A friend of mine Danielle La Paglia is flash fiction enthusiast, and one thing we all know about people who are passionate about the things they love is that passion rubs off. So this will be my Friday Flash Fiction Debut. Since I have a blast writing short things I will be be trying to make a whole load of these flash vignettes until I decide to do something with them…may the Bear will podcast? huh huh? who knows, but anyway here you all go my Friday Flash debut…
Immortal Whispers #1- King of The Blues
The Guitar whined and wailed a mournful fugue. My voice crooned the lyrics of pain, of sorrow, the essence of the blues. The crowd rocked and swayed to the music’s pulse. They were at my command, the command of the king of blues.
In the front row she was smiling at me. In my mind her mouth rung open in terror. With each strum of Jezebel, my surgical instrument, I cut my way into their hearts and minds.
I knew this vision was true, they always came true. Truth always made the best music, when it was murder. Though sometimes it was sickness, accidents, but always death. The last chords twanged and faded as I stood before them, my subjects, and they applauded their King.
“Exit stage left” I thought to myself as I bowed my way off stage
“Great show” my manager Byran chirped
“You always say that”
“And if I told you it sucked?”
“You always say that too”
We laughed at the familiar post show jibes as I packed up Jezebel. Her sleek maple neck gleamed in the dressing room lights and gave a final glint as I closed the case lid.
“I saw you ya know” he baited the hook
“Saw what?” I tested the bait
“You sung for the front row hottie, she was digging it by the way” he reeled in abit
“Oh really? You know this how?”
He didn’t speak, simply pointed. The terror smile women was standing at the entrance backstage looking pleasantly expectant, her friend didn’t seem to be such a devoted fan.
“You planned this?” hook was now snug
“Byran…I am not in the mood…I’ve songs to write” the excuse feeble though it was true
He again only shrugged walking down the hall “Ladies! May I introduce you to, the man of the hour, my friend, and cash cow…” with a robust hand motion for his finale tirade I stepped in.
“William Bellmore, or you may know me as Will B. More” I bowed just a tilt and my platinum album smile
At my arrival, the friend, who must have thought Byran was lying, gave me the once over. I was still a bit sweaty from the show so my confidence was not unfettered but played it off. My thick braided hair pulled back in a ponytail hanging down my back seemed to grow heavy under the now combined scrutiny, my dark gray slacks seemed not so slimming. The black shirt and thigh length leather coat were stifling as I shuffled nervously.
Even my many years of singing the blues and meeting thousands of fans. The inner shy nerd in me never got used to the eye fulls some took of me. The pretty ones were no exception. I heard Byran clear his throat. I met there gazes with my hazel eyes, the only attractive quality I have that impresses. They both seemed to stare back at me entranced.
“So,” Byran said “drinks then?”
“I can’t” I said I knew at this rate I could be have a raucous night with either or both of these beautiful women. Yet at that moment the vision decided to reassert itself. I saw her mouth once full lipped and succulent, torn in a ragged grimace of terror. I shook my head.
“Forgive me ladies, I have to go” with that I turned and fled. The weight of Jezebel an anchor to the reality that one of my fans died tonight and I would make millions with a hit song from that tragedy. I felt sick.
I made it back to my hotel, the shocked and agitated reactions from Byran and the ladies forgotten. I got to the bathroom, Jezebel clutched in my left hand I crumpled to the floor and wretched, sickened by my own inhumanity. Leaned Jezebel against the tub. I whipped my mouth with a hastily clutched clump of toilet paper as I stood peering into the mirror. The vision was still there throbbing away on repeat as if the melody it created has a life of it’s own. Who was I kidding, it did.
I staggered into the main part of the suite, my stomach felt full of hot sharp rocks. I thought I was gonna be sick again then saw myself in the dresser mirror and froze. My eyes were blue, pupil and cornea gone, replaced by glowing sapphire. At this the Melody paired with the lyrics roared to life. So much so it made my new eyes water uncontrollably, no I was crying the agony told me that.
I couldn’t take this. Not like this. Scrambling to the bathroom, I grabbed Jezebel as my stomach rocks rolled. I withdrew my prize, my medicine a Ruger SR9c pistol. Placing it to my temple just as the vision changed to the friend of terror smile women, now her twin in death set to music. I pulled the trigger.
I awoke on the floor of the bathroom, thick sticky dried blood caked everything beneath and behind me. How was I alive? I struggled to my feet and saw the mirror, or what was in the mirror. My face was half gone, pink blood stained muscle and bone worked open to the air as my mouth opened in a gasp of horror. The bullet must have ricocheted off my jaw. Then I saw the unthinkable. The gaping hole that was my face began to close and heal.
“I am…alive…?” I asked “no, thats wrong…” I slumped to the floor midst the brain matter, flesh and bone that should have been my final resting place. I looked over and Jezebel still lay resting against the tub. I picked her up and began to play as centuries of memories from a mind I had forcibly aerated healed.
I was immortal and I remembered that now, I also knew why I made myself forget. Singer of songs, for and by the dead.
I am King of the Blues.
This work by Jason G. Banks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.