Friday, March 13, 2009

The Tragic Tale of Ms Grise

The evening had been going splendidly. The new band had locked in and she was in fine form. The audience was great, all her friends were there and many from the other bands seemed caught up, appreciating her songs. Her big debut was a hit!

Occasionally, she did glimpse some familiar-looking faces that weren’t smiling. She continued to belt out the songs, but as the show progressed, she could see, dimly, behind the lights, amidst the flashing smiles, figures with grim-set masks of serious intent. She didn’t let them bother her. She was killing, and continued to tear it up.

Afterward, she mingled with well-wishers and celebrated. The forbidding figures had disappeared. Later, she stepped outside for some air. And gum. She walked two blocks to the nearest deli. On the way back she heard a tinny, rattling sound. As she approached the club, she saw two of the grim figures she’d noticed from her set. Yes, she knew them.

She turned back toward the deli, and heard that rattling sound again. She turned the corner, looking for a cab. It was suddenly time to go home. off duty. . . . off duty. . . .Damn it! The jingling rattle seemed to be coming from behind and in front of her. She saw a shadowy cluster of figures rounded the corner.

Risking the traffic, she cut across the street, but they were waiting for her there too. She was encircled. The rattling jangle became pandemonium as they all drew out their tambourines. The air shook like metallic rattlesnakes as her tormentors lifted the dread percussion tools. The crazy one with the glasses shouted, “ON THE ONE! THE ONE!”

It took a number of beats to knock her down. The tiny cymbals sliced her skin. She struck out blindly only to be beaten back down. Her screams were drowned out by the clamor. In a matter of measures, it was over.
--Dan Kilian
---------------------------------------------------- The Human Fly
---------------------------------------------------- Musical Equipment

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