I'm With the Band

I'm With the Band (ON HOLD)

PROLOGUE

The instant polaroid's are scattered across the floor; their memories capturing the past eight months in fragmented stills, the nights themselves reduced to nothing more than a faded silent movie in the back of my mind. They tell of a story that we were too hungover in the morning to remember but now piecing them together, the thoughts are sobering and tell me I have really fucked shit up.

Music was always innate for us. A calling. No one could have foreseen where it took us. No one could have foreseen this coming.

We lived for rock. Sex was a given. We drank from paper cups and we got high off drugs, life and each other. We were the ones that mothers warned their children to stay away from. We were the reckless kids with a guitar for a heart and a pick for a soul. The rebels.

The guys had always needed me just as much as much as I needed them. Just because I was different and didn't have their skills didn't mean I didn't have the music in my blood. I could have chosen a different life but I had wanted them. I had wanted them all.

But he needed me most. He was stupid to think he didn't. Really stupid.

The cigarette feels good in my trembling hand as I drink in its smoky fumes. Lighting up seems to be the only sensible thing to do right now.

They're coming.

I can hear now the deafening sirens coming to a stop outside the motel. But surely, a girl was allowed to take in one last drag before she was pulled away from her freedom, to be eaten alive by the rotting worms of a dank prison cell?

Away from all of this. If this even was freedom anymore...

I put the cigarette out on my suspenders and watch as it burns through the thin denier, unfurling like a blackened rose and then just as quickly it cuts into my red skin and I smile as it begins to rise. The sound and smell of burning flesh a visceral addiction I crave.

I pick up the shot gun next to me, inhaling the smell of the barrel, the fresh smell of fire flaring through my nostrils.

It had been so easy to pull the trigger. So delightfully easy. Then he had just been gone.

Bang.

Bye bye.

I don't wipe the blood off my hands. I'm proud of what I've done. I live with no regrets. I've always been dirty. Why clean up now there were just a few more drops of spilt blood on my hands? Even if it was his. It stains my skin so deep I think I may as well paint my skin in this war paint head to toe.

I go into the bathroom and take my nail scissors off the cabinet top. Here is where I pierce at my skin with the blades watching as red ribbons drip from my body. Now we are the same. I go back to him, kneeling in the glinting ruby pool around his head and plant a kiss on his lips.

I pull away but the mark of my lipstick is still on his skin which is growing ever colder.

I could have really loved you. I whisper into his ear; not that he can hear me now. Now I've snuffed out the light.

I feel cold so I drape my silken kimono wrap tighter around myself, my bloodied hands staining the royal blue satin. It was a gift from him. He bought me lots of gifts, they all did; but his were nicest. Now, I'd given him the greatest gift of all, only he couldn't see it.

Funny that.

This was more his fault than mine. If he hadn't pushed. If he hadn't pushed that step too far things wouldn't have to be this way... But he had.

The hum of the ceiling fan whirrs and the surgical lighting illuminates my pale skin which bares now my self-inflicted kisses. The cracked wallmirror that hangs on the peeling paint reflects back a strangers face. Her hair is cut sharp, bleached with pink tips, her eyes are black and bloodshot and her stare is not there.

Who is she?

If I move my hand she moves too. She is my mocking silhouette, my silent shadow; because that girl isn't me.

I have long, curling ash blonde hair stretching down to the waist. I have cat like green eyes that can seduce even the most unsuspecting of men. I have a beauty this girl does not have. But I am envious of this girl. For it is clear she does not care, whilst I care so much. I've seen her too in the polaroid's. She's always with them. Bitch.

Someone, tell me who she is because I'd very much like to meet her.

There is a knocking on the door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Open up. This is the police.

I pick up the gun and go to undo the chain latch on the door. Clink.

They are all there behind the men in luminous green. They have come to say goodbye to me. That's kind; they're really going to miss me. They look scared when they see what's in my hand and they retreat slightly away. Well don't be silly, I'm not going to hurt you.

I see him then. The monster at the back. He's the squealer. He told. He didn't see I did what I had to do. He didn't see that it was better this way. If I couldn't have him; no one could.

I wonder what this moment would look like in polaroid. I guess I'll never know.

Its ok, I say, I'm with the band.

Then I fire a single shot. Into my head.