The Books that Never made it

Undecided

The poet bowed and walked off the stage and disappeared at one of the tables. The crowd’s weak applause began to fade out and the room was left with silence.

          “This place sucks,” I heard someone whisper at a table from behind me.

          “My dog can write better poetry.”

I sighed and sipped my tea, watching as someone walked out on to the middle of the stage with a dark black leather case. The crowd mumbled boredly to their friends and close neighbors on how crappy mic night had been so far. I didn’t mind the performances even though I probably could fall asleep to each and every one of them. Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday night was open mic night at the house of blues. It gave a chance for those vocally gifted a night to shine.

          The boy opened his case and brought out a shiny black guitar and took a seat on the stool in front of the mic. He wore and black v-neck shirt and dark jeans. Dark ink symbols wrapped around his arm and disappeared up his sleeve. It must’ve been a tattoo. I couldn’t see it from all the way back here. The boy’s hair was black and shaggy that fell in his eyes, his skin fare. His fingers quickly went over the strings to make sure everything was in tune and then finally he made eyes contact with the crowd.

          “Hello,” he breathed into the mic, his voice echoing through the room that quieted down and gave them their undivided attention.

          “My name is Jordan and tonight I am to perform a song that I wrote myself called, Undecided.”

Jordan bent his head down again, his hair clouding his face and then he started to play.

          At first it didn’t like much, just a few simple bar chords with some picking, but then he opened his mouth.

          “In this cruel, cruel world with beauty so blind. I’ve caught so little especially what’s mine.”

Everyone went quiet and only the guitar and his voice rang out through the room. His fingers quickened their pace as the song grew faster then went back to its regular ballet.

          “But this magic inside me…I’m gonna let it out…tonight.”

Jordan’s blue eyes moved over the crowd like a wave. Everyone he touched with his gaze winced with delight.

          “Let the stars shine and be mine…undecided.”

His eyes glanced over to me, holding me captive in his gaze. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears and the cup slipping from my numb fingertips and smash on the ground beside my feet.

          His strumming became more vibrant and faster, his fingers s blur over the strings. Jordan’s eyes seemed to flash a bright green like the grasses in the summertime. An aurora of green surrounded him like a ring of energy flowing from him and going to everyone in the room.

          “Come to me my friends; cry my children, become like me—undecided.”

Then out of nowhere, over beside me at another table, the poet stood up, his eyes blackened and his body moving almost robotically. He turned to the person sitting next to him—and shoved him off his chair. The guys flew on to the floor with a clatter of cups smashing on to the floor. People drew no attention to the commotion that was breaking out.

          “Hey man, what’s your—?” the guy was cut off as the poet reached on to the table, grabbing a dull butter knife and sinking it into the guys throat with a swift movement of his hand.

          A scream bubbled up in my throat, but it wouldn’t come to me. I glanced up at the stage and Jordan watched, unfazed by any of this, just kept playing…faster…and faster. Then another person stood up from close to the front and grabbed his butter knife and jerked it into the poet’s side. He winced with pain and sank to the ground with blood pooling around him.

          I was shaking with fear, but for some reason I didn’t reach into my pocket and dial nine-one-one, didn’t scream attempting to run out of this place, didn’t try and stop just about everyone who grabbed their nearest butter knife that still had butter on it and stab their neighbor. I stood up and looked at the war zone around me.

What the hell is going on?

All the while this is going on, Jordan just stayed on stage playing louder and faster with every death. His mouth quirked up with amusement as he watched them, his eyes glowing a bright green getting stronger with every strum of his guitar.

          I glanced down at my butter knife feeling no compulsion to grab it and use it. I felt no power over me. I heard the strumming coming louder and louder now, almost trance-like. The fast the music was, the faster people died. Blood splattered everywhere and bodies slumped to the floor, anarchy was everywhere and Jordan just sat and played. It was like he was casting a spell over them.

A wild scream and suddenly a flash of silver came at me then there was a pain in my side. I hissed with pain and glanced down at the knife that protruded from my side as I crumpled away to the floor. I glanced up with a grimace of pain to a woman whose eyes were blacker than coal stared at me with her hands outstretched towards my neck. Without even thinking I grabbed the knife and with all the strength I had left I swiped it at her, fending her off. She paid no attention to the knife only wanted me. Her cold hands clamped around my throat and squeezed. I cried out, kicking and screaming, nothing coming out. She was like a boa constrictor. Every time I took a breath, she squeezed harder. I held the knife tightly in my grip and swung upwards. Blood splattered on my face. I wiped it from my eyes and glanced up at the woman. She gurgled, holding her sliced throat with her hands and toppled sideways as her eyes rolled back in her head.

          I slumped against the base of the table holding my hand against the stable wound that was bleeding heavily. I glanced up back at the stage and watched as Jordan’s fingers started to slow over the strings until they faded out with his voice chiming in harmoniously. His eyes faded back to normal as he leaned in towards the mic.

          “Thank you,” he breathed. “You’ve been a wonderful audience.” And walked off the stage, packing his guitar up and glanced back at me with an evil smile, his eyes flashing an emerald green as the stage went dark.