|ᴏɴᴇ| ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ɢᴜɪᴛᴀʀꜱ & ʙɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ʜɪᴛꜱ

The Miami sun blazed down, its relentless glare transforming me into the unwilling star of a one-woman show titled "Vesper's Slow Roast to Insanity." Welcome to the Sunshine State, where dreams arrive seeking a tan and reality delivers a sunburn worse than the one currently searing into my pasty skin.

My oversized black hoodie billowed behind me like a dark cloud as I trudged through the mall's automatic doors. The air-conditioning enveloped me, its icy caress prompting a sigh of relief as my sweat-dampened skin drank in the chill. "From one circle of hell to another," I muttered, eyeing the bustling food court with all the warmth of a cat spotting an overdue bath.

Grease and desperation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the peppy pop music that grated against my eardrums. A trio of clones in designer labels and manufactured smiles flitted past, their laughter shrieking through my brain like fingernails on a chalkboard. I tugged at my choppy violet bangs, using them as a makeshift shield against the garish spectacle of teen consumerism.

"A job will do you good, sweetie!" My stepmother's chipper voice echoed in my skull, the aural equivalent of a mosquito buzzing around my ear. "Sunshine and fresh air, it's what you need!"

Because nothing screams "mental health" like fluorescent lights, minimum wage, and the soul-sucking drone of corporate drudgery. It's the over-the-counter prescription for existential dread, available at your local Mall-Mart.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window - a fading specter of wasted potential superimposed over a mannequin clad in an outfit that seemed created by a unicorn having a seizure. The dark circles under my eyes rivaled the depth of my burgeoning existential crisis, and my chipped black nail polish flaked away with the same lack of enthusiasm as my will to live. My lips curled into a sneer, the kind that could wither plants with a single glance.

"Prime job applicant material right here," I sighed, the weight of my hopelessness clinging to me like the stale scent of last night's party on the morning after.

With a sigh that could deflate a bounce house, I embarked on my tour of corporate despair. First stop: Suzie's Soups, a culinary wasteland that reeked of stale bread and shattered dreams.

"Hi there!" A voice like a squeaky toy pierced the air. Suzie beamed at me, her grin so bright it should have carried a seizure warning. "We're the best soupy place in town!"

I grunted, extending my pristine resume like an olive branch between enemies. It was untouched, much like my potential and my chances of surviving this interview without a mental breakdown.

Suzie's eyes sparkled like a glitter addict's stash. "Let's do a quick interview! What made you want to work at Suzie's Soups?"

I blinked slowly, channeling my inner sloth on valium. "The sweet embrace of death was busy, so... soup, I guess?"

Her smile twitched, a dying fish on the hook of my apathy. "Um, okay... And how would you handle a difficult customer?"

An eyebrow inched up my forehead, a smirk crawling onto my lips like a creeper on a neglected garden wall. "The same way I handle difficult questions. Stare blankly until they go away or combust - whichever comes first."

"Right..." Suzie's enthusiasm deflated like a popped balloon. "Well, thank you for your... interest. We'll be in touch."

Translation: We'd rather hire a sentient bowl of soup than risk unleashing you on our customers.

The mall stretched before me, an endless wasteland of flickering neon lies and crushed dreams. I trudged on, leaving behind a trail of rejected applications and shattered corporate souls.

Hot Topic? "Sorry, we're looking for someone a little more... enthusiastic about life." Translation: Even the store dedicated to angst found me too much. Achievement unlocked.

Sunglasses Hut? "Perhaps a place with less... direct sunlight would suit you better." Translation: My ghostly skin offended their entire business model. Turns out, you can be too pale for capitalism.

Just as I offered my weary bones a break, collapsing onto a bench with the elegance of a tranquilized giraffe, I spotted it. A flickering flyer for Sonic Boom, the nearby music store, beckoned to me like a lighthouse in a storm of mediocrity.

A spark - a flicker of interest - dared to take flight within my cold, dead heart. Maybe, just maybe, hope existed somewhere beyond the warm embrace of despair. Or at least a place where my perpetually dark aura wouldn't send customers fleeing like they'd witnessed the birth of their own cynicism.

I raised a giant blue slushee to my lips, relishing the cold sweetness that matched the icy void in my chest. With a renewed sense of "let's get this over with," I headed toward Sonic Boom, ready to embrace this glimmering opportunity-or at least find some new headphones to drown out the world.

And then it happened.

SMASH!

The sound of shattering expectations-or was it just glass? - rained down from above, a shower of sparkling shards that put Twilight vampires to shame. My eyes darted upward, a premonition of dread blooming in my chest like the world's most unwanted flower, and that's when I saw it.

An electric blue guitar, as if torn from the hands of a neon god, hurtled toward me. It was a twisted metaphor for my plummeting hopes, set to a soundtrack of gasps and shrieks from the mall-dwelling normies around me.

"Oh. My. Shit-"

The words died on my lips, not swallowed by fear or shock, but by the sudden, enveloping darkness as the world faded to black. In that moment, suspended between consciousness and oblivion, one thought crystallized in my mind:

If this is how I go out, at least make sure my eulogy doesn't suck as much as this day did.

And then, nothing. Just the sweet, silent embrace of unconsciousness-finally, a state of being I could truly appreciate.

─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

Consciousness crept back like an unwelcome house guest, bringing with it a symphony of pain that made me wish I'd stayed in the blissful void of unconsciousness. The world around me was a cacophony of half-hearted excuses and panic-stricken voices, a ragtag group of teenagers who'd clearly never dealt with a crisis beyond choosing the right Instagram filter.

"Well done, Austin and Dez. Your shenanigans have officially injured an unwitting bystander," a female voice chastised with a bite that could rival a shark's.

"Don't blame us; it was the Kangaroo. We had zero way of knowing it didn't want to play the guitar," one of the boys replied, his voice oozing the innocence that only comes from a lifetime of getting away with stuff. "I mean, who doesn't want to play guitar?"

"Kangaroos prefer drums, Ally. Keep up. This whole debacle could've been avoided if you'd just written that song," another male voice interjected, his tone drenched in self-assurance that bordered on delusional. "My genius can only compensate for so much."

Ally groaned-a sound that resonated in my very soul-and I could almost see her eyes roll back hard enough to witness her own brainwaves. "Forget the song! Dial 911. We need actual adults here, stat!"

The shuffle of feet accompanied the next voice, another girl who sounded like she was weighing the pros and cons of a life behind bars. "No, no, no, don't call the cops. We report it, and that's it. I mean, come on, look at me-I'm like a walking, talking beauty pageant. And you, Ally, you've got that whole 'future leader of the world' vibe. And them? Well, they'll be jail meat. Austin's too pretty, and Dez... well, is Dez."

"Honestly, for all we know, the goth girl's kicked the bucket. I say we ditch the body and save ourselves a lot of work. I know an expert in dealing with this sort of thing."

Me? Dead? As if. Her words were a shovel, ready to bury me six feet under the remnants of my dignity. The insistence in her voice was chilling, enough to kick my brain into gear - no way was I letting these clowns dispose of me in their backyard. Last time I checked, plotting the final disposition of human remains wasn't typical angel behavior. And it's not like I'm assuming heaven is where I'm heading anytime soon either-I've got plans for Hell, big, big plans. However, Hell's got nothing on these guys.

Last time I checked, plotting the final disposition of human remains wasn't typical angel behavior. And it's not like I'm assuming heaven is where I'm heading anytime soon either-I've got plans for Hell, big, big plans. However, Hell's got nothing on these guys.

Every fiber of my being screamed rebellion. I was a wreck, sure, but I was a wreck with a mission. Lawsuits, revenge, and the sweet, sweet melody of their impending doom played in my mind like the world's most satisfying playlist. My eyes shot open, dead set on retribution and possibly a lifetime supply of free guitar picks.

"Thank God; she's coming to!" Ally, Dez, and Austin exhaled in unison, their relief palpable. Who's who? At this point, they were just a blur of bad decisions and worse fashion choices.

"Hide!" one of the boys-probably the one with the IQ of a toasted sandwich-cried out, thinking invisibility was an option in a store made primarily of reflective surfaces. My gaze followed a redheaded blur as it collided with the remnants of musical aspirations.

CRASH!! SMACK!! BANG!!

"Dez!" Ally's voice rang out, a mixture of anger and something that sounded suspiciously like chronic disappointment. Sonic Boom-the store, the situation, the irony-flooded back like a tidal wave of embarrassment.

It's the Sonic Boom music store, alright, and I'm center stage in their latest disaster. With a groan that feels like it's been dredged up from the depths of my soul, I half-sit, half-collapse, taking stock of my surroundings. The pain in my head is a pulsing beacon of suffering, and my violet locks feel sticky with sweat-or worse, blood. Three pairs of eyes are fixed on me, wide with terror - as if I'm the one who's a walking catastrophe.

"Each of you deserves a stint behind bars, starting with Red over there," I sneer, glaring at Dez, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, hiding behind what used to be musical instruments. "Though I doubt prison's got a jumpsuit that'll fit those giraffe legs."

"Come on, man! Could you give it a rest? There's no way you're hiding all that gangly awkwardness," I add, my words dripping with sarcasm like venom from a snake's fangs.

Ally rushes to my side, her face a mix of concern and fear. "Woah there! Easy!" she cautions, keeping a safe distance from my glare. She's got that girl-next-door vibe, but her fashion sense screams, 'I've given up on life and embraced my future as a spinster librarian.'

"How's your head? No, wait! Guess how many fingers I'm holding up?" The blonde, Austin, tries to distract me with a pathetic game. He's all hipster glam, but I can see through that facade. He's the kind who thinks it's a bright idea to give wild animals musical instruments and then act surprised when chaos ensues.

Austin raises two fingers and a thumb, and he recoils when I fix him with a flat look that could freeze hell over. "Zero," I state, unamused and thoroughly done with this circus.

He looks confused momentarily, shifting his gaze between his fingers and me like he's watching a particularly intense tennis match. Dropping his hand, he says, "Are you sure you don't want to, you know, try again? Second time's the charm!"

I can't believe this guy. I let out a husky laugh despite the situation, the sound somewhere between a cackle and a death rattle. They're all staring at me now, probably thinking I've lost it. Who laughs after taking a bonk on the noggin by a flying guitar? Me, apparently. Welcome to my life, where tragedy and comedy dance a twisted tango.

"I said zero..." I wipe away tears, not from pain but from the ridiculousness of it all, "...because I'm this close to biting off all your fingers if you don't hurry and get them out of my face. And trust me, pretty boy, you need those fingers if you ever want to play guitar again."

Austin recoils like I've begun chomping down, sending a cascade of violins tumbling. The sound of breaking strings is music to my ears. "It'll be as easy as biting into a raw carrot but much more unpleasant. Visualize a gruesome scene filled with blood, ligaments, and jagged bones. Once I'm done, you won't have anything left to... well, you ought to have got the picture by now. This headache is just the prelude to the agony you'll experience."

Ally grimaces at the graphic description, and I can tell she's cataloging this moment in her mental file of 'Things to Tell a Therapist.' "You do remember, don't you?" she asks, her voice a mix of hope and dread.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. First, let me peel myself off this floor, and then I'm off to the Police station to file a report. Good luck with your lawyers, virgins; you'll need them. I'm about to turn your stupidity into my payday. Hope you've got deep pockets, because I've got a feeling my medical bills are gonna make your heads spin faster than that guitar did."

I sneer, my anger a living thing pacing in its cage, ready to be unleashed upon these unsuspecting idiots.

I had every right to be pissed. They think they're standing on some moral plateau, but I'm about to open up the earth beneath them. Today was supposed to be your basic average and boring as fuck Tuesday. But no. It had to be that kind of day that made you wish you could melt into the shadows and disappear, but that wasn't an option-especially not when you're standing in the middle of a second-rate music store with a throbbing knot on your head, courtesy of a rogue guitar that had decided to go solo. The air was thick with tension and the scent of desperation, the kind that clings to you like a second skin.

I eyed the group before me, a mismatched crew who looked like they'd just walked off a sitcom set-too bright, too shiny, too... not me. Austin, the blond one, was still on the floor, his hazel eyes wide with the fear that made you want to laugh and run simultaneously. Ally, the brunette, stood rigid, her gaze calculating like she was trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem. And there were the two other misfits, the girl with raven hair who looked like she was planning her escape route, and the towering redhead giant Dez, who seemed more concerned with a loose thread on his shirt than the impending doom I was promising.

They babbled over each other, a symphony of excuses and explanations that buzzed in my ears like flies at a summer barbecue. Something about a fallen pop star, a songwriting disaster, a brush with death by an exotic animal, and a wrestling jacket. It was like listening to a radio stuck between stations, each snippet more ridiculous than the last.

"We're sorry; we didn't mean for that to happen," Ally stammered, her hands twisting together like she was wringing out a wet towel. "It was all a big misunderstanding!"

I snorted, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a pinball machine gone haywire. "Sorry doesn't fix this lump on my head, does it? Or did you think your apology had magical healing properties? News flash: it doesn't."

Austin, still on the ground, looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes that probably got him out of trouble more often than not. "Please, we really can't get the police involved," he pleaded, his voice cracking under desperation. "Our careers, our futures... it'll all be ruined!"

I pretended to ponder their plight, tapping a finger against my lips in an exaggerated display of contemplation. "I could use a good laugh watching you all try to dance out of this mess, but I'm not heartless. Contrary to popular belief and my fashion choices."

They exhaled in unison, the relief palpable enough to cut with a knife.

"But," I added, pausing for dramatic effect, savoring the way they all tensed up again, "I want something in return. Consider it... compensation for my pain and suffering. And trust me, I'm suffering just looking at you all."

Ally blinked, cautious hope battling with suspicion in her eyes. "What do you want? Our firstborns? The secret to eternal youth? Austin's hair gel supply?" she asked, her tone suggesting she was bracing for the worst.

"A job. Here," I declared as if I was bestowing them a royal favor. "Consider it community service. You nearly killed me; the least you can do is provide me with minimum wage and a front-row seat to whatever teen drama unfolds in this place."

They exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them that probably went something like: 'Is she serious?' 'Can we trust her?' 'Do we have a choice?' Ally's reluctant smile was the white flag of their surrender. "Okay, deal. But no more threats. And definitely no biting."

I gave them my best mock salute, wincing slightly as the movement sent a throb of pain through my head. "Wouldn't dream of it. Scout's honor." The fact that I'd never been a scout was beside the point.

Trish murmured to Ally, casting dubious looks my way. "Are we sure about this? She looks like she'd sell our organs on the black market for concert tickets."

"I heard that," I quipped. "And for the record, I prefer my organs where they are. Selling yours, though? That's still on the table."

"So, when do I start my reign of terror-er, employment?" I asked, tilting my head in mock innocence. "I'm thinking my first order of business will be implementing a 'No Flying Instruments' policy. Revolutionary, I know."

Ally, now with a spark of defiance that matched my own, said, "How about now? Might as well jump into the deep end."

I grinned, all teeth and no remorse. "Perfect. Lead the way, boss."

As I followed them deeper into the store, I couldn't help but think: This was either the beginning of a beautiful disaster or the worst decision of my life. Either way, it was going to be one hell of a ride. And who knows? Maybe working here wouldn't be the death of me.

Then again, with this crew? All bets were off.

─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

Word Count: 3245

A/N: This officially concludes the first chapter of To Be Young. Get ready for a wild ride, my friends. Here isn't your average fluffy Disney fanfic. I wanted to make this as realistic as possible; there are mature themes. Also, there aren't enough Austin and Ally fanfics. Let's please work on changing that. Also, the chapter is dedicated to @https-driverera. Their fanfic Heaven is You gave me the courage to publish this story. Anyways, expect an update either sooner or later this week. Peace, my pixie stix babes,

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