Madness In Literature

Four

“I’d better get up before someone dies,” Dean said as he shook his head. He fastened his blue eyes on Mel, looking directly at her for the first time that night, and she felt her pulse tripped. “You’ll stay a while more, right?”

“Uh…” she glanced at Emily and Kenny, who were nodding violently. “Yeah. I mean, yes, I’ll probably be here a while longer.”

“Good. See you afterwards?”

“Okay.”

“Affirmative.”

Mel watched as he walked towards the stage and lifted himself up onto it without using steps. It’s no wonder he was a drummer; he had nice arms, she thought rather dreamily, as he pried Slasher away from Martin and said something. Nice, capable looking arms. She bet they were good at other things too. She’d be they’d be –

“MEL!”

Mel jumped, and then scowled at Emily.

“What was that for?”

“For drooling into your tequila shot,” Emily replied. “So, spill.”

“Spill what?”

“The beans, Mel!” Kenny said, wriggling his brows. “What’s up with you and sexy drummer boy?”

“Nothings up with me and him,” Mel replied, ducking her head away.

“My ass, there’s nothing. You were so stripping him naked with your eyes and putting his baby maker into your gravy pot just now!”

“Ewww, Em, that’s disgusting. I was not doing that all.”

“You were too!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

“Was –”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice interrupted them over their head. “Please welcome the guest band for tonight, the Democratic Echo of Misplaced Orders!”

There were a few unenthusiastic claps from the patrons around the pub.

“What. The. Fuck?” Emily exclaimed. “Democratic Echo of what? Is that the acronym for DEMO?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said nervously as she looked around. Even though the place was full and most of the seats were filled up, she could tell that most people were simply there to get drunk, not listen to the band. They didn’t even look up as the lead singer, Slasher, came on and greeted the pub. For some reason, that made her kind of sad. She wanted people to like Dean’s band, even though he himself said they’re terrible. She resolved to like the band no matter what, and put on her most attentive face as they got ready to play. She watched as Dean counted to four and then began to hit a few beats on his drum, followed by the keyboardist and the bassist. Then Slasher came on, knees jerking to the beat, head swinging back and forth, and let out something that sounded eerily like the wail of a badger being skinned alive.

The entire pub seemed to let out a collective cringe.

“Well, fuck me,” Kenny said as he reached for the tray of tequila shots. “I think I’m going to need a drink. Or ten.”

*

The band was bad. Actually, they were more than bad. They were hair-raisingly, deafeningly terrible. Somewhere along their second song, called Terrible Chemistry or Terrible Physics (or some other science subject none them could remember), Mel had requested for a drink as well, even though hers was a really, really mild cocktail.