Rough
Draft
The crowds scream. It rattles my
bones. I stand on the stage as the guitar screeches, the drums bang, and the
bass roars. The static electricity in the air sparks to an unearthly level as
the undeniably loud tsunami of people grows even louder. With every beat and
every syllable I spit the energy grows.
Chester beside me roars, unleashing the anger held inside. Rob on the
drums sets the base of the pyramid, while Dave and Brad put on the finishing
touches. Chester coats the entire thing with his animosity, and I, Mike
Shinoda, top it off, delivering the second guitar during the chorus. All the
while, Joe sits in the back, giving everything the ethereal to add the
signature only we can do. The medley of sounds gets everyone on
their feet. And yet, I feel as if I can see them all. The wide open hands, as
if they’re trying to steal as much of the experience as they can. As the chorus
ends I drop the pick and guitar and pick up the microphone, spraying
the rap verses to make our sound ours; to make
it our signature.
The
show ends and we file through the back. The benefit concert was successful and
the funds will go to the Haiti relief effort. In the back, we hardly have time
to sit; we’re rushed onto the bus to get to the next concert. The next show,
that’s how life is. I pick up a pen and pad to start writing. Being Mike
Shinoda is a full time job, everyone’s counting on me to either fail or
succeed, so either way, it’s got to be good. I’ve got to give the people a
show.
You’d
think it’d be difficult being like I am. High expectations, not only from the
fans, but from critics, people who expect me to fail. Lots of hours logged onto
the bus, and then, after days of travel, I will have to give them a show. But,
you know what? I’m used to it. I’m surrounded by good friends, good people, and
good intentions. No matter what happens, I’ve made my mark. I’ve made a legacy,
not only with my music, but with my art, with my school, with my son. I’m no
hero, but I’m doing the work I love, the work I think that’s doing some good.
So I might goof off now. I might laugh and have fun, but nothing will change.
I’ll make music, and I’ll have to fight off the critics with two fists, and
I’ll have to stand up when I get knocked down. So, spit your verses, say your
rhymes bragging about the crimes of stealing others’ dimes. You won’t stop me,
you won’t keep me down, you can’t see, obviously, I know the ground. I’ve been
here before, I’ll taste the dirt some more, and I’ll lock the hate behind
closed doors. Because I’m Mike “Kenji” Shinoda, because I’ve
been at the bottom, and I can fight my way back to the top if I have to. I’m no
one hit wonder, I’m no joke, and I’m no weakling, brought down by others. I’m
not going to give up, and I’m going to be on top. I’m Mike Shinoda, I’m waiting
up here for you. I’m ready, are you?
Finally, the rough draft. This is possibly one of the cheesiest pieces I've ever Written. Ever. But, it does hold that charm to it that I just can't let go. Anyway, same as before, the bolded and underlined the changes I made. This will go down as on the piecs I'm ashamed of (mainly due to the fact that I tried to write a rap in the third paragraph. Big mistake), but I just can't let it go.
