Sonata

An empty driveway with oil stains that had ranged greatly in age, some adapting to the color of the concrete and many other newer ones that were in the shapes of countries had come into view from down the road.
A world of oil.

How deep.

It was gloomy and dark on the Wednesday night of the month of October, and not a time for anyone to be out on the road at such an absurd hour. It was a neighborhood not fit for your average, upper-class citizen, and maybe not even the middle-class, though some got stuck in the rut of a bad economy and had to resort to the circumstances of dirt front yards and a grimy exterior of a house that was no different on the inside.

This was a part of town where all the cockroaches, rats, termites, ants, scorpions, and any other pitiful species commenced; wreaking havoc on innocent people who didn't have a spare dollar to even eliminate them. In every room of every house on the path lived parasites and mold; fucking up lives day in and day out. There was nothing you could do if you were one of the helpless inhabitants, except to remain helpless.
If you could, you'd most likely buy a can of roach spray or mouse traps to have temporary relief from the little fuckers. But, in the long run, the residences of Swallow St. weren't winning the war by a long shot.

They were only boiling in a denial that would soon evaporate them.

Slowly driving down the road, with the front windows rolled down and metalcore blaring, are the boys of our story that were engaging through conversations or confrontations as though traveling along an eerie scenery was a normal happening, which it was. This wasn't a neighborhood that they were merely crossing through in order to reach a better, much nicer community.

This was their home, and they were shortly arriving to the Sykes residence, where Oli and Tom's parents, Ian and Carol, awaited to greet their sons and other illegitimate children. They had been gone for an estimate of three hours, with rehearsing and their performance and such, but the boys' mother and father were surprisingly supportive of their activities.
It is rarely found that older, wiser individuals would condone their spawns' rebellion, especially if it's against the system.

But then again, if said system is legitimately corrupted, age groups from opposite ends of the spectrum will, undoubtedly, bind together and create the toughest bond that even their superiors can't break through. It had been repeated through history time and time again; the team work of a society used to bring down the few, disgusting overtakers who's greed and ability to control is addicting and unstoppable.
So blinded by power that they eyes are fried, and judgment skewed. If you gather a big enough group to agree that a corporation, company, or affiliation is severely flawed, logic and basic reasoning is on your side. People know when they're being fucked over, and once you have an army, then all your demands are met, and then some.

First, you just have to start small.

You have to get your friends and family to nod their heads and form strong convictions as you preach about the wrong doings you are finally starting to witness. They'll feel that same anger and talk to their friends about it, who talk to their friends, and so on.

Paying it forward to the max.

Before you're aware of the impact you've caused, your whole town, major city, state, or even an entire nation is hot on the subject of concern you have resurfaced. It could be an issue that is shiny and new that's been waiting to be tackled, or maybe an equally outraging happening that's been pushed and shoved to the back burner of your country's capital. Bringing back one of those injustices could very easily result in critical injury or fatalities.

The truth is that representatives, senators, presidents, and other numerous positions you elect into office are the ones that want to keep your mouth shut. They look at your life as a statistic, and a profit. They don't care about your health, or your family, or your friends. They don't care if you broke a leg by falling out of your neighbor's tree or if you're diagnosed with cancer and can't pay for treatment.

If it means taking money away from their fat salaries to save you, their only help would be by saving you a place in your local newspaper for an obituary.

In their eyes, a perfect nation is not one that is healthy, rich, and happy; their idea of a perfect nation is one that is thoughtless and controllable by their sons. People that will abide by every law they pass and every tax they put in place. Money up to their necks that is unspendable by its sheer mass; buying a dozen vacation homes on a dozen different countries and indulging in caviar just to see what their shit will look like.

The worst betrayal you could imagine.

Citizens of such wrong doing who have this blunt mentality or are tired of being economically sucked dry by cooperate pigs and want to take a serious stand turn to many things: Themselves, their peers, writing, fighting, or music.
The boys of Bring Me The Horizon consulted all of the above, but left their singer to dominate one: language.

Oli Sykes was the man who felt most strongly and repulsed by what his leaders were doing to him and the people he loved, and frankly, he wanted all of it to be put to a stop. Once they had taken the so-called "privilege" to create and share melodies and lyrics, well, enough was enough.
He was stubborn from birth and no one was going to tell him that fulfilling his passion was deemed prohibited. It didn't matter if that passion was as wrong as slaughtering randoms and boiling their muscles to consume, he would continue to do it thinking that he was in the right. Maybe that was one of his flaws, but could also be commended depending on the situation.

So he followed the natural equation of human tendencies and confided in his parents and brother about it. There was no need to rehash it with his mates since they already knew. His mother was horrified at her son's livid talk about the new law, but even more for the law itself.

Why would such a restriction be established? How was it even possible? His father grew a scarlet, frustrated tint in his face and repeatedly shook his head while Oli unleashed his heavy emotions.
He was never one to bottle things inside his skeleton when pressures were placed upon him; an extreme extrovert at heart, he cursed up a storm and kicked one of his parents' dining room chairs when such a rage could no longer be verbalized.

This was the biggest heist in his eyes, the biggest one of all; taking people's god-given right for no collateral whatsoever.
A sadistic pleasure.
The thought of powerful senators playing that God out of unadulterated boredom made his blood evaporate and his eyes melt.

His parents watched miserably, as anyone would, while their eldest was on the brink of tears as he spoke about all his crushed hopes and dreams; a born talent denied by people who could never comprehend it. His angry thoughts ventured deeper and deeper to a darkness that should never be discovered by anyone, and his mouth spewed rants about how these people weren't even people at all, but demons.
No soul, heart, or single ounce of sanity to encompass their apathetic auras.

Tom stood in the background, behind the wall of the dining room a mere five feet away, close to that kicked piece of furniture. He took in everything Oli was expressing, and even though his love for music was in no comparison to his brother's, he felt himself being injected with a similar rage, even by the smallest dose.
It was almost scary how Oli was acting, and it was a more petrifying thought about what his next actions would classify as.

Getting drunk and more irritable?
Illegal activity?
Murder?

Tom wouldn't put anything past him for the fact was Oli couldn't be tamed, and at the same token: underestimated.
Don't think or tell him that he won't or can't do something because he will prove you wrong. The events to unfold that night were as follows: get mad; get drunk; get out.

Oli ended up becoming so wasted that he escaped from the house in the middle of the night as everyone went to bed. In the morning, Tom was awoken by the screams of his mother; the van was still in the driveway and half her children were missing. The three remaining Sykes searched frantically for an hour and a half before Ian, the father, found his son sleeping in an orange tunnel at the public playground, a five minute drive away.

He was rushed to the hospital due to hypothermia by being exposed to Sheffield's harsh, year-round winter weather and regained consciousness a while later; the first thing he saw was the monitor on his left, and shortly after, all the people who held importance in his life that bombarded him with relief. It was the most risky abuse he ever unintentionally subjected himself to, and his mother would never forget it.
This is why when the boys entered the household, Carol let him have it.

"Oliver Scott! Where 'ave yeh been boy?! Did yeh fancy a nap at the park?"

He rolled his eyes at the panicked tone she conveyed and the sarcasm at which she never failed to add when reprimanding her boys. Her voice instantly turned soft when she noticed Curtis shivering, still stuck on the porch behind everyone and with a pout on his face, and pulled him inside.

As all boys were safely comforted by the warm home, she turned back to Oli with a death glare who replied with a shrug.

"The van...stalled on the 'ighway. Took a tick teh get it operating again."

Lee and Tom scoffed at the white lie, but held static expressions. They would rather laugh and tease about it later than get their asses kicked if Oli was found out.
Kean was missing from the group, already approaching the kitchen with a starving stomach and grabbing hands as he desired for a sandwich.

They practically lived there, especially Nicholls, for he hadn't stayed or even visited his real home for a week. He knew the Sykes cared for him more than his blood family, so it was only appropriate that he stay.

Oli grabbed his best friend by the shoulder and pushed him up the stairs, telling all of them to meet in the game room; he'd be up there in a bit. It was a worn out routine that he got tired of his friends witnessing, though his parents appreciated his discretion and thought that he did it for their benefit.

He was just tired of being humiliated by them in front of his mates.

Tom watched them all trudge up the stairwell with exhausted bodies and half-lidded orbs. The Sykes listened to their multiple pairs of feet his the carpeting toughly, yet with an effort to be quiet, and once the door to their designated area had finally been shut, silence seeped into the main corridor.

Ian decided to rise from his place on the sofa and put his parenting into immediate action by giving stern looks to his sons, who were weak and tired under his gaze.

"Where 'ave yeh been Olleh? Yeh should 'ave telephoned. Carol wuz ill wiff worreh."

"Am sorreh. Got tied up at the club, an' the van stalled."

There was a heavy staring passed along from one to the next, and soon, an intense criss-crossing of lines of vision where the parents and kids were on different teams. Ian and Carol were searching for the slightest hint of deception while the brothers were burying it deep in their subconscious.

After they were certain that there was nothing to be found, Mr. and Mrs. Sykes told them to go upstairs and remember to contact the house when they knew they would be in late.

Carol couldn't live to be scared again like that one evening laced in melancholy.

Tom followed behind Oli as they ran up the stairs and out of their mum and dad's eyes, to which Oli took a huge breath of relief and Tom wiped his sweat-absent brow.

If their parents knew that Oli was the one behind the wheel at any given time then every boy in the Sykes house would be in for it. He was the absolute worst when it came to the reversed cycle America had put upon him. It was clearly apparent when he came back to his driveway the first time with dozens of scratches and dents on the sliding van door.

He hit the median a total of two times and one stop sign.

Carol, very much concerned with everyone's well being, suggested that Oli not drive at all until he got the hang of it with his father present.
She couldn't expect him to actually obey her orders, although Oli didn't want her finding out on the grounds of feeling guilty his mother was, after all, his mother, and when she discovered a new flaw of his it wasn't dealt with lightly.

She informed him of the deep disappointment she was experiencing and served him with the silent treatment. Carol, in fact, wouldn't talk to anyone. She'd occupy herself with household chores that had already been completed, but in her hungry mind, not perfected.

Re-wash dishes, re-dust the table; any labor of work with the prefix "re".

Poor Ian tried to get her to stop and just work it out with her troubled son, to which she would ignore him and continue cleaning. Once Oli came out and begged for his mother's forgiveness -on the grounds of her making his meals- would she return to the world and be social.

He knew this extremely well and wasn't compelled to spark it again.

So he told his white lie.
Tom kept it.
Everyone kept it.
So sue them.

But it was on their minds, unanimously, to tease the bona-fide leader of the pack about such a sin towards his mum, and of course his overall dirty performance on the highway.

"Stalled, eh?"
Kean said slyly from the corner of the room.

The guys had already started playing the xbox, which was some violent war game that could very possibly be a window to what their reality would soon come to, but they ceased once the blood brothers arrived.
Oli shot the promiscuous Matt a glare, and as he turned back around to shut the door, Nicholls slapped Kean across the back of the head with a piercing echo right after.

"Shu'up yeh git. Olleh's losin' 'is 'ead from all the stress."

Lee, who was perched on the arm of the couch in front of Kean, cranked his head to rest on his shoulder; staring at Nicholls with a curious amusement mixed with disgust. He raised his finger and pointed at him and Oli lazily, yet in an accusation.

"When did you two start fuckin'?"
Nicholls scowled at him as quiet laughter bubbled up right after.

Curtis went back to resuming the game and, overall, cheating his way to a cheap win. This was also humorous in the way that considering he sat on Lee's right; stage left, and utterly positioned in the center of the space where everyone could see him, and trying to get away with something when he thought no one was watching, and stuck with a lonely, strong mentality that he could do it.

That no one would ever care to pay attention.

But soon, after Lee and the others had clocked out of the amusement, one by one they realized Curtis' rebellious plan and punished him for it by giving a hard, authoritative punch in the shoulder. He yelped in pain, but knew that, in the back of his mind, that he would do it again when the chance would arrive.

Does this sound familiar, but on a much smaller scale?

Speaking of which, they all had a place to sit; Oli in between both Matts on the couch against the north wall, while Tom, who stood by the door drowning in timidness, finally snagged a spot closer to the television and facing everyone to create an odd circle of sorts.

Showcasing their gaming skills in intricate combinations of pressed buttons, Nicholls sat back and watched the competition unfold, but with a burning question on a completely different subject matter plaguing his head. He couldn't decide if asking it would be a good or bad thing, but going with his instincts, he turned towards his partner in crime.

"So Olleh, wha's up wiff tha' Coreh fellow? He gunna 'ang out wiff us?"

Even making an effort to be nonchalant, Matt was fueled by an inquisitive taste to know where this new threat stood. Corey was a threat because he had a bond with Oli that he could never possess: they were identical in appearance.
So similar that people had mistaken them.

They had been friends since grade school, and this new character arrives and sweeps Oli off his feet; fascinated with a science that he never knew would apply to him. Matt couldn't accommodate for it, and that's what ultimately made him seep in jealousy. He was stuck on the stigma that best friends only meant two people.
After all, how could more than one person be the best?

He was afraid that he was going to have to take the backseat in Oli's life to make room for a kid who hadn't even earned a place to be there. He was a fan, and Matt knew that Oli didn't need to be wasting his time with someone who worshiped the ground he walked on and wasn't there from the beginning.

A kid who admired him after he became somebody.

Just the word itself, admire, meant that he didn't really give a damn. Once Oli fucked one thing up, then Corey would leave his side and move on to the next sensation.
He wanted the fame.
He wanted the attention.

He knew about him, but he didn't know him.

Another aspect that was concerning him was the boy's shady character. He knew his band members would go ahead and laugh at his speculations, but he had an itching instinct that Corey was suspicious and should not be taken lightly. Sure, he seemed star struck and grateful that he was in front of the person who saved his life so aesthetically, but the drummer had a feeling that if he had time to get over that initial shock, maybe Corey would devise a plan to get greedy.

It was hard to believe that he just wanted to be their friends when they had so much to lose to a stranger. What if, and Matt knew that this was ludicrous and deranged, but what if Corey used his matching looks to the lead singer to his benefit?
What if he tried to be Oli?

It would be real simple and clean.
Corey would weave his way into the crew, all smiles and laughs, and presumably innocent, and soon everyone would be on his side. He could get the band to love him, and since Oli's character was quite hard to live with a lot of the time, it wouldn't be hard for him to turn the band against their lead singer.

Oli would be pushed out of the way, and Corey would take over.

Of course, Nicholls would never let something so vile and manipulative weasel his way into any of his friends' hearts, but just the ill thought of the possibility was enough to keep a watchful eye over this visitor. Maybe he would easily try it, and as far as Matt was concerned, that was a large enough red flag to get the damned kid out of their sight.

Oli shrugged, for the second time in the past 10 minutes, and seemed immune to the rotten thoughts about the new boy's character that claimed residence in Matt's head.

"I dunno. I was finkin' tha' he'd be interesting teh 'ave around. Fer god sakes, 'ee could be my brub."

That one hurt him a little bit.
Tom flinched from his corner; affected by that statement also, but kept his mouth shut.

"Come on Oli, I 'ate that kid. He's feckin' wide-eyed and nervous all the time. Let's just ignore 'im."

It was surprising that this statement came from, in fact, a different band member because Nicholls was sure that he was the only one who felt so strongly against Corey's participation.
Lee, however, was unknowingly on his side.

Their singer scoffed at all the unwelcomed feelings over his new twin. He quite liked this guy not only because of identical looks, but because he was speechless and awkward and stunned around him; only showering his hero with compliments and thanks.
Oli liked being someone's hero, even if what he was doing was originally for himself.

But maybe now it wouldn't be, he thought.

If he was already sure that he was one individual's savior, who's to say that the others that had come to the club on a regular basis didn't feel the same way? They had to highly regard him and the boys in someway due to the fact that the audience would never risk what they were doing.
There was some level of honor.

He thought about all his intentions for what he was playing music for: Himself, his mates, his family, and to feed his rebellion.
It never occurred to him that what he was doing was bigger than them all. That this could be an entire movement.

"But Oli, what if he tries teh be you or something? Yeh can neva be too careful with an obsession."

Matt couldn't believe it.
Now Curtis was sharing his equilibrium. He had the same fear as he, and must see the risk in taking in a psychopath. That's what Corey could be after all: crazy.

Curtis didn't stop his match with Lee to completely engage in the conversation, for he was finally losing the game.

The loss could possibly be a small window to reality...