The Return of King Roach (Mini-Doc)

The day had finally arrived. With my hands trembling, I clutched the stack of tickets I had printed out, each one a symbol of my rebirth as a performer. I had spent countless hours preparing for this moment, perfecting my setlist and rehearsing until my fingers ached. The support of Lantern Hall had been invaluable, allowing me to focus on my music and my vision for the mini-documentary that would showcase my triumphant return to the stage. As I paced the green room of The Bitter End, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. The uncertainty of whether Brenna would show up to my performance weighed heavily on me, but I knew I couldn’t let it affect my performance. The show was about more than just me; it was about proving to the world that I had the strength to conquer my demons and take control of my destiny. With my heart pounding in my chest, I waited as JD, who I entrusted with the task of director, filmed my every move. I wanted to capture every moment of this journey – the anticipation, the nerves, the elation – to serve as a reminder of how far I’d come. As I adjusted the focus, I couldn’t help but think back to the knowledge I’d gained during my time with Storm. He had been an incredible mentor, showing me the ropes of the industry and helping me to hone my craft. But even with our relationship distant, I let him know of everything that I was doing, in hopes of making him proud of me. As showtime approached, I could feel the energy in the room building. Friends, family, and fans had come to show their support, filling the venue with an electric atmosphere. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I prepared to step onto the stage. The moment my fingers touched the strings of my guitar, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. The music flowed through me, each note a testament to my resilience and my determination to rise above my struggles. As I played, I felt as though I was shedding my old skin, leaving behind the darkness that had plagued me for so many years. Larry Oakes, who ran Singer Songwriter Sessions, approached me afterward, his eyes wide with amazement. “That was powerful,” he told me, his words filling me with a sense of accomplishment I had never known before. As I packed up my equipment, I couldn’t help but think that this was only the beginning. Brenna wasn’t in attendance, and while a part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t have to confront our situation on the night of my performance, the liquor in my system would guide me to the company of strangers, where their praise was more than welcomed. As I fell back backward into an abyss, I would end my night on ecstasy, giving myself the falsest pat on the back imaginable.