Child Of The Future

Episode 43: Sickness In Forms

-5 Years And 8 Months Prior-

               "If you're gonna cry! Then cry with me! Don't leave me in the da-aa-arrrk!" The lead singer uses a falsetto lift to hold out the eagerness of the lyrics plea, his slight Irish accent coming out which only improves the craft. "Baby, you know what you DO to me, you go and on and on and on and o-oo-oonn, don't you tell me, I don't know, what. you. aarreee!!" The young man looks to his other 4 bandmates, a gleam in all their eyes while the small joint and enthusiastic crowd await the strongest boom in the song. "Cuz you're the fvcking girl that I love!! You're the one I've waited so long for!! Never let me go! NEVER let me go! I just want to knoo-oow..." The electric guitar takes a faded exit, and the audience quiets down to hear the small but sweet sounding finish before the performers make their exit. "That if you're gonna cry, you cry with me, if you're you gonna lay in the dark, save a spot for meeee...save it just for meee-eee...la, la, LA, la, la, la, la."

               The 5, casting themselves as a group called Pentagon, all dressed in silver rings, dark radical clothes, combat boots and dog chains, hold their instruments and deal with the sweat above their brow before bowing and kissing their peace signs to put out to the entire dark lit room or appreciators.

               "Thank you!" The lead singer, the Irish bloke, waves and grins while making his way to the stairs, leading towards the back door, to immediately be inundated with affection and hugs.

               "That was so fvcking awesome!!" The drummer crouches and holds his head while everyone follows him down the hall, their manager waiting. "Yo! Did you see that?!" The British man on cloud nine approaches the father of the Pentagon, indie group, and he waits a second before completely grinning his face off to high five everyone.

               "You all fvcking stink, go take a shower."

               "Aye sir! You wanna get me some baby wipes and clean my arse?" The Brit Drummer teases, shaking his backside a little before he gets a kick instead. "Ow! You're wearin' spurs, mate!"

               "You're  wastin' time. 'Mate'."

               "All right. I'll get the baby wipes myself." The mischievous 20 year old causes the others to laugh and linger while the piano player leaves and the specialized acoustic guitarist walks after them both, cheering about how they're ready to ditch the clothes and relax in more comfortable attire.

               "You did a good show. Proud of you. Voice was on point. You listened didn't you?" The manager puts his hands in his worn out jeans, smiling at the Irish lead before patting his back. "Go shower you punks."

               Appreciated, a laugh is passed between the remaining members, and it's not soon enough that they begin to follow the lead of the other 3 in the stuffy and slightly dim hall that the manager turns to speak again.

               "We're leaving in an hour. Hotel rooms are booked so pep talk yourself not to trash anything!"

               "You da man!!" The pianist points back, rough housing and jumping on the Brit whilst they trend further down the hall.

               "Oh! Uh, kid!" The relaxed voice calls. "Jesse!"

               The name rings some attention, and the youngest member of the group, the child, barely a 15 year old with a curly mop and height to compete with the adults turns to hold his guitar and stare at his manager that chose this night to be his debut. Whether he makes or breaks the cut, and by the way things went, the smile and nod he gives the young boy, he's okayed it.