Starshine, Sky, and the Power of Rock

Rebuilt

I'd tell you all about how betrayed I feel right now but I'm a little busy figuring out how to keep twelve inches of pure oak from ripping through my rib cage.

My first response I admit is a little stupid. I grab his wrist and try to push against him to move the stake away from me. The stake is frozen in place from our fighting forces. I can tell he's holding back because there's no way I'm matching him in upper body strength.

He holds me tighter against him, his other hand over my mouth after I try to scream. He's almost cradling me, in a morbid way. I'm kicking and struggling as hard as I can but it's no use.

"This could've been so much easier, kid," Boris whispers right into my ear. "Why do you have to fight?"

My guts churn. I can't let it end like this. After everything he's done he doesn't get to have this. When I die it's not gonna be by him. But it's a little hard to keep telling myself that when he's got his murder weapon inches from my heart. My arm muscles burn and shake. They're starting to give. On instinct I try to back away but all that's there to back into is him.

"I was trying so hard to make sure the last thing I said to you was perfect," he mutters against my ear. The chills send a fresh wave of muffled screams out my mouth and into his hand. "You're making this worse for both of us, you know that?"

I try to make the smallest change in my elbows to get some sort of leverage but I'm not quick enough and now my arms are bent and the stake just got way closer. And closer... And closer...

A magical blast knocks us over and the stake out of his hand. A second later I recognize it as the distinct, deep sound of a bass guitar.

There's Gossamer, decked out in green and black, holding her bass in a fighting stance.

"Gossamer?" I say.

She starts playing furiously, keeping Boris off my back. "Your Soul Player! Turn on your Soul Player!"

Oh, right! My finger finds the power button on the CD player on my hip. There's a flash of pastel rainbow and suddenly I'm in a different outfit that I'm too busy to pay attention to. What's important is the headset cushioned around my ears and the guitar in my hands. I can say the same for Boris. I guess we decided to transform at the same time.

Alright, Boris. Let's see what tricks you taught me.

I'm not sure what song Gossamer's playing but I figure pretty quick what sounds good with it and my hands are winging it before my brain can tell them what to do. Boris responds in kind, but now that I'm playing I'm not scared of anything much less some jerk that lures a girl a decade younger than him through the forest just to cry into her shirt and try to kill her when she doesn't give him what he wants.

Even though it's two against one, Boris has still got years on us and it's showing. But even if my boots are sliding back from the force of his music, I'm still keeping them on the ground. He's trying to push me into rhythm guitar with all those fancy riffs but I can get fancier.

I just barely notice what I think are the shapes of other kids coming into my peripheral, no doubt wanting to see where all the noise is coming from. I see the panic in Boris's eyes when he realizes these kids are armed, too. One super experienced guy may do good against two kids but not this many.

He slips up. Here's my chance.

I go for a guitar solo. My fingers dance on the strings so hard and fast I wouldn't be surprised if they started a fire. For a couple glorious seconds I forget what's even happening. Why I'm playing. All that matters is that I am.

By the time I play my last note, Boris has scrambled off and kids are cheering all around me. At least, I hear cheers. I think. I mostly just see colorful moving blobs right now. With my last shred of consciousness I turn off my Soul Player. The guitar and outfit, whatever they looked like, poof away.