This is a CrazyRickRiordanFan Challenge! you can chose ANY well known or popular song and make it into a story

e.g. Stupid Song by Olivia Rodriguo

Those stupid song writers, as if they know anything about teenagers. She thought to herself angrily as she walked home. Abruptly, she stopped and threw her phone to the floor, the glass shattering. Where's my fricking teenage dream? She screamed at the sky. Everybody should feel how I feel when somebody says his name! Tears started streaming down her cheeks. I'm a car, speeding down the boulevard without a brake and I want YOU MORE THAN ANY STUPID SONG COULD EVER SAY... to be continued.

I look forward to hearing your stories!

In the dark of night in a space that was both office, lair and abode. Past an old piano, past a desk strewn with sheet music with neither start nor finish, a man paces.

It's been weeks since he's last seen her. The weeks have flown into months, months into seasons. And still Erik finds himself waiting for her, his Angel to walk through the door. It's become a routine. The day starts, the day ends, time crawls by. Until the night creeps in and Erik is pacing the floor.

Pacing was better then sleep, safer in the darkness of thought, safer then his dreams. Sometimes during the nights he can't escape slumber's grasp he dreams of her. That she's still there with him. His Angel. But then he wakes to the cold of empty air.

More restless then usual, Erik paces farther then his foot catches against something. In the far corner sticking out behind the edge of the piano he spies a music box, his music box sitting innocently. Untouched and collecting dust. A memory of better times.

He knew he shouldn't. But against his better judgement he wound the crank of the music box then set it down on the lid of the piano. As the soft notes began to fill the room Erik sits and closes his eyes.

Just once he ceded. He would allow himself this indulgence, just this once.

Eyes closed, Erik hummed lightly, letting the notes of the song fill his entire being. No thoughts of loneliness, no thoughts of work, or abandoned sheet music. Just the sound of the music box, It was a tune he knew by heart. A song he thought perfect, until he heard his Angel sing it.

Music was the one constant in Erik's life. It was his dream, his passion, his life's purpose, and his lone companion for years. Until one evening he heard it. The same aria he knew by heart. Yet it was as if he were listening to music for the first time. Her voice, oh! That voice. It was pure, raw in the way of a diamond yet to be polished, yet light as the softest breeze in springtime. It was beautiful, she was beautiful.

She was his inspiration, his muse, his angel of music.

He can still remember vividly the sweetness of her voice as it mingled with the tune of the music box. He could hear her, as her brilliant tone took center stage and overtook the instruments. He could picture her. Picture her brown curls, the way her dark eyes shined with the light of a thousand stars as her voice took flight. Her smile, brilliant and warm, almost light enough to keep the darkness at bay.

As the song built into a crescendo Erik lost himself as he basked in the beauty of her voice as inspiration filled him. The musicality, the power, the passion! This was true beauty!

This was his muse, his angel of music.

As the song came to an end Erik turned around and opened his eyes, her name on the tip of his tongue only to be met with the silence of an empty room. And once again he was hit with the gaping ache of loneliness deep down in the core of being.

With a shout of anger he upended his desk, sheet music sent rippling in the air around him.

Let hope pass, let dreams fade, let them die! Without her what is it for?

Gripping his head in his hands Erik sinks to the floor amongst the papers of the failures of his life's work..

He was alone. A musician without a muse. A phantom no more then halfway real.

Until he hears her sing once more.