This is just something I wrote, it doesn’t really have much to it. My feelings towards it are neutral.


The brass coloured cymbals shone, reflecting the bright fluorescent light that would have given the room an almost clinical feel, were it not for the fact that the light simply enabled one to truly appreciate the dinginess therein. The drum set sat in silence, the hi-hats gaping lazily, a pair of sticks laid across the snare. Damien strode with measured fury into the room, sliding between the floor tom and the wall he sat on the stool and positioned his feet on the pedals. He thumped the bass drum, and clicked the hi-hats. He grabbed the sticks off of the snare, held one in each hand, and sat for a moment looking at the set before him. He drew back his right arm, and struck at the crash cymbal with all his strength. The cymbal did as its name suggests and crashed, deafeningly so. It danced wildly on the stand for a moment or so, and then was still again, vibrating ever so slightly as the ringing faded away to silence.

Damien grinned, in an almost maniacal sort of way. There was little in the world he found more satisfying to strike a cymbal, and listen to it scream. Using both arms now he hit the crash and the ride simultaneously on their edges, producing a crash even louder than the first. He sat and again listened to the sound fade away to silence. He started a roll on the snare, softly at first, gradually adding force so that it got steadily louder, and louder, and louder. Then he switched to single strokes so that he could bring the sticks further back, and bring them down again harder. Reaching a noise level he judged to be about as loud as he could get it he struck the crash cymbal once more and moved on to playing a frenetic beat that moved about the set without any particular reasoning. He kept time out of habit, but did so badly. His focus was on exerting as much force as possible on the objects in front of him, converting his bottled up rage into sound.

After a minute or so he began to feel the effects, his pure focus on his physical exertion relieved his mind of troublesome thoughts. The world did not exist outside of a four foot radius from where he sat. If any thought attempted to intrude upon his mind he played harder to drive it away, pouring all of his focus and energy into his hands and arms which flew about him in a frenzy.

Completing a roll down the toms he struck the rim of the ride again, with more force than he had originally intended. The stick broke. The top three inches flew into the air, spinning madly and falling to the floor behind him. He stopped playing and sat staring at what remained of the stick in his hand as the sustained, shimmering sound of the ride slowly faded, and as it did so his anger swelled. He hurled the broken stick across the room where it clattered against the cinder block wall and fell to the floor. He had not yet managed to fully exhaust himself, what he felt now was all of his previous frustration fueled by an adrenaline rush.

He sat debating whether to pick up a new stick and resume playing or whether to get up and walk back out of the room. As he did so the issues he’d been attempting to escape encroached upon his mind, clouding his thought. He decided he wasn’t ready to go back out, and reached under the floor tom where he kept an array of spare sticks. He began playing again, although not quite as furiously as before to avoid breaking another stick.

He played continuously until he felt that his anger had been relieved, let loose to evaporate amongst the sound waves. What he felt in its place was a physical and mental tiredness. He got up and walked out in front of the set, heading towards the door. He stopped. He stood staring at the door. He realized that he still didn’t want to go back out there. It would mean heading back up the stairs to his room, sitting in solitude at his computer or falling into his bed to sleep restlessly. He would have to deal with homework, he would have to deal with his parents, he would have to deal with… He let his head fall back and he sighed heavily. If he thought about it all too much more it would anger him again.

His legs told him they’d had enough, he needed to sit or lie down. He did so, there on the cement floor, he lay back and stared at the light that hung from the ceiling. It burned into his eyes and he closed them. No longer seeing the outside word he looked inward, peering into a dark mess of tangled thoughts and emotions. He lost himself inside his own mind, retreating further and further inward, running from the outside.

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