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GHOST ROCK
{Year 2030}
Michael was down in his garage. He hooked his electric guitar to his lead. He started shredding, he shouted a bunch of words, singing. {“ALL. THIS. WORLD. IS CRUEL. PEOPLE DISGUISED AS DEMONS. CHAOS, DESTRUCTION, IS THE EMBODIMENT OF PEOPLE'S MINDS”}
"SHUT THE HECK UP MICHAEL." His mom shouted throwing a beer bottle at the garage door, the glass bottle shattered. Michael grumbles. He threw his guitar on the ground.
He plopped down on his couch eating his giant bag of potato chips, who knows how long they just sat there. Michael grabbed a soda pop and started chugging it down. He sighed, he had to go to school to Morrow, he hated school, the only thing he loved about school was his crush, Violetta, the best artist in the entire world. Or that was just what Michael thought.
He heard the garage door open, "GET rid of this garbage!" Said Michaels mother as she threw a cardboard box filled with a bunch of junk down the stairs. Michael walked up to the box. He ripped the tape off of it and opened it. He found an old record player. He took out the record player that came with a CD.
Michael was quite curious to see if the record player still worked. He took the plastic off the CD, it was a very strange CD, he quickly put it in the record player and it started to play…but in reverse. Michael watched as the CD spun around faster, and faster. Michael slowly stepped back. All of a sudden the CD started to crack, it broke, shattering into pieces. Michael stared at it, he then sighed. "Stupid, crappy piece of garbage."
Michael walked away to his couch. He heard a voice behind him. "Crappy? Who are you callin' crappy?"
Michael quickly turned around, his eyes widened as he saw the ghost of Aretha Franklin. "HAAAAA!" Michael dashed behind his couch. "What the-where did you come from!?"
"Calm down child." Said Aretha Franklin.
"Aren't you dead!?"
"Well that was offensive."
"It's-It's not like I'm lying"
"Fair point."
"The queen of soul!" Michael smiled. "I read all about you! And listen to your songs."
Michael and Franklin heard a deep voice. "It looks like a pig style in here." Michael turns around, he could hardly breathe looking at the face of ELVIS PRESLEY!
"What-what are you guys doing here!?" Asked Michael. Franklin looked at the cracked CD on the floor. "It must have been the CD over there."
Michael nods. "Is there supposed to be…more of you? Whoa…so that disk…summoned you here.”
They heard a loud trumpet behind them. “Wait…no WAYYYY! Louis! Armstrong!?” At this point Michael felt like he was about to faint.
“Oof! Where, am I?” Asked Armstrong. Michael smiled.
“I- Can’t believe this! You guys! Dead people no, FAMOUS PEOPLE! Are here! In my house!”
“Can you not refer to us as dead!” Said Armstrong. “Even though we are…”
“Oh yeah, sure totally.” Presley looked over to Michael’s guitar.
“My…” Exclaimed Presley. “You play the guitar, you’re into rock?”
Michael chuckled, he ran towards his guitar. “You bet I am! Wanna hear my new song!?” They all nod. Michael cleared his throat as he started shredding his guitar, he screamed into the microphone.
{“ALL. THIS. WORLD. IS CRUEL. PEOPLE DISGUISED AS DEMONS. CHAOS, DESTRUCTION, IS THE EMBODIMENT OF PEOPLE'S MINDS. DEATH, IS BOUND TO BE UPON US!”}
“Okay…I think we get the gist.” Said Presley. “That’s…rock…?”
Michael nods. “Well, music has changed over the years.”
Louis spoke up. “Why is it…so depressing.”
“Why wouldn’t it be, that is just how rock works these days now.” Michael chuckled. “You were a bit too late to the party…but, why are you guys here?”
They all looked confused.
“Well, I’m sure glad you have a passion to play the guitar.” Says Presley. Michael smiled, but it quickly faded away.
“It doesn’t matter though…no one likes guitars or listens to rock anymore…”
“How could that be?” Asked Franklin.
“Because! Now people are more used to creating music electronically, Making music digitally. no one wants to listen to you play the guitar, or a trumpet, or some dumb piano! They just all use technology! They don’t care about your raw talent!” Michael sat down on his dusty couch.
© loveGod@
Michael was down in his garage. He hooked his electric guitar to his lead. He started shredding, he shouted a bunch of words, singing. {“ALL. THIS. WORLD. IS CRUEL. PEOPLE DISGUISED AS DEMONS. CHAOS, DESTRUCTION, IS THE EMBODIMENT OF PEOPLE'S MINDS”}
"SHUT THE HECK UP MICHAEL." His mom shouted throwing a beer bottle at the garage door, the glass bottle shattered. Michael grumbles. He threw his guitar on the ground.
He plopped down on his couch eating his giant bag of potato chips, who knows how long they just sat there. Michael grabbed a soda pop and started chugging it down. He sighed, he had to go to school to Morrow, he hated school, the only thing he loved about school was his crush, Violetta, the best artist in the entire world. Or that was just what Michael thought.
He heard the garage door open, "GET rid of this garbage!" Said Michaels mother as she threw a cardboard box filled with a bunch of junk down the stairs. Michael walked up to the box. He ripped the tape off of it and opened it. He found an old record player. He took out the record player that came with a CD.
Michael was quite curious to see if the record player still worked. He took the plastic off the CD, it was a very strange CD, he quickly put it in the record player and it started to play…but in reverse. Michael watched as the CD spun around faster, and faster. Michael slowly stepped back. All of a sudden the CD started to crack, it broke, shattering into pieces. Michael stared at it, he then sighed. "Stupid, crappy piece of garbage."
Michael walked away to his couch. He heard a voice behind him. "Crappy? Who are you callin' crappy?"
Michael quickly turned around, his eyes widened as he saw the ghost of Aretha Franklin. "HAAAAA!" Michael dashed behind his couch. "What the-where did you come from!?"
"Calm down child." Said Aretha Franklin.
"Aren't you dead!?"
"Well that was offensive."
"It's-It's not like I'm lying"
"Fair point."
"The queen of soul!" Michael smiled. "I read all about you! And listen to your songs."
Michael and Franklin heard a deep voice. "It looks like a pig style in here." Michael turns around, he could hardly breathe looking at the face of ELVIS PRESLEY!
"What-what are you guys doing here!?" Asked Michael. Franklin looked at the cracked CD on the floor. "It must have been the CD over there."
Michael nods. "Is there supposed to be…more of you? Whoa…so that disk…summoned you here.”
They heard a loud trumpet behind them. “Wait…no WAYYYY! Louis! Armstrong!?” At this point Michael felt like he was about to faint.
“Oof! Where, am I?” Asked Armstrong. Michael smiled.
“I- Can’t believe this! You guys! Dead people no, FAMOUS PEOPLE! Are here! In my house!”
“Can you not refer to us as dead!” Said Armstrong. “Even though we are…”
“Oh yeah, sure totally.” Presley looked over to Michael’s guitar.
“My…” Exclaimed Presley. “You play the guitar, you’re into rock?”
Michael chuckled, he ran towards his guitar. “You bet I am! Wanna hear my new song!?” They all nod. Michael cleared his throat as he started shredding his guitar, he screamed into the microphone.
{“ALL. THIS. WORLD. IS CRUEL. PEOPLE DISGUISED AS DEMONS. CHAOS, DESTRUCTION, IS THE EMBODIMENT OF PEOPLE'S MINDS. DEATH, IS BOUND TO BE UPON US!”}
“Okay…I think we get the gist.” Said Presley. “That’s…rock…?”
Michael nods. “Well, music has changed over the years.”
Louis spoke up. “Why is it…so depressing.”
“Why wouldn’t it be, that is just how rock works these days now.” Michael chuckled. “You were a bit too late to the party…but, why are you guys here?”
They all looked confused.
“Well, I’m sure glad you have a passion to play the guitar.” Says Presley. Michael smiled, but it quickly faded away.
“It doesn’t matter though…no one likes guitars or listens to rock anymore…”
“How could that be?” Asked Franklin.
“Because! Now people are more used to creating music electronically, Making music digitally. no one wants to listen to you play the guitar, or a trumpet, or some dumb piano! They just all use technology! They don’t care about your raw talent!” Michael sat down on his dusty couch.
© loveGod@
