So I'm rewriting my Green Day story. Because Chapter 1-9 is absolute sh*t. This is Chapter 1 revised. Does anyone remember my story? Did anyone ever read it??
I’m used the bright lights. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t being showcased, in different ways of course, but still. As I gazed down at the enormous crowd beneath my feet I could feel their energy: rough, enthusiastic, energized. They were all screaming, but not to me. Rather to the man standing five feet away from me. The average height skinny man with jet black hair and skinny jeans screamed across the auditorium through the microphone. “Nobody loves you, everyone left you, they’re all out without you, having fun!” He belts out, causing the crowd to fall into a rage of madness. And that was the end, like the many long nights previous. He waved his guitar in the air and one by one following him, the band members of Green Day, left the stage.
“Great Show guys.” A thin tall guy with ridiculous sideburns, Mike, said to all of us, wiping sweat from him brow.
“It was like the one last night, and the night before, and the night bef....”
“Oh f*ck you, Tre” Mike said teasingly to the mow-hawked goof man who was twirling drum sticks between his fingertips. The man leading us through the halls of backstage was silent. A thoughtful but frustrated scowl crossed his faced; guitar in one hand, while his other hand fiddled with his sweaty mess of hair. I followed behind staring at his sculpted shoulders, tensed. “Billie, are you okay?” I asked hesitantly. He paused for a long time, making a stuttering sound, as if he couldn’t decide what lie to tell me. “Yeah, just still in the zone I guess.” He responded without looking at me. As we stepped onto the tour bus outside, Tre skipped beside me, and began to stare at my breasts, before I could scold him, he said “what’s that” and pointed down. I glanced and he quickly flicked his finger in my face. “Dammit Tre!” and I shoved him into the side of the bus. Him and I were always teasing each other. We were practically siblings, and yet partners in crime.
I was sitting in the miniature booth on the side of the bus, reading reviews of our show: all positive, of course. Tre was playing some one man combat game on the small television, and Mike, always appearing like the weird father of the group, was reading the news paper. Although all was sound and quiet, Billie Joe was nowhere to be found.
I knocked on the door of the small “master” bedroom in the very back of the bus. “Billie?” I called out. “Uh.. um Yeah?” He said, obviously distracted. I opened the door to find crumpled papers strewn across the floor and overflowing out of the minuscule trash bin. “You’ve been busy I see. Is this what was on your mind on the way out?” I asked, sitting down next to him and his guitar. “Pretty much.” he said gripping his hair (he does that a lot) “I have this riff in my head. I just can’t seem to get the words to go with it....obviously” He gestured to the papers on the floor. “Play it” I commanded. “Heh, what?” He popped up in his sitting position, surprised. “Play it. I wanna hear it. Maybe I can help.” He stared at me with his beautiful emerald eyes, and then began to strum. It was a beautiful tune, full of anger and frustration. I grabbed the pad of paper and pencil, and scribbled down some words. “I forget you’re left handed” He snickered. I smiled and continued writing.
“She’s left handed?!” Tre whisper from the other side of the door.
“F*ck off, Tre” I calmly expressed.
“Kay play it” I told Billie Joe, and he began strumming” I cleared my throat and
“Well I've got a fever
I'm in a state of grace.
For I am a caeser,
I'm gonna seize the day
So call of the banshee
ay ay ay ay ay ay ay
Death to the girl
at the end of the serenade..”
He stopped, looked up and gazed in astonishment.
*******Billie Joe’s POV
“You and you’re sick twisted little mind” I smiled at her. “Kat, you’re almost as bad as I am.”
She blushed and nudged me. Since she’d walked into the room, I’d been slowly drifting out of the funk I like to call depression. Kat always seemed to cheer my spirits, even if she was displaying talent that would usually make me jealous and angry.
“Thanks” I said. Touching her thigh. Such a gesture would usually get me slapped, but tonight it was different. She quickly stood up and glanced around; everywhere but me.
“So I’m gonna go ask Stan,” our bus driver “Where we’re stopping for the night.” She spun around and exited the room.