All of the artists I have ever looked up to have said that their success is because of their fans. They had gotten where they were because of their fans. Their fans bought their posters and CDs. Their fans bought tickets to watch their them play live at a concert. Their fans encouraged them to continue, and I understand what they mean by that.

For a little over four years now, I have been involved in a now extremely famous band called The Phoenix's Flame. Even when we were playing in basements, I enjoyed the feeling I got when I performed. The fact that I am able to make my own music and share it to the world is remarkable. I can write from my heart and put it into a song that I know at least one person will enjoy. Whether it be myself or somebody else, that's not my say.

We were founded on YouTube. We would post covers of songs that we liked just for the fun of it or even a few of our original pieces. And when they appeared to be well-liked, we were flabbergasted at the amount of people who liked them. Soon we were famous on YouTube, and we would see people comment on our videos telling us that somebody should discover us. We wanted to become famous, but we knew that the chance of that happening was slim. Then one day it changed with a simple comment on a video of our's.

"Laurance, I lost one of my drumsticks."

"Well, I don't know where it is. Go ask Y/N."

We're currently in the recording studio recording a few songs for our quickly nearing album. As usual, we are unprepared, and Vylad somehow managed to lose one of his drumsticks. At least this time it wasn't Laurance forgetting where he placed his guitar.

"Y/N," Vylad says as he confronts me, holding a single drumstick in his right hand. "Do you know where my other drumstick is?"

Vylad Ro'meave, my younger brother, is the drummer for our band. Before our band, he never knew how to play any instrument. We had to not only try to convince him to be in the band on a cold winter day, but we had to help him learn how to play the drums. A few days before his thirteenth birthday he had gotten his first pair of drumsticks during a Christmas party, and he had gotten his first drum set on that birthday. He's highly intelligent, and he's seems like a completely adorable little turtle who loves the color green.

"If I knew, I would tell you. But sadly, I don't know. Sorry lil' bro."

Vylad sighs and walks off to try to find his drumstick. He had it only a few minutes before, so it shouldn't be very far. Having his luck, it could be in his back pocket and he wouldn't know it. It's like mom when she thinks that she lost her sunglasses, but they're really on the top of her head. He once had his phone while sitting at the kitchen table, and he was playing on it. Garroth was joking around, and then Vylad became anxious and started to flip out asking where his phone was. This was until Zane laughed at him, and I told him to look down.

I glance over at Alex's direction, the girl currently being recorded, to see that she's cupping a side of her headphones with one hand and sings. The person on the other end seems to be enjoying it because he's nodding his head slightly. It's her turn to sing in the booth, and after she's done we'll do something. And by something, it means I have no idea what we'll do.

I look at Laurance and smile as I walk over to a chair to sit in. He returns the smile and walks over to sit next to me. "The fans and internet are suspecting things again," he says, holding up his phone to show a picture of a post of his. "I think I made a mistake."

"I constantly tell you not to post pictures of things any of us do that can make anyone appear to be a couple. You're lucky one's in the recording booth and one is trying to find a missing drumstick or else they'd kill you for their Instagram blowing up with, yet again, another picture they didn't know, nor allow, you to post. I'm going to laugh when you die."

"You're not very nice."

Laurance Zvahl, the oldest one out of all of us, is our lead guitarist. He's a flirt who can get any girl to fall for him, being famous also helps him, and he knows it too. His ego can take control, or he'll oftentimes become a pig when it comes to girls. At other times, he can be the sweetest thing ever. He'll do something stupid to make you smile or laugh, even if it means burning down his house or coming off as a total fool, He enjoys making music, and he tries to stay serious on it, but not too serious where the rest of the band wants to choke him for being so annoying and strict.

"I only speak the truth," I say, straightening my posture and holding my right hand up in the air.

He laughs, "Liar. You lied just this morning about who ate the last doughnut. You knew for a fact that I called dibs on that doughnut."

"I feel hurt," I say, foraging being in pain, I place my hand over my heart, pouting. "And I'll have you know, that doughnut was amazing."

Laurance's phone's ringer goes off singling another notification, and he reads it after sighing in relief. He looks up at me from his phone and dramatically swipes his forehead with the back of his hand to wipe off his imaginary sweat. His sweat is about as real as my pity for him when he gets beat up later.

The door to the recording booth suddenly opens, and Vylad rushes over to the exiting Alex. Drumstick still in hand, he gives her the same question he's asked Laurance and myself. She looks at him with a small closed mouth smile, and her eyes slightly crinkle from the action.

"Alex, do you know where my other drumstick is?"

"Oh, you mean the one in my back pocket?" Alex says, pulling the so-called missing drumstick from her back pocket. Vylad glares at her ripping it out of her hand. "You're welcome by the way."

Alexandra Zvahl, the youngest of us all, is our bassist. In pictures, albums, or CDs, depending on how recent they are, you'll see a shorter girl with long hair that has dyed tips that oftentimes will now change colors. She's sassy and will threaten to beat you up. Most of the time they are empty threats, but she can be mean when she wants to. Other than that, she can be a kind person who will do mostly anything for anyone and will try to be as selfless as she can.

"I hate you."

"I love you too," Alex walks over to the side table next to me and grabs her phone. She looks up at me and smiles before glancing back down at her now lit phone screen. It takes a double check for her to realize all the Instagram notifications of comments saying things along the lines of "#Vlexhassailed" or other things like that. She's not dating Vylad, but their friendship can oftentimes betray them into making other people think that they are. "What the. . . Laurance, you're dead!"

Laurance looks up at her from his phone like a deer trapped in headlights. Vylad mumbles something incoherent and begins to walk towards Laurance with Instagram lit up on his phone. Laurance starts to get up and runs into the recording booth, shutting the door behind him. The recording person smiles and tells the rest of us to get inside the booth for another song to be recorded. After this song, we get a break for something to eat. When everybody is inside is when Alex takes a drumstick out of Vylad's hand and starts to hit Laurance with it repeatedly. I glance through the thick glass at the recording guy to see that he's laughing as he clutches his stomach from the pain his laughing is giving him.