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Journey of a Mad Guitar Player

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guitarhero01234:
OH GOD I'M TURNING INTO CLOAKY HALP! ;)

New chapter. Sorry if it's not as funny as I meant it to be, but I'm pretty damn tired tonight.

Also, edited my previous post because I realized I accidentally said I was proud of Diary when I meant to say Origin. Dunno how that happened :P


Chapter 2
gh stood in a restaurant kitchen with a bus tub in one hand and his cell phone in the other. His day (er, night) job wasn't a particularly luxurious one – he was simply a busboy. Though, if one were to ask him, he would say that he was in charge of holding up the walls and taking breaks.

He looked up from his phone for a brief moment to greet the other busboy, who had already been there for a half an hour. “What's up, Kyle?” he said, affecting the demeanor of a disinterested slacker.

“'Sup,” Kyle replied, with a similar lack of enthusiasm. He, much like gh, was on his phone. Both gh and Kyle knew there would be minimal repercussions for not working, seeing how slow the restaurant was on this given night. Still, gh was confident that he could work circles around everyone else there. Best not to draw attention to himself, though.

Kyle dropped his phone in his pocket, finally looking up at gh. “Goddamn, Lewis, you look like hell!”

The two walked out of the kitchen and into a rather secluded section of the dining room. “Yeah, I feel like it. Kid's been sick for three days straight. Haven't gotten any sleep at all from then til, I dunno, three o'clock today?” Of course, the part about his child being sick was a lie, but one that came naturally. At his job, gh wasn't Logan, the guitar player and RAFian, but he was instead Lewis Shuart: single father and high school dropout. Perhaps he didn't need to go to these lengths to protect himself, but gh was convinced that he could never be too careful. Partially to avoid potential legal troubles, but mostly for other reasons entirely.

“Yeah, but I guess it could be worse,” Kyle remarked.

“I don't really see how. . . .”

“You could be wearing that Armadillo Anderson costume again.” Kyle was referring to the mascot for the restaurant; a perpetually smiling cowboy armadillo. gh had to wear the mascot costume quite a few times when a manager named McCarthy worked there. To gh's eternal relief, McCarthy was fired.

gh looked around to see if any guests were in earshot. “Anderson's dead. He died of . . . I dunno, nasal congestion,” gh said with a laugh. “Dude, **** Anderson.”

“Right?” Kyle intoned. “I don't get why they made you wear that stupid-ass costume.”

“Because McCarthy was an asshat, that's why.” gh shook his head. “But seriously, I've had this ridiculous headache these past few days.”

“No joke?” Kyle said with obviously fake sympathy. “You need some sleep, man.”

“Yeah, you're telling me.” gh started to move toward the kitchen again. “I'm gonna go out for a smoke here. You think you can hold the fort down?”

In response, Kyle looked around the restaurant in an exaggerated motion. “What, with it this busy?” he said with thick sarcasm. “I dunno, man, I might have to call in the reinforcements.”

“Yeah, shove it,” gh mumbled. “Not in the mood for stupid **** at the moment. I'll be back in ten.”

Cloak:
McCarthy was addicted to power tripping. . . .

theyoungphoenix:
Oooohh... another story i'll get to read.

dang. you guys are making me wanna write a story =d

guitarhero01234:
Holy crap, sorry I didn't update this for a few days. Life has been really hectic on my end, and I really haven't had the time to work on much of anything. That being said, I managed to find the time to write tonight, and this chapter is where things start to get . . . interesting. . . .


Chapter 3
With as little fervor as humanly possible, gh made his way to the back door. He stepped into the designated smoking area, which was actually an outdoor area with a pair of dumpsters, and silently lit the last cigarette in his pack. If Cloaky finds out about this, I'm dead, for sure, he thought to himself.

“Hey, Lewis,” a voice said, seeming to come out of nowhere. Startled, gh spun around, only to see his manager sitting on an upturned beer keg. “Whoa, what's got you so jumpy?” he commented.

“Nothing,” gh said, affecting the calmest voice he could manage. “Just tired is all.”

The manager raised an eyebrow. “Isn't that what you said yesterday? And the day before that?”

“What, my kid's been sick,” gh said, taking a seat on another keg. “Stomach bug. Thinking it's passed now, though.” He cast a particularly glazed-over look at Nacho – that's what everyone called the manager in question. What his actual name was or how he acquired the nickname Nacho was anyone's guess. “What's it matter, anyway? I can still do my job just as well as I usually do.”

“And there lies the problem,” Nacho said, cracking a lighthearted smirk. “I think you might smoke more than you actually work.”

“Hey, someone's gotta watch the empty kegs! Can't let someone take our seats away.” As gh took a drag on his cigarette, he noticed his hand shaking.

“You sure you're alright, Lewis?” Nacho said, concern evident in his inflection. Clearly, he noticed the tremor, as well.

“Yeah . . . I think.” gh took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “I think I just need to finish this shift and sleep for, like, a week straight,” he said, replacing his hat.

“No joke. I'll see if Kyle will trade cuts with you,” Nacho said without a second thought. He stood up to move for the door, until he noticed something odd – namely, gh's entire upper body shaking, much in the same way as his hand was moments ago. “Lewis?” he called out. gh didn't offer a response, other than dropping his cigarette on the ground. And after a brief moment, the convulsions stopped, just as suddenly as they had begun. . . .

* * *
Nothing. As far as gh could see, there was nothing. He stood in a white void, completely alone. He should have been surprised, or at the very least a little uneasy, but the truth was that he had been here before. Once, years ago. . . .

Before gh could ponder on why he was here again, a voice – if it could even be called a voice; it was more of a sentiment or an idea – interrupted his thoughts. Hello Logan my old friend, it mused in a sing-song tone. I've come to talk with you again. . . .

“Great,” gh mumbled. “This again.” He sighed. “You mind cutting the bull**** and telling me what's going on?”

Oh, but what's the fun in that? the “voice” said.

“Come on!” gh yelled, mustering up all the strength he could. “I'm not in the mood for these games, you . . . whatever you are!”

Why, Logan, you aren't enjoying this?

“Don't call me that!” gh said reflexively. “You don't know me, alright!?”

Are you so sure about that? the “voice”asked in its ever-mocking tone. Maybe you wouldn't be so high and mighty if you were aware of what this is about.

“Then how about you show yourself and stop being such a chicken****?” Though he tried to make his words carry an air of confidence, dread began to set in on gh.

Perhaps that's a good idea. . . .

Just then, gh saw something. A distortion in the air, although how one could perceive such a thing in this place is questionable. Regardless, the distortion intensified, until a form began to materialize before gh; vague at first, but gradually gaining definition until a new entity stood in front of gh.

For a moment, gh stood there dumbfounded, unable to conjure the words to express his utter bewilderment. Finally, he spoke up. “. . . Really?”

The form looked at itself, its now-material eyes narrowing at the sight. “Honestly, I'm just as confused as you are.”

“. . . What even are you?”

The figure looked gh dead in the eyes. “I'm you, gh. I'm that part of you that you worked so hard to repress. Your violent urges, your psychotic tendencies. A physical manifestation of-”

“No, I mean, what the actual ****?” gh cut in. “So, you're telling me that my subconscious violent tendencies and neuroses decided to manifest themselves as a ****ing armadillo mascot?”

The entity – who had indeed taken the form of Armadillo Anderson, appeared perplexed as well. “Look, I don't pretend to understand this either.”

“This is just plain stupid,” gh said in a matter-of-fact way. All of his fear and anger seemed to evaporate once the ludicrousness of the situation set in.

“Hey, you're the one who made me like this.”

“Shut up!” gh said, incredulous. “You don't know anything about me!”

Anderson stared gh down for a brief moment. “. . . We are literally the same person.”

“Whatever. You mind telling me why I'm here again in the first place?”

“Oh, just wanted to tell you something might be missing. . . .” Anderson let out a chuckle, and with that, he faded from view, as gh began to slowly return to the real world.

Cloak:
Heh. ;)

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