A ghoul's first tour is always stressful, each ghoul having experienced it once. Still, their own exhaustion distracted them from the obvious signs of pain coming from the youngest ghoul...
The sun has long since set, yet the lights of the practice room still glow brightly through the slim crack beneath the door as muffled sounds of frustration and repeated guitar riffs echo from within the room. Phantom shifts slightly from where he is sitting on the edge of an amp, his ass getting sore from the hours he has spent sitting there.
"Fuck!" He groans, throwing his pick at the ground in front of him as he screams into his hands. He pulls his hands away and rests them down on his guitar again, retrieving his pick. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, they flutter closed against his will, begging to rest for the night. he rubs his eyes and forces them open. He taps his foot in a steady rhythm, tapping out the pulse of Con Clavi Con Dio. He had messed up one specific part of the song at the concert the night before and he was determined to not disappoint Papa again. He fingers glide over the fretboard, his pick hitting the strings with force he normally never played with. He grins, finally he was doing it! He closes his eyes and begins to feel the riff, letting go of the exhaustion and anger he had been feeling for the past week.
Snap!
At first, it doesn't register to him what happened. He stills and refuses to open his eyes, begging that once he does, he will still have six intact strings. When he does, finally open his eyes, he is horrified to find one dangling limply from the tuning knob. He whimpers quitely, his eyes filling up with tears as his stress comes crashing back down over him. His sadness turns into anger as he stands with a growl and slams his guitar back onto its stand. He wipes at the dampness accumulating on his forehead and lip, pulling it away to see smeared blood, inky black and staining to his fingertips. "Shit..."
He qrowls again, his fists clenching. He moves to the door, clicking the room lights off and locking the door behind him. He groans as his eyes finally get a break from the light, the darkness welcoming him. He begins the walk back to his room, each step feeling like he was dragging himself through mud, slow and restricted.
Thump... thump... thump...
His eyebrows furrowed and his hands began to shake and he increases his pace.
Thump, thump, thump...
His breathing quickens and he falls to the side to grapple against the stone walls, using the ridges to push himself forward. His head begins to pound in time with his heartbeat, pain flaring up and persisting behind his eyes. His tongue darts out between his lips to find blood and sweat dripping down his chin. He pauses in his gait to touch his chest, where his shirt is sticky with his own blood. He looks down at his hand, which he can barely see, and presses his forefinger and thumb together to rub at the blood he has now smeared into the ridges of his fingers.
Thump, thump, thump.
His footsteps start again.
Thump, thump, thump.
His head is pounding in sync with his footsteps.
Thump...
He can't breathe.
Thump...
He can't see.
THUMP!
His body hits the floor as consciousness abandons him, his exhaustion finally taking over what was left of his mind.
