#1
Curtis hit the final note that rang through the arena, over the screaming crowd. Already they were begging, pleading for more. But Curtis gave the signal to drop the lights, yet another denial to yet another crowd. Different town, same story. I got out from behind the drums and congratulated Ken and Curtis on what I thought was an excellent show.

“I think we could have been in tune a little better…” Curtis said.

Curtis was always an odd duck. Ever since I met him four years ago, after he and Ken had to boot their last drummer for not being able to get to practices, the odd couple picked me up at the airport in anything but normal fashion. As Ken read poems, Curtis did interpretive dance to them. Not out of the ordinary for a place like Tacoma. The beret’s they wore were priceless.

By the time I joined “State of Grace” they had already released one LP on Sub-Par Records entitled “Stained”. The songs on it weren’t hits in the mainstream, but they had found their niche in the always expanding Washington underground. They were mostly punk inspired, with heavy distortion and simple guitar riffs. Very drum driven, which drew me to the band. My name? Dylan Griggs.

I had beat the skins for a few sub-par bands around my small hometown of Warensburg, Ohio and for a metal band in Washington D.C., nothing out of the ordinary.

Curtis and I roomed together, (literally, one room) while Ken stayed at his girlfriends place. The first few months I stayed with him were quite out of the ordinary. He stayed in his room all day and played guitar, only came out to take a shit or piss, and hardly talked to me except for one word questions or statements. “Milk?” “Hot!” “GODDAMN.”. It was like living with a caveman.

But he was a likable enough guy. By that I mean we got along well for two guys that had to live together AND be in a band together.

After a few months, the ice thawed as Sub-Par send us on a West Coast tour. By then it was all clear skies and smooth sailing. Well, as smooth and clear as it can be for a rock band. Come to think of it, it seemed more like a typhoon or hurricane.
Between the constant van troubles and clubs not paying us a third of what we expected frustrations were starting to grow.

“I’m sick and tired of this bullshit!” Ken said as he took a drag off a cigarette.

“This is what all bands go through man.” I told him as I took a swig of cheap beer, “*burp*, I mean we’re right on the cusp of going big.”

“Ha!” Ken flicked his cigarette into the parking lot, “If that ever happens, you can have my first born child.”

“Would you to help me change this ****ing tire?” Curtis grunted as he pulled the tire iron off the nuts. I heard a loud “KRANG!” as the tire iron fell to the asphalt.

“Shit!” Curtis said, as he grabbed the tire iron. In a look of fury he slammed the tire iron into the side of the van.

I was shocked. So shocked the only thing I could do was laugh.

Curtis looked at me, wild eyed.

He grinned as he slammed the iron into the passenger window of the van. As glass broke we all began to kick, punch, break, and basically try to **** up the van as much as possible.

By the time we were done, you’d swear we were hit by a semi.

That brings us back here to the present. We were just touring on the heels of the release of our so-called hit record “Whatever”. One track in particular gained serious momentum after its release. Curtis had spent obsessive amounts of time with this song. Rewriting lyric sheet, after lyric sheet. Getting the opening riff just right. Maybe that’s why it was so damn good.

I walked to the back dressing room and this is where I found Curtis. Slumped over, needle lying on the table.
#2
Nice, dude. Kinda has a similar ending to the 1st part of mine, meant to keep the readers itching for the next part.
Question not yourself. Challenge those who would deny you your true self for an independent thinker is the greatest enemy to those who seek to control you
#4
No, it's a perfect length. You should check out my story, Jersey Boys.
Question not yourself. Challenge those who would deny you your true self for an independent thinker is the greatest enemy to those who seek to control you
#5
Word Count: 692 words.

The major Fiction columns run at an average of 2,000 words per installment. I would suggest that you bulk out your piece a little.
#6
Quote by Colohue
Word Count: 692 words.

The major Fiction columns run at an average of 2,000 words per installment. I would suggest that you bulk out your piece a little.


I figured. Guess it just looks ginormous on my screen lol