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Michael Hann

 

The singer was a prick. You could tell by the way he looked down on the crowd that he thought he was cool as fuck. Wanker.
Christ, he was only two years older than me and Mel. I could remember how he used to pick on us at school. It ended after I punched him in the face and nearly broke his cheek bone. Now here he was, pretending to be king of the world.
Fuck. Him.
“Now that guy,” Mel said, drawing out her words and smiling at me, “Is a complete cockhead.”
Some knob fell out of the mosh pit and slammed into me. I grabbed him by the waist and chucked him back in. I laughed and turned to Mel but she was too busy snogging Si, her latest conquest.
I hated the weedy little fucker. He was always hanging off her, with a sulk on and pretending to be bored. I’d thought a lot about catching him alone, maybe coming back from the bogs or the bar, and then taking him outside and kicking his face off. But Mel would eventually find out and I’d be screwed.
“For God’s sake Annie, give us some privacy.”
She’d caught me staring at them again. Shit. Someone brushed past my boob and I automatically raised my fist to smack them one. It was just some lass collecting glasses.
The band thrashed through their third cover, sending the small crowd mental.  I couldn’t hear anything. I was absorbed by the pleasure on her face, the way she bit her lip when he grabbed her backside, how she smiled when he ran his tongue over the inside of her ear.
The song ended. They momentarily disengaged from one another and joined in the half hearted clapping. Mel turned and looked right at me.
“Still,” Mel said, indicating to the knobhead singer. “You’ve got to admit, he’s got something.”
Something inside me… snapped.
I stormed forward, pushing people out of my way until I got to the stage. The bouncers didn’t see me coming. Before anyone knew it, I was up there and pounding the microphone into the face of the singer. They just about got their hands on me as I started biting into the bridge of his broken nose.
As they dragged me off him, I looked around for Mel. She wasn’t there. She must have left already.

Song

I pried the wooden boards away from the door, fumbling with my old set of keys to the pub. Wiping liquor sweat from my brow, I checked the dark streets. Empty. I picked up the two cans of gasoline and marched in.
As soon as I was through the door I could hear them, their many voices whispering in the shadows. I had almost missed them. My hands shook as I took a swig from the whiskey bottle in my pocket.
I slid past the stacked tables and chairs and stopped at the dust coated bar. I traced my hand in the surface dirt and remembered the many times I’d be pulling a pint at the bar and frozen, trying to hear the words, straining to decipher their song.
Once I was captured by their song, only my wife and daughter could break me out of my trance, with their screaming and fists. I would come to, and see the beer pouring over my hand onto the floor and a room full of eyes staring at me.
I unscrewed the stoppers from the gasoline cans. Their voices were rising, trying to snare me. I could feel their panic distorting their singing and I smiled. They knew I had come to silence them, for taking everything I loved away from me. To make them pay.
I poured the petrol around my feet. Their voices harmonised, growing louder. Their song was attacking me now, creating waves of hurt and nausea to stop me. The gasoline cans clattered to the floor.
My body began to shake with pain as I struck a match. Their shrieks cut through me with a terrible beauty. My hands automatically moved up to my ears to block out the song, which was useless, as the glorious noise was inside my head. Even now, as the taste of blood stung my mouth, I still wanted to know what they were singing.
I cried out as their din overpowered me, forcing me to my knees. I prayed that it would end, that their sublime screams would finally tear me apart.
Then, it became clear.
As the match fell from my hand, my mind was filled not with words, but images. Birth, love, pain, family, war, sex, grief, murder, end, joy.
I felt nothing as the flames engulfed my body. I was lost in their song.

 

About the Author

Michael Hann recently published a zine called I’m Afraid of Everyone, an edgy and dark collection of short stories. He regularly writes gig and album reviews and interviews for NARC, and one of his short stories will be featured in the literary magazine Kerouac’s Dog in January 2011. He is currently working on my first novel, whilst gathering and producing the content for vol. 2 of I’m Afraid…

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