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MidReal Story
Whim of a Hit
Scenario:I created a hit song.
Create my version of this story
Alex Turner
bandmate and best friend to Michael, close friend to Sarah, rugged appearance with tattoos, laidback and loyal
Sarah Collins
supportive girlfriend and manager, in a relationship with Michael, petite with bright eyes, organized and optimistic
Michael Jennings
struggling musician, friends with bandmates, tall with messy hair, creative and passionate
"Michael, it’s time to go."
I glance up from my guitar to see Sarah standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.
She’s tapping her foot on the hardwood floor, and I can tell she’s getting impatient.
I don’t blame her—I’ve been working on this song for hours.
But I can’t help it.
The music is flowing through me, and I have to get it all down before I lose it.
"Just give me a few more minutes," I say, my fingers flying over the strings.
Sarah sighs and shakes her head.
"Fine. But you know how Alex gets when we’re late."
I nod, but I’m not really listening.
Sarah is right—Alex will be pissed if we’re late again.
But I can’t stop now.
The words are coming faster than I can write them down, and I know this is going to be one of my best songs yet.
I strum the last chord and look up at Sarah with a grin on my face.
"All done."
She smiles back at me and holds out her hand.
"Let me see it."
I hand her the notebook, and she flips through the pages, scanning the lyrics.
When she gets to the end, she looks up at me with bright eyes.
"I love it. You’re so talented, Michael."
I feel a swell of pride at her words.
"Thanks, Sarah. Now, let’s get going before Alex blows a gasket."
We rush out of the apartment, my guitar slung over my shoulder and Sarah clutching the notebook to her chest.
The evening air is cool, and the city lights flicker like stars above us.
We hurry down the street to where Alex is waiting by his beat-up van, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Finally!" he exclaims as we approach.
"Do you guys have any idea what time it is?"
"Relax, Alex," I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
"We're here now, aren’t we?"
He grumbles something under his breath but opens the back of the van so I can stash my guitar.
Sarah climbs into the passenger seat while I slide into the back with my gear.
The drive to the bar is short but tense.
Alex keeps glancing at the clock on the dashboard, and I can tell he's worried about our set time.
I try to focus on my new song, running through the chords in my head and humming the melody under my breath.
When we finally pull up to the bar, I feel a mix of excitement and anxiety churning in my stomach.
The place looks almost deserted from the outside, but that's nothing new for us.
We've played more empty rooms than I care to count.
Inside, the bar is dimly lit and sparsely populated.
A few regulars nurse their drinks at the counter, and a couple of tables are occupied by people who look like they wandered in by accident.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that every gig is a chance to get better.
We set up our equipment on the small stage at one end of the room.
Sarah gives me a reassuring smile as she helps me plug in my guitar.
"You’ve got this," she says softly.
I nod, trying to believe her words.
As we start our first song, I scan the room and notice a man sitting alone at a table in the back.
He's holding up his phone, recording us.
I push down the unease that bubbles up inside me and focus on playing.
The music flows through me, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
When it's time for my new song, I take a deep breath and step up to the microphone.
"This is something I've been working on," I say, my voice shaking slightly.
"I hope you like it."
I start playing, pouring all my emotions into each note and lyric.
The man in the back continues recording, his eyes fixed on me.
As I strum the final chord, there's a moment of silence before the crowd erupts in applause.
It's louder than anything we've ever heard at one of our shows.
My heart races with hope as I look out at the audience.
Suddenly, the man from the back stands up and makes his way toward us.
He has an air of confidence about him that makes me nervous.
"Hey," he says when he reaches the stage.
"I'm Tom Reynolds. I'm a talent scout for Atlantic Records."
My breath catches in my throat.
This can't be real.
Before I can respond, Tom continues.