Break The Script

The sky cracked like a dropped vinyl.

Christa blinked, mid-sentence, as the word "break" shimmered on her notebook—and then exploded into glitter and confetti. Her room collapsed into pixels. Her desk vanished. The floor turned into a trampoline made of synthwaves and bass.

Welcome to the glitch.

A sign blinked in bold neon across the sky:

"YOU'RE INSIDE THE SONG NOW."

Cue chaos.

A dragon in fishnets soared overhead, belting riffs. Buildings bounced like speakers. Bubblegum clouds spat candy-colored lightning. And there—front and center—Michael Clifford stood atop a floating amp with his guitar, shredding reality like it owed him royalties.

Christa gaped. "Am I... in a music video?!"

Michael grinned. "You manifested it, babe."

Then, like it was nothing, he stage-dove off a skyscraper made of sound.

Suddenly, a new sign popped up in front of her, scribbled in glittery marker:

WRITE IT. LIVE IT. JUST DON'T HOLD BACK.

—Waterparks & Co.

A crash of drums. A blur of technicolor hair. The rest of Waterparks—Awsten, Otto, and Geoff—materialized beside Michael midair like rockstar Pokémon, each mid-jump, mid-riff, or mid-scream. It was like watching chaos in high-def on espresso.

Christa didn't hesitate. She grabbed the levitating pen beside her and wrote:

Christa falls into the stage, right into the breakdown, stealing the spotlight and giving the glitch a reason to pulse.

Boom.

She landed in the middle of it all—spotlight swinging, hair windblown, heart thrumming like a subwoofer. Michael pointed at her with his guitar.

"Found our wildcard!" he yelled to the crowd of sentient speakers.

A high-five from Awsten felt like electricity. "We've been waiting for the writer."

"I didn't mean to get sucked in!" Christa shouted.

Otto grinned. "No one ever does."

Geoff flipped upside down, playing bass mid-cartwheel. "But you wrote the line. So now... the chaos plays you."

Suddenly, the world started remixing. Whatever Christa thought... happened.

One blink and the sky turned velvet. Another, and she was riding a glitter-wolf through a beatdrop jungle. Reality wasn't breaking—it was partying.

And just when things settled—bam. He showed up.

A slow fade-in like a dream set to reverb. Silver hair, storm-slicked eyes, and a look like he could flirt with gravity and win. He adjusted his jacket and bowed. "Elraven. Written by you. Made real by the glitch."

Christa rolled her eyes. "I wrote chaos, not smolder."

He smiled. "Too bad. You gave me lines, and I'm improvising the rest."

The bass shook the ground. Behind them, Waterparks launched into a new song—this one somehow rewriting the sky itself.

Michael leaned into his mic, voice echoing:

"Careful what you write, Christa. It's about to get real real."

She grinned. "Bring it."

Cue: The Romance Sequence (PG‑13, chaotic, and sparkling)

Christa and Elraven sprinted through scenes that changed with each thought—castles built on synths, ocean waves made of lyrics, entire dancefloors exploding into slow-motion light.

"You're making this up," Elraven said, twirling her mid-air like a glitchy prince.

"I know," she breathed, heart racing.

He leaned closer. "Then write us something we'll never forget."

She held the pen up to the sky and whispered:

Let the music hold us like a memory. Let the chaos fall away. Just for one second, let this be real.

Everything stopped.

No more flashing lights. No more gravity-jumping. Just her, Elraven, and a soft acoustic riff drifting from Michael's guitar—unexpected, quiet, and full of soul.

"You didn't just write me," Elraven whispered. "You freed me."

She looked down at the notebook in her hand—now glowing, pages flipping on their own. The last line written:

Sometimes breaking the script is the only way to write the truth.

Backstage (or whatever counts as backstage in a cosmic concert):

Waterparks huddled by a mixer table made of clouds and chords.

Awsten blinked. "Did we just help a writer fall in love with her own character?"

Otto snorted. "Dude, we're the glitch. That's our thing."

Michael smirked, scribbling a score on a giant scoreboard floating in space.

"Creativity? 10. Chaos? 11. Romance? PG and punchy. Yup—Christa nailed it."

He looked toward the floating city of riffs and saw Christa kiss Elraven on the cheek before stealing his jacket and running off into the next remix.

Michael lifted his mic. "Break's over, babe. Encore time."