of times before and it is Easy.
No… it’s your fellow band members that worry you. Do they even know your name? Or were you just another kid who could barely play the guitar? There’d been an add in the paper for the job, and you’d simply taken it! How were you supposed to know if the other members liked you? The drummer was huge- and probably pretty damn capable to beat you into a bloody pulp if messed up a note. The bass player could have easily been mistaken for a yeti with all that hair on his face- and if he was related for some reason, you didn’t want to get into any family business.
“Don’t worry, kid.” A tall woman with blond dreadlocks steps out from behind the curtain, brushing your hair with her long hand as she passes. Dammit! It took you hours to make your hair look like you just got out of bed! She’s well in front of you now, positioned in front of the microphone. Oh… that’s right… it’s her, the female singer who wore tall boots and fishnet stocking like a normal person would wear socks with sneakers. The woman barely attended any of the practices, but then again, most of the songs needed to be sung by guys.
What’s with her? Telling you not to worry? Why won’t she just mind her own business like the rest of the band? You can’t help but notice her belly shirt, tiny jacket, and equally tiny mini-skirt. Well, you certainly knew there was a word for people who dressed like that, but nobody in the crowd seemed to jeer it at her.
Hands on the microphone, the singer craned her head over her should to grin at you through her thickly painted red lips. Her hoop earrings dangled when her head turned (only adding more proof to the degrading word), but after what she said next, you couldn’t believe you’d thought to call her that in the first place. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll be a Guitar Hero in no time.”
She couldn’t have known that she’d set the spark of your inspiration as she turned her head back to the crowd. The drums started. The bass started. Your solo started. The woman sung, and you hit the notes as they came out you, not missing a single one.
Maybe there really was somebody alongside every upcoming hero after all.