Kuunari

This is part of a series of short stories inspired by songs called Audiographs.
New Jello

The single light fixture sat on the ground, casting a glow from below the band, their shadows looming up above them on the plaster wall.  A couple half-hearted attempts had been made to patch it up, but it was obvious that any such repairs had happened more than a few years ago.

The bedding and personal effects had been moved out, likely through the door to the side of the stage and put into storage somewhere, but there were enough signs about to make it apparent that this was used by some streetpunks as a place to sleep.  Writings on the wall, a broken toothbrush or some pages from a yellowed book strewn about.

Few bands performed any more, electricity was getting scarce for those who could barely afford it, and anyways, hardly anyone came out anymore.  For some reason, though, tonight was different.  The droning of the guitars, the crash of the the drums, the sway of the crowd, for it was a crowd, groaning and singing and flying around the space.  The singer screamed from the ground most of the time, his shirt ripped, jeans hanging lower with each flailing attempt to exorcise whatever demons he still contained within.

We all knew tomorrow wasn’t going to come, and today would be over soon.  The police would come by soon, warned of our prescience by the neighbors complaining of the noise coming from what they must have assumed was a meth house.  We didn’t care. Why should we?  What could they do to us?