She Threatened Me With A Shotgun (Prologue)

Inspired by bands such as Kidcrash, Jesu, Balboa, Underoath, and He is Legend. This is the Prologue.

Prologue

I never can forget that face, her lips a vibrant pink the little light given from my lighter as she sat close to me, her green eyes lit up marvelously as she kept pestering me with a gaze that demanded my attention. I tried my best to ignore the gaze and finish lighting up my cigarette, desperate to center myself, find a little bit of gravity and get my feet under me. We were at the big festival that was located on the shore. The festival had been going on for two whole days now, and this was the finale night; the night where the best bands played, where the wildest things occurred, and this was the night that would hopefully be engraved in my mind for a very long time.

The guys, my comrades, were all drunk or getting there. Andrew had found a bottle of rum on the sand near a couple of vacant chairs, and he’d snatched it up, tucking it under his arm, smirking at me as he shrugged simply. “People should know better than to leave things like this lying around.”

He was right, of course. I hadn’t planned on drinking heavily, not that night. I was more concerned with hovering within the bubble of the moment; remaining on the inside, but not letting my senses get clogged with drunken rants, incoherent visions, confusion, and madness. These were things that had overtaken me before during nights such as this one, and I was determined to avoid any such nonsense. Tonight, my head was going to be clear, and hopefully, something good would come of it.

Every time I tried to focus on the peace of having a clear mind that night, she would turn my attention back onto her, nudging me as she spoke, her voice as soft as water trickling off of leaves during a rain. “We should go try and see the band Terminate.”

Soft her words might’ve been, they threw me sideways across the railing that I’d been leaning against, my thoughts elsewhere. “What?”

“I said, we should go see Terminate.” Those green eyes sparkled excitedly, and she licked her lips briefly. She looked like a fourteen year old party girl, dressed in a Misfits tee shirt, legs shooting out of a pair of cargo-shorts that were too large for her. Her skin was sunburned and it looked very, very painful. Yet she smiled through it, looking far younger than her claimed twenty years of age.

And why not? There was nothing wrong with how she acted; I had no issues with it whatsoever. It wasn’t that she was immature, nor was it the case that she was a naïve kid. These were not the reasons that I was bothered whenever she was around. The truth was greater in scope, and the revelation of such a truth was similar to needles being shoved under my fingernails. They say that the truth can hurt, and it did so, very much. Nevertheless, seeing her standing there, her eyes pleading with me to take her to the crowded stage, where most of the town was gathered for the show, I reluctantly agreed to do so.

“Let’s go.” I led the way, dodging past carefree individuals, past drunken fools, laughing older women, hiding behind faces of amusement when it was clear they abhorred our very presence. Even when we started to hit the thick crowd of younger ladies and gentlemen of our age, I could still sense the hostility in the air. Perhaps it was being directed at the occasional officer who passed by, glaring into the crowd, trying to find any excuse to haul some kid away on a ‘drunk-in-public’ charge. Every time an officer stole by, kids would look away, for drop a bottle under their foot, trying to get away with it.

I forced myself into the crowd, shouting loudly to be heard above the noise as the next band, this Terminate band, started to ready their instruments and prepare for their small show. No doubt only three or four songs, nothing extravagant. But this was a local band, apparently, and the crowd was basking in their presence, cheering loudly as the band waved at them from the stage. I could barely see, being doomed from birth to be a short man, having to move about in a shady way, always having people curse me for being small and shady-looking. I kept at it, however, apologizing to anyone who got in my way as I passed by. “Sorry, sorry. Just looking for a friend.” She followed behind me, still quiet, but the glow on her face suggested that she was getting pumped just standing in the crowd.

I knew nothing about Terminate, but from the moment they began to play, it became evident they were a hardcore band, very much like Norman Jean or Underoath. They were ready to go, and began to play a loud, blazing song that had the entire crowd shifting around, shoving each other viciously as the moshpit began. Terminate wasn’t the worst hardcore band I’d heard, and I wasn’t much on genre stereotypes; the music was loud, and the mood heavy with intensity. It was enough for me, and I began to keep my head tilted down, using my weight to keep myself from getting knocked over, crouching slightly whenever some moron came my way, throwing elbows like an NBA star gone insane.

Soon, however, the pit became no fun. After three songs of loud noise crushing my ears, along with a crowd of idiots who were trying to kill each other, my time in the moshpit became a survival trip. As soon as the third song had ended, I looked around for my female companion, only to realize that I had lost sight of her, and had no idea where she was. At first, I felt a triumphant feeling rise in my chest, only to be replaced with guilt as I turned around in a three-sixty, worried that she’d been getting slammed around too hard.

The final song came on, and everyone was getting into it. More people tried to take my head off, and I managed to keep them from doing so, sending them packing. It helped being an amateur boxer from the age of twelve, but it did very little for me when men over six feet tall started throwing punches. One landed on my cheek, hard, cracking against the bone, staggering me. The heavy noise halted abruptly, as I landed on the ground, stunned. Several pairs of rough hands hauled me up, one pair belonging to the guy who’d just hit me. He wore a mask of regret, and he mouthed sorry, but I couldn’t hear it. My ears were startled by the pause of the music, until the band’s keyboardist started to play a repeated three-note interlude, and everyone in the crowed either bowed their heads like it was a prayer, or hold their hands high. This must’ve been Terminate’s proudest, most emotional moment yet. I took the time to spin around frantically again for my female companion, shouting her name several times, knowing full well that she wouldn’t hear me.

Just when I was about to give up hope, she appeared beside me, unhurt, smiling happily. The band had begun to build up its sound, the drummer playing a soft snare and several cymbals. The guitarist was strumming gently, and suddenly, the world took on a different form. No longer was there a rage or hatred in the air, or suspicion. I could actually sense the air mold into something new, something purer. As my companion stepped closer to me, I took stock of her, trying to see if she’d been hit, but I saw no flaw in her sweet face, darkened by her time in the summer heat. Her smile spoke volumes about her, and for a moment, I wondered why I felt so uncomfortable around her, and wondered why I was treating her terribly, acting like a massive prick.

The answers, as always, would have to be gleaned from hindsight, gazing back into the past, discerning the intent behind every scene, every word, every moment. And here we go.