Strum. Pluck. Strum. Pluck.

"Fuck." He needed to nail that cord, he needed to nail that bridge. He walks, and walks, playing his sitar in his head. His fingers playing the air sitar, people are staring at him from afar. He doesn't notice, nor does he care – this was the key, to get out of there. He sat in his subway seat, tapping his fingers to an invisible beat, his feet dancing along – he even starts to sing part of the song. Headphones on ears; but no music playing, his body swayed left and his body swayed right. The stares kept on coming, but it didn't kill his strife.

He moved passed the people and their scowls, he moved passed people and their oppressions. He moved passed them with a conflicted smile on his face. He walked on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, he moved quickly through the city, subtle but noticeable. He walked in a beat, taps on the sidewalk, taps on the street, taps everywhere he went and for every stranger he would meet.

He smiles, and grins, and he beams and he laughs. He has not a care in the world; he hasn't a home, a family, nor a friend in this world. He has nothing but; a pair of headphones, a sitar, a bag, and the clothes on his back. When the world is pointing fingers, and bombing towers all over the gain of material things. He lost his; all his material things gone, gone in a flash. Set up in flames, he doesn't cry or get angry he just stands there and laughs. He finds it all very amusing.

He walks along the railroad tracks, he walks along the edge of the world, he walks up and he walks down. Each step he takes a different beat, each road he crosses another note hummed.

an; i'm so tired. i stayed up until 5 this morning. damn me to hell lol. anyways. fightclub inspired again, (really an amazing book go worship it) the viruses on stan are pissing me off.

disclaimer; obviously. i know axel's pants. obviously. thanks to lauren for talking to me on aim whilst writing and noelle for inspiring me to write demyx.