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Guy-Man sat on his bed, legs crossed, hair shielding his face from the rest of the room. A small acoustic was seated on his right leg, and he strummed it lightly, fingers easily switching from a G chord to a D chord. He hummed softly as he changed chords, progressing through an easy pattern, lyrics buzzing through his mind. Guy-Manuel quickly jotted a few down, hoping to catch them before the floated away, picking his words from the air, a light feeling drifting through them, replacing the heaviness threatening to drag him down.
Guy bit his lip, tucking his hair behind his ear as he looked over the scrap of paper in front of him. Fingers moved easily over thick guitar strings, picking up in speed as the chords became riffs and the beat made it’s presence known and the rhythm demanded to be heard. Single notes slid into power chords; power chords to hammer-ons and pull-offs; blending and mixing into something memorable. Guy-Man closed his eyes, softly singing out the lyrics he had scribbled down, switching from chords to riffs and back as he lost himself in the creation process, weight slipping off his cowering shoulders, freedom falling onto him as he let his emotions flow through the music and convey what he could not say himself.
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“What have you been up to?”
Guy smiled as he laid back on his bed, guitar now leaning against the edge, pick passing through his fingers as he sighed in content.
“Music. Writing music. Chords, riffs, guitar. And you, Thomas?”
His younger friend chuckled on the other end of the phone line, and Guy-Manuel could practically see him grinning.
“Homework, in the honest truth. You gotta tell me, though- what did you end up writing?”
“Well, it’s only really just a start, I suppose…”
“Nonsense! You, only starting a song?” Thomas exclaimed on the other end, accompanied by a small snort. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“If you were quiet for a few seconds, I’ll tell you.”
“Go on…”
“As I said before, it’s only started. Halfway done, at the most. I need your genius tech skills,” Guy-Man teased. “to finish it.”
“Does it have a name?” Thomas inquired, interest now peaked.
“Oui; it’s a bit… peculiar, but it fits for what I’m thinking.”
“Spit it out, then.”
“Human After All.”