I had fun with this one. In fact, with some work I think it might be worth submitting somewhere. So here’s the opening couple of paragraphs. Unfortunately, the really good parts of the story are closer to the end, but oh well. I will say that later in the story I feature the following sentence: “Beyond the transparent hull above the crowd, Virtuoso Of The Serious Combat (Ike was assured something was lost in the translation; he would argue that many things were lost in the translation when it came to Virtuoso Of The Serious Combat) rocked their fucking socks off.”
I have a number of friends in bands – you can’t attend the University of North Texas without sleeping with and/or befriending at least three or four music majors or local band members. I could say I know someone who won a Grammy, but really who doesn’t? At any rate, it seemed a shame that I don’t really have any music-inspired stories. This is an early attempt.
I have three more flash pieces to write in two days to win the monthly prompt contest.
(My own musical endeavors ended sometime in middle school when I moved to a new school and dropped band. I wasn’t that good at it anyway.)
With the Band
Ike Garrison staggered from his bunk to the small sink on the opposite wall of his cabin. Somehow, even the sink, made of some sort of ceramic or plastic, had managed to rust. The water tasted like copper.
The ship lurched again. Something in the distance rattled; Ike suspected the airlock, which had been looking shaky since he came aboard. Outside his cabin viewport, the bright clouds of the Tarantula Nebula flashed. They were playing again, and he knew this wasn’t a scheduled stop. An impromptu show and they didn’t wake him. Assholes. Who were they even playing for? Who lived in the Tarantula Nebula, anyway?