Sign In

Close
Forgot your password? No account yet?

Rock and Roll Fantasy (Updated WIP) by Zidders Roofurry

1.
My name is Zid. You’re probably more familiar with me by my stage name, Zidaya Zenovka, rhythm guitarist and lead singer of the rock band Mythos. I also seem to be known for being the worlds only purple haired, grey furred, talking kangaroo..but back then, I was just Zid, the ‘normal’ human kid with dreams of being a world famous rock star. Now that Mythos have gone their separate ways, we’ve agreed that the true story can now be told, and that story starts out the day I showed my friend Raz my new guitar.

Back then, I lived in a quiet neighborhood..you know the type: Neighbors all know each other, kids all go to the same school, your typical boring suburb. Our house wasn’t quite on the wrong side of the tracks, but close enough, and not as nice as the houses up the street. Inside the nearby old empty garage the walls were covered with faded paint, and a row of blown out guitar amplifiers was stacked against the back wall. This was my bedroom, and while it wasn’t much, I had pretty much all I needed.

I sat back a bit in order to better admire my new axe. It had cost me a whole years savings, but it was worth it. It was gonna sound SO freakin' sweet, and when I showed it off to my friends, they were gonna be SO freaking jealous. I carefully placed it back onto my old guitar stand, hoping like hell the thing wouldn't fall apart and wreck my brand new Les Paul. That would just be the kittens' tits, wreck my axe the first day I'd gotten it.

I stood up and looked outside through the garages only window, wiping off as much dust and spiderwebs as I could, wondering when the hell Raz was gonna get there. We didn't really have a 'band'-not really, but I’d written some tunes, and Raz could really play. Our plan was to eventually get a few more rockers written, maybe jam for awhile, do some covers and maybe get to perform some originals. Metal was big now, and I could feel it flowing through my veins.

It felt like my very skeletal structure vibrated in harmony with the music whenever a sweet, sweet lead solo would drift out of the speakers of my old boom box. I put my hands in my pockets and leaned against the wall. I had the garage door open. It was a nice day out. The sun was shining, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was quiet, save for the sound of kids playing just up the street. Just another one of those "timeless" Sunday afternoons. I don’t think the kids up the street were aware of the sight they were about to witness.

The perfect, idyllic afternoon quiet was soon shattered as Razor, the long-haired ginger that had been my best friend since I could remember, steered his banger of a car towards my house. The car tore through a chicane. He was going way past the speed limit, his car stereo blasting "Bomber" by Motorhead with the volume pegged to 'Earbleed' and the car windows fully open. I burst into an uncontrollable laugh when the rear of the car began to slide and clipped the "slow" sign on the side of the road, tilting it over.

Most folks thought Razor to be a bit of a rascal. He preferred the term "slightly flamboyant".

Razor continued his way past where the kids were now staring and pointing at his car. They were frozen, their eyes wide, toys now lying forgotten on the ground. He stared back at them, giving them the good ol' sign of the horns while shouting out "Metaaaaaaal!!" with a soaring King Diamond-style falsetto. He almost hit the curb due to his excessive laughing as he watched panicked kids running inside their houses, like hell had descended upon earth.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to lead a “perfect” life in one of those ‘All-American’ dream neighborhoods. Mind-numbing, probably. When he pulled up in front of my house, Raz turned off the music and looked towards me. As usual, I’d zoned out, lost in space as I wrote another tune in my head. He must have sensed I was in la-la land, because he decided to play a trick on me by turning the ignition off while applying the gas.

The car backfired with a shotgun-like bang. Raz began to laugh his ass off as I jumped almost three feet, the shot echoing across the neighborhood as my ‘buddy’ laughed hysterically. As he got out, I noticed he was wearing an "Iron maiden" t-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of No-name-brand sneakers. He grabbed his guitar case from the back seat, then, chuckling softly,started walking towards where I stood recovering from the shock.

While his main deal was drumming, he still carried his Charvel Model 6, named "Criss", after the legendary Criss Oliva, with him for songwriting and jamming purposes. "Oi, Zid! Gave you a bit of a fright there, did I?" He continued walking towards me, a wide grin on his face. I loved the guy like a brother, but damn if the dudes veins didn't run with pure liquid chaos. He was a great guy though..a pure showman. If there was anyone in the universe born to be a metal god, it was my bud.

"DAMN, dude! What the hell are you running that thing on? You're supposed to put gas in the car and moonshine in you, not the other way around." I’d been startled by the sound but I couldn’t help laughing. I had a hard time feeling down for long when Raz was around. Raz laughed at my moonshine remark. "Yeah, I know, I know. I think the old lady is drawing her last breaths, anyways!"

The dude had a way of looking at the world that always managed to remind me that no matter how shitty things got, there was always an up side. I looked at my bro's guitar...Criss was a real cherry axe. I could remember the day I first met Raz at school. I wasn't the type to make friends easily. I spent more time writing and practicing, as well as drawing, and not really a lot of time talking to others. I was all too used to being the odd one out.

I had heard Raz playing at school during lunch break, and curiosity had gotten the better of me, causing me to walk over and ask how long the he’d been playing. When I found out that we shared similar tastes in tunes, I knew I'd made a friend. When I also found out that the guy had named his guitar after a guitarist who happened to be one of my own all-time guitar heroes, that pretty much sealed the deal.

We began to hang out a lot. Raz taught me a lot of stuff about playing guitar that the I hadn't known, and when hit the sticks, there was NOBODY that could work the double bass the way Raz could. We looked for a few more people to form a band, but had no luck. Most of the kids in our school were stuck up, more concerned with fitting in and being popular than with being in a black jeans and t-shirt metal band.

We practiced for hours, usually playing from the time we left school until late at night. There were times when the cops ended up coming out to tell us to stop playing our damn music or spend the night in the lock up. "Hey man" I called out one night, doing my best to make myself heard over my friends playing. "Lemme lay some lyrics on you. I got inspired...tell me what you think."

I kept my lyrics in an old frayed and coffee-stained notebook back then. My hands were shaking as I read them, unable to speak in more than a whisper. I used to get so nervous whenever I’d read my lyrics. I always felt that they’re...well...cliche, goofy.

"From whence we came, we do not know,
Our hearts untamed, through life we go,
We join the hunt,
Bay at the moon,
The prey we seek shall meet its doom.

Fearless, wild, at natures beck and call.
By our very instincts, we stand or fall.
Nature red,
In tooth and claw,
Victims of hunger die between our jaws.

Through ageless time, we have progressed,
By our strength survived evolutions test.
No longer feral,
Yet within, a beast,
Tread lightly, lest you make our feast.

No longer blood do we now crave,
Yet still, the Hunt makes us it's slave,
Metal fury,
Flows through our veins,
Our faceless victims scream our names.

In the night, hear our kin roar,
Gathering to settle an ancient score.
In our fist, our axe,
Blood coats six strings,
Hungering for the power metal brings."

Razor had been about to say something, when I cut him off with my recitation. He just nodded then looked away for a bit with a thoughtful expression. It got very quiet. Then, Raz took my paw and began to shake it. He looked deep into my eyes and said, "I don't know how you do it but we've got to make a song out of that! Oh, and stop shitting on your lyrics or I may just have to call the shrinks to check up if you've gone nuts or something."

With that, he let go of my hand. I watched, still dumbstruck as he continued his way through the garage door. I was sure the wild grin he was wearing was because he knew that his blunt but honest opinion always made me feel good about what I'd come up with. Then he spotted my Les Paul on the stand in the corner. "Whoooaa! The Les Paul! The Beast! The Devastator! You finally got it, mate!! Get your ass over here this instant!"

I looked down for a moment, deeply moved by what he’d said. He didn’t say to most people the kinds of things he’d say to me, and it felt good. Sniffling a bit, I let out a little cough, to sound like I was clearing my throat, and not about to bawl like some kinda wuss. I couldn't help but grin, though. What I liked most about Raz is I knew I could be myself and not worry about being judged. If I had cried, I knew my friend would have understood.

"It's a 1974 Les Paul Custom special reissue. It’s a Randy Rhoads model. They usually go for five grand apiece, but one of the stockboys put the wrong price tag on it. I got it for a grand...worth all the mowed lawns and shoveled driveways, dude." The guitar was white with silver hardware, some VERY expensive pickups. "Randy was the guy who inspired me to play guitar.” Raz grinned, as he was a fan of the deceased guitarist, too.

"Wanna give her a try?" I plugged a cord into the guitar, and the other end into my only surviving amp, an old marshall half stack. The crackle and buzz of electricity faded to a low hum, and the echo of the live cord being plugged in rang through the garage as I handed the axe to my friend. I cranked the gain, and turned the volume knob as high as it would go. Raz just stood there in awe.

I'd never told him that it was going to be a Rhoads. “Just a Les Paul”. It looked perfect: The paint job, the headstock, the silver hardware, the classic pickups, the ebony fretboard - the whole lot. Raz had never been too keen on LP’s before but this one had him drooling. After everything he’d done for me, how could I refuse to let him be the first one to make her sing?

When I asked him, his jaw dropped. I swear I could hear his heart beating like a hellhammer as I placed the monster of a guitar into his hands. It must have felt odd to him. It was very heavy, far heavier than his old faithful Criss. With that much mahogany in it, the guitar's tone was going to be rich and thick, and the sustain on it would be something out of this world: It was meant purely for playing metal, and was perfect for me.

He took hold of the guitar, put the strap around his neck, and just looked at it for a while, gently stroking the back of the neck. Raz gently tweaked up the tone and volume knobs while muting the strings with his palm. He placed his left hand on the fretboard, forming an E chord, and lifted the guitar high up in the air. With a quick and powerful move, he stomped his left foot to the ground, yanked his left hand down along with the guitar, and struck the strings.

The sound produced was mind-numbing. The thing growled! It was quite the opposite of the screechy 80's sound of Razors beloved Criss. He was laughing out of sheer amazement. "What the fuck man!! Can you hear this?!". He played a few familiar riffs, then noticed that I looked a bit uneasy. He turned the volume down, unslung the guitar, and handed it to me. "Mate, you've got to try it right the fuck now!"

I took the guitar. I always felt weird whenever I first plugged in, and I blushed. I didn’t have the best self esteem in the world but whenever I played through an amp, I found myself showing off. The amplifier made a metallic echo as the cord connected, and emitted a faint hum. It was already in tune so I fingered an E chord just as Raz had, grabbed a pick, and strummed.

The sound was unbelievable. It was as if my old worn out amplifier had been transformed into a brand new amp. The depth of sound rattled the windows as I launched into the opening chords of my favorite Ozzy tune, Mr. Crowley. I was amazed at how much like Randy’s original guitar it sounded, yet it was ‘my’ sound, too. All the toil, sweat, broken fingernails, and pain seemed way more than worth it. Their memory blown away by the feel of her in my hands and the notes ringing in my ears.

"Wow," was all I could say, and then I was riffing, pounding out power chords and playing stuff off the cuff. I had to wail, I had to solo. My fingers raced across the fretboard as if they were being chased by the furies or were the very furies themselves. Things that had given me blisters and cracked fingernails on one guitar, flowed on this one, as if it had taken control, guiding me. I stopped, looking down at my hands as if I had never seen them before.

"Whoa....shit, dude....this guitars fucking possessed. Was that me?"
I couldn't believe it, but there it was. I looked up at my friend and grinned a devilish grin. "Bro...you and me? We're gonna kick some ass! Get on those sticks, basher, we got some work to do!" We practiced well into the night, our instruments taking on a spark of life like never before. The sound was richer, deeper, bassier, louder. Raz was a fiend, the double bass drums firing at a machine gun rate, making the neighborhood sound like a war zone.

That’s when I heard it. A faint high pitched wail, heading in our direction. I stopped playing and grinned over at Raz motioning for him to follow suit. "Looks like practice is over. Help me get the damn door shut! Hit the lights and BE QUIET." Closing the door and shutting out the light, we waited The police cruiser pulled up to my driveway. A light shone from the side window, beaming onto the garage and throwing shadows across the walls.

The windows were thick, making it hard for the officers to see through. A megaphone blared from outside. "All right, boys! This is the last time we’re going to warn you. Cut it out by dusk, or we won't let you off next time." A few moments later, and the cruiser left. We breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at Raz, I started to snicker, then broke into a full-throated laugh. "OK, man...I guess practice is over. C'mon...hang at my place tonight. I've got movies and pizza."

2.
I sat in the passenger seat of Razor’s old bomber, staring out the front window towards two-lane blacktop that seemed to go on forever. Raz gripped the leather covered steering wheel and gave me a conspiratorial grin. “Well?” he asked, his right foot tapping on the metal flooring in rapid rhythm. “Are we gonna get this show on the road, or what?”

Raz was on edge, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d forgotten to lock the garage door that night, and someone had stolen all our gear. What really killed me was that not only had I lost my brand new guitar, Raz had lost his beloved Criss, the one thing besides our friendship that he held most dear. I felt sick to my stomach. Raz had to be pissed at me, right? I was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, his arm was around my shoulders, and his hand was on my chin. I slowly turned my head, preparing myself for the worst but when I saw his face, he was actually smiling. The look in his eyes more of concern and bemusement than any anger toward me. “Hey...hey, bro.” His voice was gentle, and friendly. “Bro, they’re just guitars, man. I’m not mad at you, or anything. You’re my best friend.” I looked down, blushing.

“I’d bang two pieces of wood together and kick myself in the head before I ever let some piece of wood and metal get between you an’ me”

My heart felt so much lighter, and the tears I’d been holding back began to flow. Before I could open my mouth, Raz was hugging me to himself. Seconds passed before he sat back and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jean jacket. Was he crying because I was? He laughed, and ruffled my hair. “Waddaya say we find the assholes who took our stuff? I mean, there’s only a few places around here they could hock it.”

Raz was right. The one benefit of living in East Buttfuck, USA was that you knew where all the good spots to get gear were. There weren’t a lot of music shops around, anymore, but back in the 60’s the town had been a pretty happening place with a thriving music community. Blues, Jazz, Soul. Musicians from all over the country had stopped here while on tour or had gotten their start here. The music scene was one reason, the other was liquor.

We knew a gal who ran the biggest, and best shop around. If someone was trying to sell newly acquired gear, she’d know about it. The odds were pretty good that the thieves hit our place thinking it was abandoned. It’s not likely they would have thought anyone would notice the theft. “Yeah,” I finally spoke, my heart in my throat. “Let’s go.” Raz grinned, and hit the gas. I grinned too, and grabbed the dashboard an odd sense of contentment coming over me.

He peeled out, letting the fourteen inch wide Uniroyals throw dirt. The Bomber’s exhaust made an enormous ripping sound as the carburetor roared to life, the motor sounding like an uncaged hungry lion. Billows of white smoke wreathed the car as the back tires spun. “WHOOOOOOOO!” Raz bellowed. “The last of the V-8 Interceptors, Bitches! We’re comin’ for you!” I laughed at my friends battle cry, and began to yell at the top of my lungs.

I no longer felt sad. My heart wasn’t just lighter, there was something else there, too. It was at this point, car speeding down the highway, Razor pressing the pedal to the metal while rapidly shifting gears, that I realized I’d fallen in love with my best friend.

Rock and Roll Fantasy (Updated WIP)

Zidders Roofurry

Thanks to silverrat http://www.furaffinity.net/user/silverrat , I have an updated WIP of this story. I think it's a million times better than it was before. Much credit to Sil for nudging me in the right direction, and for all the suggestions.

Feedback is more than welcome. Also, while there are a few swears in this, I don't really feel it warrants a 'mature' rating. It's not really furry yet, it starts out with Zid and Raz as humans..but it will get there, count on it.

I should really give credit to theclawedmonster http://www.furaffinity.net/user/theclawedmonster This started out as an rp between his character and mine back in 2009, and while much has changed, there's a bit of Clawed in Raz. Thanks for helping me get this started way back when, man.

Submission Information

Views:
318
Comments:
0
Favorites:
0
Rating:
General
Category:
Literary / Story