Come one, come all to this tragic affair. My name's Mir. I'm just a guitarist with a blog and a dream. I'm pansexual, and if it was socially acceptable, I would never wear pants. I, for one, think I'm pretty fucking funny. Ray Toro is my inspiration, and I'd also ride him like a fucking race horse (not even sorry).
Mir smiled slightly and smoothed down her messy hair. Her black curls tumbled all over the place, down her shoulders and to the bottom of her shoulder blades. The mane couldn’t be tamed. I made her look like a lion in a sort of way with matching feline eyes in emerald green. “I’m okay after the first verse or so, but until then, I’m a wreck. I’m a wreck normally too, as you can tell by my rambling right now. Oh, pardon my French, but fuck me, I’m rambling.”
Seamlessly, she transitioned into a new beat, still upbeat but with a little more stylistic complexity. Her face was contorted with pleasure and passion for the music she so loved. It was less nerve wracking to place for one than to play for multiples. She believed Victor wouldn’t shun her for the lyrics she spewed.
Put on your war paint. You are a brick tied to me that’s dragging me down. Strike a match and I’ll burn you to the ground. We are the jack-o-lanterns in July, setting fire to the sky. Here, here comes this rising tide so come on! Put on your war paint! Cross walks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies— silver clouds with grey lining.” The bridge was more melodical. “So we can take the world back from the heart-attack. One maniac at a time we will take it back. You know time crawls on when you’re waiting for the song to start. So dance alone to the beat of your heart!”
She continued to sing soulfully after another seriously of wordless syllables that fit the tune. An upbeat song was truly what they needed after the talk of abuse and… Thank God Mir’s mind was somewhere totally different. She grinned, moving her entire body as she played.
“C’mon! Make it easy; Say I never mattered. Run it up the flagpole. We will teach you how to make boys-next-door outta assholes.” She giggled, resuming easily. “Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds; It’s all over now. Before it has begun, we’ve already won. We are wild. We are like young volcanoes! We are wild. Americana. Exotica. Do ya’ wanna feel a little beautiful, baby? Baby, yeah! Whoa, whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh.”
“We could argue that all evening,” she quipped, smiling a little. She didn’t have great self-image, but then again, why would she? Mir scratched her head a little. “I’m the worst about rambling when I get anxious. Whenever I play in front of people— or when I first start a song— I stutter somethin’ fierce.”
“Okay…” Slowly, Mir began to strum a happy tune. The melody was upbeat, only slightly complex. After a moment of playing the progression of rhythms, she began to sing with it. Her voice was a lovely soprano, soulful. It was a serious of wordless hums at first. The cicadas fell silent again, as if they were listening to her. She became more and more confident.
“When Rome’s in ruins, we are the lions free of the coliseums. In poison places, we are anti-venom. We are the beginning of the end~. Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds; It’s all over now. Before it has begun, we’ve already won. We are wild. We are like young volcanoes. Oh, we are wild. Americana. Exotica. Do ya’ wanna feel a little beautiful baby? Baby, yeah! Aw, c’mon!”
“Guitar, cello, bass guitar, drums, various percussion instruments, and flute. I, uh, sing too.” She shrugged bashfully, chewing on her lip and tapping the top string nervously. She was afraid he wouldn’t like her or her playing. It always made her nervous, to have her guitar out in front of other people. Even though she loved to perform, she loathed it at the same time. Slowly, she looked up again.
“Want to hear a song?” She waited for his response. The cicadas thought it safe, starting to cry again into the softness of the night. Mir fidgeted with her fingers nervously.