It had almost been an year since Skeet had formed his band with his pals. As these things go, success was really hard to get in such a span of time. Faith had begun shaking in the band, and members departed to pursue safer ambitions.
The past two months, Skeet had grown desperate. Not that he was a bad drummer, no, that was not the issue. The band had yet to find their sound. They could hear the music, yes, but seeing it was still a long way off. Skeet wanted success, and quickly. He had to, his resources were running thin, the cash was skimming off, and this was something he really wanted to succeed at.
Something had happened last night. Skeet could barely remember all the details. A crimson sun had risen that day. All that Skeet could remember was that he had sold his soul. To whom and how? Those were the questions he found hard to answer. Well, never mind, he thought, it’s not like he believed in such things anyways. It was hard to. He took his sticks and went down to practice. Something had changed. He could not place his finger on it, but something had changed from last night. Blood rushed to his head, his veins pulsated with energy. He could see the music. He could finally see it, he had finally found his sound. He practiced for hours and hours, eventually getting lost in the music.
The band found success slowly, but surely. Every cafe or bar they played at, they got noticed. It was hard not to, their sound was different, new, energetic and reflected with the people. They had it.
It didn’t take Skeet long to skyrocket to stardom. But, something had begun to change in Skeet. He found that, slowly, but surely, he could no longer feel the music. It was all he had in the world. Earlier, he had played for himself, but now he played for the crowd or crows as he called them. He could still see the music, but no longer feel it. It gave him no joy. He hated it, and loved it.
Skeet had sold his soul, and only God knew to whom and how.