Chương 16: Kamilah
Kamilah scrolled through her Twitter feed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she read what others had to say about "Loyalty Ties."
"@KingJamesTheFifth:" Yall ain't lying! That song loyalty ties hits different.
"@ATLBuzz:" "Loyalty Ties" is the anthem we didn't know we needed. Can't wait to see what Arell drops next! #NewWaveATL
"@ItsVictorYo:" Yo, did anyone see that snippet Arell posted on his Instagram? Sounds like straight fire!
Kamilah's eyes widened. She hadn't checked Arell's Instagram since her initial retweet of his freestyle video. Intrigued, she switched apps, a spark of anticipation igniting within her.
Arell's profile picture was a simple black and white portrait, his face etched with a quiet intensity. Below it, a short video clip played on a loop. It wasn't much – just a few bars rapped over a hauntingly beautiful piano melody.
Kamilah hit replay, mesmerized. The snippet was short, but it was enough to leave her wanting more. A sense of connection bloomed within her, a feeling that she was witnessing the birth of something special.
Tapping the comments section, she saw a growing list of fans echoing her sentiments.
"FlawlessFeFe:" OMG Arell This new snippet is EVERYTHING.
"Swag79:" Can someone tell Arell to drop this song already? My ears need a full dose of this
A thrill shot through Kamilah. She hadn't expected to be so captivated by a rising artist, but there was something undeniably authentic about Arell's music. It was captivating, a story in the making that she was drawn into.
With a newfound determination, Kamilah decided to play another video on Arell's page. She landed on the video she vaguely recognized. It was the freestyle video she'd retweeted around a week or so ago, the one that had sparked it all.
Watching it again, she couldn't help but smile. The confidence in his voice, the raw emotion in his lyrics – it all clicked into place. This was the artist behind "Loyalty Ties," the one whose music had taken over her social media feed and, more surprisingly, her thoughts.
Suddenly, a new notification popped up on her phone. It was a direct message from Arell himself on Twitter. The message was simple, yet unexpected:
"Thanks for the support, Kamilah. Your retweet meant a lot. - Arell"
A warmth spread through her chest. A direct message from the rising star himself? She reread the message, a giddy smile spreading across her face. Here was her chance to connect with the artist whose music had resonated so deeply with her. She quickly typed out a response, her fingers flying across the screen.
"No problem, Arell! 'Loyalty Ties' is fire, and that snippet on your story is amazing. Keep doing your thing!"
Hitting send, she waited with bated breath. Would he respond? What else could they possibly talk about? She was about to close the app when a notification popped up again. It was from Arell.
This time, his message was longer and more intriguing:
"Hey Kamilah, appreciate the kind words! 'Loyalty Ties' was just the beginning, I've got something else in the drive…. Working on some other new stuff right now as well, inspired by the city's energy."
A thoughtful smile curved her lips. Atlanta's energy was a constant pulse - a kaleidoscope of ambition, struggle, and resilience. It was a place where dreams clawed their way to life on gritty street corners and echoed in the booming bass of passing cars.
Taking a deep breath, she began to craft her response. Tapping on the screen, she typed:
"That's nice to hear. What's it like for you, going from nobody to kind of a big deal seemingly overnight?"
As she waited for his response, a new notification popped up on her screen, but it wasn't from Arell. It was from her boss, a reminder about the upcoming social media campaign for their latest invisible aligner treatment. Kamilah sighed, the weight of her day job settling back on her shoulders.
"Invisible Smiles and their 'gleaming grin guarantee,'" she muttered under her breath. The inauthenticity of it all gnawed at her. Kamilah had a degree in journalism, for crying out loud. She'd spent years honing her writing skills, dreaming of crafting stories that mattered, that captured the essence of the city she loved. Instead, here she was, drowning in a sea of dental jargon and before-and-after photos.
A wave of self-pity washed over her. Maybe everyone did have an opinion on what she should be doing. Her parents constantly hinted at a "real" job with a benefits package and a 401k. Her friends, bless their hearts, thought her social media job was glamorous, a far cry from the monotonous reality.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus. Bills needed to be paid, and this job, however unfulfilling, was the only one that seemed to tolerate her overpriced journalism degree. With a resigned sigh, she opened a new document and typed the heading: "Sparkle Smiles: Unveiling Your Confident Smile with Invisalign!" Kamilah stared at the cursor blinking accusingly as a frustrated sigh escaped her lips. This wasn't what she signed up for. College applications, fueled by starry-eyed dreams, had promised a career crafting stories not dental advertisements.
Just then, her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her funk. A notification from Arell. She unlocked her phone and read his message.
"Hey Kamilah, thanks for the message. Being 'kind of a big deal' is a bit but I guess its pretty cool to see so many people interested in my music."
Kamilah chuckled at Arell's response. A bit much, huh? There was something endearing about his awkward honesty. She began to type her reply.
"I hear you, Arell. Must be a surreal experience. But hey, at least it means your music is connecting. Speaking of which, that new snippet…wow. What inspired it?"
Hitting send, a thrill of anticipation danced in her stomach. A part of her longed to hear the story behind the music, to get a glimpse of the man creating the soundtrack.
As she waited, the insistent ping of her email notification broke the silence. Ugh, it was her boss, with yet another reminder. Kamilah sighed, the weight of her uninspired job heavily settling on her shoulders.
Again her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her self-pitying spiral. It was another message from Arell. A grin tugged at her lips as she read it. This time, his message was shorter, but somehow more revealing.
"Everything, man. The struggle, the dreams, all that energy buzzing in the air. It writes the songs for me sometimes, inspiration can come from anywhere you know."
Across town, in a dimly lit recording studio, Arell tossed his phone onto a worn leather sofa with a sigh after he finished sending a message to "Kamilah" a twitter user who had been a supporter since he had dropped his freestyle. The constant stream of notifications, the growing demands, it was all a bit overwhelming, yet, he took the time to message a few of the people who had supported him. He glanced around the room at his friends, Kenny, Geoffrey, Devon. Their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the mixing board. Instruments lay scattered about, a half-eaten bag of chips sat precariously on a stool. This, this was where he felt alive. This was where the magic happened.
"Alright, guys, put on another beat," he said, his voice shaking off the weight of the digital world. As the music began to fill the room. The beat pulsed, a steady heartbeat, Arell leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, just letting the vibe wash over him. Papers with half-written lyrics littered the floor, forgotten. This time, it wasn't about forcing words, it was about feeling the rhythm.
He took a long sip from his soda before letting the words flow. "Purple haze hangin' low, head lights bleedin' slow," he murmured, his voice a low hum against the music.
"Lost in the maze, chasing dreams in ah daze," he continued, the words tumbling out like confessions. This city, a labyrinth of steel and glass, held both beauty and danger, a constant push and pull between ambition and despair. He pictured kids on fire escapes, chasing pigeons under the fading light, their faces etched with a mixture of hope and disillusionment.
The beat dropped, a heavy bassline that vibrated in his chest. He leaned back, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.
"Sipping soda, feeling numb, city lights got me lookin' dumb," he rapped, his voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation. The city could be seductive, luring you into its underbelly with the promise of escape, only to leave you feeling empty and lost. "On my feet, thumping, she a tweaker, running,"
He pictured a girl he'd seen earlier, her smile as fleeting as a shooting star. "Shorty with a halo, but her heart's made of ice, yo," he rapped, the bitterness evident in his voice. He took another swig of his soda, the fizz a fleeting distraction from the ache in his chest.
"Diamonds ain't bought with wishes, these stars tell different stories," he spat, the rhyme scheme taking over. "Hustle tattooed on my hustle, grind don't come with no muscle, shorty with a halo? Nah, Nah, these queens got angel dust," he rapped, his voice laced with a cynical humour. City girls, he knew their game. All glitter and glamour on the outside but on the inside, a deep darkness.
"They like the dudes with the tattoos, the ones with stacks to the Pluto," he mumbled, leaning back in his chair. "They haunted by demons, drowning in doubt, run up that bag, they be chasing, hungry for that clout."
"Codeine dreams, yeah, hey keep me on the scene, yeah," his voice trailing off into a melancholic hum. "Hitters on scene, yeah, but its just me and me, yeah," Another long pull from his soda can brought a fleeting sweetness, a stark contrast to the bitterness in his words. He slammed the can down on the worn armrest, the metallic clang echoing in the dimly lit studio.
"But hold on," he rapped, his voice regaining a spark of defiance. "This ain't the whole story, this ain't the end of the rodeo."
He pictured the resilience etched on the faces of everyday hustlers, the flicker of hope in the eyes of kids dribbling a beat-up ball under the flickering streetlights.
"We hustle for a reason, a dream bigger than this trap," he continued, the beat pulsating with newfound energy. "Building empires from the ashes, ain't no handouts, gotta rage with the flow."
He glanced at his friends, their faces illuminated by the glow of the mixing board.
"My brothers got each other's backs, brotherhood," he rapped, a sense of solidarity rising in his voice. "Use to serve in Chiraq, now we rap in Atlanta."
He sighed, the weight of the city pressing down for a moment. But then, a spark ignited in his eyes. "Yeah, the streets whisper danger, but my rhymes got a magic potion," he rapped, his voice regaining its melodic lilt. "Words sharp as a katana, flow smoother than the ocean. Maybe I got a gentle soul, vocabulary vast and deep, but mess with the crew, that's a lesson learned in your sleep."
A wry grin spread across his face. "They call me Arell, ain't no savage, but don't mistake my kindness for fear."
He glanced at his reflection in the darkened window. The city lights shimmered outside, a million flickering dreams reflected in his eyes.
"Gotta keep your vision clear. Demons hanging round,"
He paused, the memory flickering to life. Dark alley, wrong place, wrong time. Cold steel pressed against his ribs, a voice rasping demands. Fear, a primal instinct, but beneath it, a flicker of defiance. He talked his way out, smooth words and a calmness that surprised even himself.
"Used to walk this tightrope, fear a constant companion," he rapped, his voice tinged with a past he'd overcome. "Almost became another statistic, a cautionary late-night emission. But I ain't no victim in this story, ain't lacking no more, you see, keepin' that 40 on me, my brothers holdin' they piece."
The last line hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the pulsating beat. Kenny, ever the optimist, shot out of his beanbag. "Yeah, that's real, Speaks the truth, man. But hey," he nudged Arell's shoulder playfully, "You got way better since the last time you freestyled."
Arell chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders "Alright, next beat. Let's see what magic I can cook up this time. Something smooth this time, gotta let the words breathe.."
Geoffrey grinned. "Say no more, Arell." He disappeared behind a mess of wires and knobs, his fingers flying across the mixing board. A moment later, a mellow beat pulsed through the room. It was a slow, steady rhythm with a deep baseline, punctuated by the occasional shimmer of a hi-hat. He leaned into the mic, his voice blending seamlessly with the smooth melody.
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực