When they tapped, the keys of Ein’s keyboard clacked away, approximately in time with the driving guitar riffs chugging through his new noise canceling headphones. He didn’t hear the rat-tat-tat of the keys as his fingers danced through the story, laying down words in their wake; just the music. The music was so crisp and clean it felt like if he were to turn around, he’d find Phil Lynott standing behind him. It really felt like someone was there, but of course, it was just a trick of the beautiful sound pouring out of the amazing, next-generation headphones that allowed nothing but the tunes down through his ear holes into his brain. He lived alone in his ground level, 1 bedroom apartment; nobody would be there.
He was finally hitting his stride. The first draft of this manuscript danced forward, pausing periodically for Ein to contemplate wording and wail on his air guitar before jumping back into the story with feverish abandon.
All of a sudden, Ein crashed into the end of the chapter and looked at the clock in the lower right of the screen with surprise. It had been hours. When he sat down to write, the room had been bathed by daylight trickling in through the windows, and he had been sweating in the hot, summer air. Now, though, a cool breeze wafted through the room which was only lighted by the harsh, white glow of the monitor painting Ein’s face and arms, stretching long, white smudges of light on the carpet on either side of him.
He looked around with a sigh, the screen still a glowing rectangle floating in the center of his vision. He couldn’t quite see what yet, but could tell that something was wrong with the room. His brows furrowed. He waited for his eyes to adjust, and slipped the headphones out of his ears. The music fell away, replaced by the gentle sound of the vertical blinds over the open window knocking together in the breeze. He stood in shock as he started to see that most of his stuff was gone. While he had been sitting there at work, the TV, stereo, game console, couch, and table had all disappeared. Turning on his heel, he stared at the front door, hanging open.
“How the fuck?” he asked aloud.
“Oh my god, I’ve been robbed,” he murmured as it hit him, his hand lifting to run through his hair. His cheeks started to burn with embarrassment as he realized that – worse than losing his crap – whoever it was had seen him playing the air guitar.
Listen to me red it here:https://www.dropbox.com/s/tedhx13i88cvx3u/NewHeadphones.mp3?dl=0/