The whole life soundtrack thing had seemed so cool to start off with. Like seriously, imagine how cool it would be to have dramatic kick-ass music just in the backdrop of everyday life! It made everything you did so much cooler. Because that totally awesome lifelong personal music service was reserved for the heroes on daring quests, the lovable couple overcoming all odds, it was the thing that followed the heroes in every TV show, movie and video game ever. Yes, it made life a little more depressing at times. Rejection hurt a hell lot more when the piano kicked in. But otherwise it’s an amazingly cool proposition, right?

Wrong. It’s fun and games until you’re home alone and the entire string section and a sousaphone rock up to the party. What’s that noise followed by a dark and foreboding bar of incredibly well composed music? Oh it must be impending death. Oh boy. This was why Nikki was crouching in her cupboard gripping a knife ready to cry or kill something, possibly both. That goddamn sousaphone. A floorboard creaked, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. The violins picked up. It was getting closer. Slowly one by one the remaining instruments joined the party, Nikki whimpered. A full orchestra swing: intense and dark and fucking terrifying. Then nothing. Absolute silence. Nikki’s knuckles whitened as she clutched the knife closer, tighter and shakier. Peering through the tiny gap in the doorway the room appeared empty, but like hell she was moving. She took a deep breath and shuffled back, deeper into the mass of long coats and jackets. The silence persisted, taunting her with false security. Come out Nikki, that sousaphone is gone. You’re safe now.

But of course she wasn’t safe. Those violins were lying. She was never safe. Because people don’t have soundtracks to their life. You don’t suddenly wake up to the sound of a cheerful acoustic jingle. That’s not the way life works. There was a floorboard creaking again. The instruments still maintaining their stance on silence a figure loomed closer to the cupboard door. Slowly and cautiously putting their hand to the door. Nikki readied her knife sliding up the wall. She wasn’t going to let the string section or that damn sousaphone win. The cupboard door opened and Nikki stumbled out, hacking and slashing the way a desperate cornered animal does in an attempt to continue their life. The lighting picked up and the violins came back. They weren’t lying – the sousaphone really had left. Replaced by a piano. Her hands were shaking, she blinked a couple of times. The knife hit the floor with a clang that made a beautiful contrast to the mournful tune. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t her room, that wasn’t her closest. Her monster was no monster.

Her monster was the owner of those fluffy pink cushions that littered the bed and boy band posters that filled up all open space on the walls. Nikki staggered back, into a corner covering her ears. Blocking away the soundtrack but she couldn’t block out the blood that was dripping down her skin and pooling on the floor. No. No. No. No. She screamed and screamed. Not again, not again, not again.

The whole life soundtrack thing had seemed so cool to start off with. Because that lifelong personal music service was not only reserved for the heroes on daring quests, the lovable couple overcoming all odds. It wasn’t also for the villains, the psychos, the crazies. Nikki wasn’t getting rid of the soundtrack that plagued her life but she hoped that, she wished that, someone would change the disc. The scene was getting old, repetitive and she just wanted that goddamn sousaphone to go away.