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Writer
Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: San Diego, California
Posts: 46
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The Band That Never Was (flash) language
I'd love to have a stronger ending, but this was all I could think of, so. Honesty is appreciated and loved. Thanks in advance.
The Band That Never Was
900 words Laura Yan
That night they celebrated their success.
They clinked glasses and drank beer, laughing, talking, unaware of the world around them but happy, so happy, their heads spinning with delight and dancing and twirling. There were exams and projects due the next day, but what did it matter? They were in! They were going to be rock stars! School was an obstacle that no longer seemed so dark, so impossible.
The four of them. Drinking, cheering.
Kenny, 16. Vocals and guitars.
James, 15. Guitars and vocals.
Anna, 16. Bass and vocals.
Dustin, 17. Drums and effects.
The punk compilation in the stereo, spitting out angry lyrics, and them, singing along, just as loud, just as energetic.
Kenny, flipping off the couch, stumbling up the stairs, dragging down his guitar, Anna laughing, clapping, and the others joining in.
The neighbors, restless, frustrated, yet powerless. The doorbell was broken and had been broken for too long. Pressing earmuffs against throbbing heads.
Their parents, blocks away, happy for their kids but worried.
Anna, turning down the stereo, plugging in the amp.
Dustin, slurred words, asking James for a favor.
James, twisting away to gather the drumsticks and plastic tableware.
“Rock on!” Kenny, screaming as if on a live stage.
All four laughing, bonding, tumbling into each other’s arms.
The black Fender Strat, into the amp, James’s fingers flying in a solo.
“Show off!”
“Bastard!”
Cries and teases from all around the room.
James, careless, letting all his ecstasy jam into the guitar, the music.
The distortion knob, turned to 10.
The volume, on 10.
The energy in the room, the raw teen spirit, 200.
Dustin, starting the drumbeats, so fast that they sounded as one. Hollow but so powerful, louder than a real drum set.
Anna, dancing, whirling, short skirt lifting, flashing fishnet clad thigh.
Kenny, starting to sing, sing and scream, screaming in song, singing in screams.
Cares floating out the window, dumping on the dew stunned grass.
Four voices, in unison, screaming lyrics written by enraged hands.
The night, black, sharing their delight, soaking in their power.
And, above them, under a gleaming moon, swinging shadowed legs on a tree branch, a figure, watching in silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun climbed with effort, dragging his footsteps, rubbing his tired eyes. Shy at first, then opening his mouth, stringing out bell like laughter.
Four young bodies, slumped on the couch, on the carpet, a hand twisted on a desk, an instrument abandoned, still unplugged, buzzing. Empty bottles littering the room, the stereo feebly cooing lyrics that lost all its aggressiveness.
Eyes glued shut, mouth slightly open, flashing white teeth. Slow breaths, tired breaths. And a knock on the wooden door, short, impatient.
A stirring form on the carpet. One pair of eyes struggling to brighten, struggling to awake. Another knock on the door. Head twisting from side to side, eyebrows together, furrowed. Mouth moving open and closed, the motion resembling a fish, slithering.
James, staggering up to a sit, glaring at the door with open hatred.
“Fuck off…” a drawl under his breath.
Another knock, beating into his skull. Eyes rolled, anger burning, falling towards the door, the door knob. Slipping a hand around the silver ball, twisting it open, prepared to argue, prepared to fight. The widening of eyes, the opening of a mouth. The beginning of a scream, formed, frozen, and…gone.
The figure, nonchalant, guiding the body down, inside the house. The gentle clicking of the door, the bolt in place. Shiny, leather footsteps padded by carpet, towards the stereo. A push of a button, the disk ejected, broken.
Another stirring body.
A mere glance by the stranger, a glance of dismissal, and back to the CDs. Rambling through the drawers, jammed packed with jewel cases, breaking apart each one. A groan from behind, a moan of awareness.
Faster, now, throwing the disks on the floor, against the wall, against the desk, searching for the one.
“Hey…what are you doing?” a voice, alert but slugged.
The girl, Anna, taking a tentative step forward. Stronger now, angrier, “hey! Who the fuck are you? Get out of my house!”
The figure, smiling, clicking around.
A look of shock, disgust, fear, and a step back, a glance back at the door, preparing to run, preparing to scream. A trickle of bursting blood, and a thump as the girl dropped to the floor. The two others mumbling now, gathering their senses. A minute, and both were gone, silent, helpless.
A gaze back to the CDs, mind sensing a stranger’s presence, speed, no longer smashing but merely glancing at the titles. Flipping through one artist after another, eyes blurry but ready to notice. And finally, a jewel case, cracked down the middle, surface polished, as if the band were afraid to touch it. The case in his hands, the case opened, the disk brought out, the cover art screaming for release. A glance towards the window confirmed a neighbor’s presence. The disk tucked into a shirt, another slid into the stereo. Louder, louder, the bass booming like a monster in the jungles.
The neighbor’s wince, a release of breath, and flipping through the front door, silent, quick, scurrying out of the way, fading into the sky.
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Next morning. The house, gone. The families’ minds blank. School records, erased. Only the record manager, puzzled, head aching. They were, after all, the fourth punk band that just seemed to disappear.
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