Rewriting history

There was a small wolf. She couldn’t talk. Or else it would come out as something unpleasant.

She wished she could talk however. One day the young wolf was sitting on her bed, listening to the latest of jamaa’s music. She slowly tapped her bottom paw to the beat.

She was madly in love with soft hip hop beats. Nothing else.

She continued tapping her paw to the beat, she sipped her coffeee and looked out the window. It was a rainy day, She continued what she was doing.

Her glasses started to tilt the opposite way. She placed her cup on the table and fixed them. Both earbuds fell out. She got up and decided she wasn’t going to do this anymore.

She walked up the stairs and hopped onto her bed. She opened the sky window and laid down. She watched the rain hit the sky window, she started to make it into music.

She imagined it in a rythym. Soon it became so clear, that rythym. She started recording it. She was now inspired. She left that recording for three minutes and twenty five seconds.

she padded down the stairs, searching and scanning for more interesting sounds.

Until she saw her piano. She walked over to it and started playing, she recorded the same pattern for three minutes and twenty five seconds. She went to her laptop.

She took out the cord and plugged it up to her phone and laptop, then she put both recordings on her desktop. She put them both together and started listening, she came up with lyrics.

If only she could sing them.

She wrote them down, then she started thinking them. She snapped.

She called one of her friends who just so happened to be a song writer, her friend answered the phone. All she heard was breathing, which was normal.

She came over and the wolf pointed at the lyrics and grinned.

Her friend squinted her eyes to read them, the wolf usually used small writing. She looked down at her and asked “what rhythm?”

The wolf looked at her friend, which was a fox and gestured at the lyrics, she took out a small piece of paper and wrote down some dots. “Just sing them.” Her friend said impatiently.

The wolf opened her mouth. “Number fifteen, Burger King foot lettuce, the last thing you’d want in you’re Burger King burger-“