Fight From the Inside

6 | Modern Times Rock n' Roll

I barely proofread this so I apologize for any mistakes. Enjoy!

Roger held the heavy red door for Freddie, a stream of eclectic lights landing straight into their path, illuminating the silver necklaces dangling from Roger's neck and the rhinestones on Freddie's shirt. They may not have been famous yet, but they definitely dressed like it.

And they stood out. Freddie had on a low cut black top, adorned with rhinestones at the collar, his black and white striped pants hugging his thighs while they widened at the ankle to reveal chunky black platforms. Roger, on the other hand, wore a tight blue denim shirt, the white buttons shining like pearls, his jeans tightly hugging his frame as his silver high top chucks sparkled in the rainbow light emitting from the back of the pub.

And with both of them wearing mirror-lensed aviators in the dark of a pub on a lovely evening for rock and roll, they weren't afraid to take the piss out of themselves.

"I can't see shit", Roger shouted over the house music, pointing Freddie in the direction of the bar.

"I can't either", Freddie shouted back, "but they can see us, and that's what's important."

Roger ordered two vodka tonics, removing his aviators and placing them on top of his head in order to count out his change to the bartender. He gathered the alcohol and turned, immediately placing the glasses back on their rightful perch on his face, nearly knocking Freddie over as he handed him his vodka tonic.

"Why are we doing this again?"

"Because image is everything, Roggie."

"...Right. Of course."

Roger thought it was a hilariously awful idea to wear the aviators, but secretly admitted to himself how cool the pair of them looked, leaning against some pillar in the back of the pub.

"When do they go on?"

"Any minute now."

Almost on cue, the house lights dimmed completely, leaving the two Queens immersed in their own complete and ridiculous darkness as a low rumble shook the floor.

Suddenly, the Spiders bassist appeared on the small knee-high stage, assaulting the crowd forming at the stage with a relentless bassline. Quickly their drummer followed suit, accentuating the bassline with his own bass-heavy right foot, and Roger's memory was jogged as he remembered listening in on their set a week ago at their own show. They were playing the song they finished with. 'A bold move', Roger thought, as the rhythm section droned on, waiting for the advent of their fearless leader.

What seemed like an eternity later, Roger's impatient side starting to peak through as he tapped his foot to the slithering rhythm, the small crowd let out a roar as the lead guitarist started his blistering riff...

And there she was.

He didn't believe it at first, probably because he'd only seen it once, but there she was.

She walked out to cheering; dripping in black lace and velvet, those red platforms laced up her calves, her mouth painted a dark burgundy. Roger almost didn't recognize her. The last time he'd seen her she'd been lounging around her flat, bright yellow bike shorts and oversized Beatles shirt adorning her frame, her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail to frame her candlelit face as she glared across the table at him with pride.

Now... now, she was brightly backlit on stage, people pressing against each other to get as close as possible, black on black as she grabbed the microphone with her right hand, her left caressing the stand itself. She stomped a boot and let out a wail like he'd never heard. He was impressed by the power but intimidated by the pain behind it. He was even more intrigued as she shot a grin to her guitarist, who launched into a furious solo while Madeline backed him up on rhythm.