This Is Who I Want to Be in Ten to Twenty YearsMature

Collaborate and Listen, Ice is back with a brand new invention.
Anyway, the story, as far as you are writing, starts with you, right now, as you type (Or, tomorrow during class, lunchtime, pot break, whatever). Feel free to use a fake name. Then something happens to force/enable you to do all of those things that you'd sorta like to know how to do (Albeit not necessarily want to learn how to do) but never did, and don't see yourself doing.

Murphy looked up at the chord sheet and fumbled around with his bruised fingers, contorting them into a C.  The song started, and he strummed in quarters like a monkey banging on a bongo. Mr. Lavadie asked Murphy what the hell that was, and all Murphy could say was:

"Uh, well, er, I  haven't, eh, exactly, I don't know any chords."

He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, almost as if to block out the communicational disaster. He swallowed.

"So, will you learn them?" 

"I'm trying, but I can't find the book, and all I could print were majors before the printer ran out--"

"Alright, whatever. Let Daniel do it."

Of ink, Murphy muttered, finishing up. He sat off to the side and strummed Es, Major as well as minor, until the lunch bell rang.

Murphy put the acoustic/electric in the case and walked out, Washington in his pocket, ready to sacrifice itself for the cause of Hard Shell Taco.  A car pulled up behind him, and the world went dark.

The End

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