In Trench I'm Not Alone

Something about his breakfast was off. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't usually get breakfast, or maybe it was the fact that it was genuinely edible. But something was suspicious.

Despite this, Tyler wasn't about to complain. He was so hungry all of the time, so any chance to eat that he got, he would take.

There was a slightly sweet aftertaste to everything, which normally would be acceptable, but it was a weird flavor to come from eggs. Too late now that everything had been eaten, he wondered if it was possibly drugged.

Not that it mattered, he really couldn't care less what happened to him at this point. No one was coming for him, he was dead, dying, dead, and if eating decent food was his last act, he couldn't complain.

***

Clancy, come, you must rehearse for the album.

The words were thick in his ears, slow and quiet. Clancy nodded, as quietly as the words in his head, and stood from where he sat on the floor. Why was he sitting there? He never remembered sitting down.

He followed a Bishop out of his room, his limbs felt too heavy but as they walked they lightened. Lighter when I'm Lower, Higher when I'm Heavy. Where did those words come from? They were so familiar.

Clancy didn't hate the far-away feeling of everything, his mind was finally quiet and so was everything else. He remembered feeling sad, so so sad, heavy heavy heavy. But now he felt alright. The sun was shining through the windows, the sky a bright blue, and he was alright.

His fingers moved over the stack of papers in his hands, papers he couldn't remember picking up. He glanced down at them as they walked, his vision blurry at first, then clearing the longer he looked. Notes and lyrics and sheet music, his album. Right? He made this album?

Yeah, he made this album.

He shook his head. Why were his thoughts so... hm. What was the word?

The Bishop opened a door, and ushered him inside, and the door shut behind him. The room was lit up nicely, instruments filling the room. There were four people, two sitting and talking on a couch that leaned against the back wall, one was on the piano, looking mildly bored, and another sitting at the drumset. Clancy wasn't sure what the drummer's expression was supposed to mean.

"Um- hi," he said quietly, his voice a tiny squeak in the big room.

The three that hadn't been looking at him snapped to attention, and now there were eight eyes trained on him.

"Y- um, I guess you're the band, right?" Clancy asked, hugging the papers to his chest, pressing his music to himself, to his heart.

The drummer nodded, his hands coming up to fix his black bucket hat.

"Um, yeah, ok, great," Clancy nodded as well, stepping a bit further into the room, his hands pressing even harder into the paper, his legs feeling close to collapse. Had he ever felt this nervous about his music before? He felt very self-conscious suddenly, afraid that what he had created was bad. His hands were bleeding black, black, black.

"Um, ok. Sorry. What do you guys play?" Clancy finally let his hands fall away from his chest, riffling through his papers to make sure he had everyone he needed.

"Keyboard," the one sitting on the piano deadpanned, his voice dripping with unenthusiasm.

Clancy gently pulled the music for the keyboard out of his pile, and as he handed it over, he noticed that his hands were shaking. He wanted to leave.

The bassist and guitarist were on the couch, and they each looked mildly surprised at the amount of music they were handed, but the drummer looked unfazed.