★ Warning Mature Content ★
Asher Kells is a Rock Star and Rapper, complete with tattoos on nearly every inch of his thickly muscled body. He has a badass ability to play the guitar, and he sang like crush diamonds, amber whiskey, and smoke. While I...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Asher Kells stands in the center of the stage. He's in front of more than seventeen thousand people at the King's arena. The occasional flash of a camera goes off in the near pitch-black audience. But we're all waiting for Asher. The interview was destructive, and he took the stage, but the show didn't go on. Or, at least it hasn't. We are in limbo in this. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. His crisp black suit is more business music mogul than Rock Star. But in front of the four guitars in front of him with the tattoos peeking out the side, it hints at more. Each inky tattoo under the bespoke suit whispers at the Rock Star underneath. The band is poised to pick up and play whatever was already rehearsed. But he's not doing anything. The large screen over his head is blank where the video of his brother singing that last time. Even though a band is on the stage with him waiting to play, Asher looks like the loneliest man in the world.
And the audience both live and in the arena waiting for him. We are all waiting for him together. On the off chance that he does end up playing. His playing would be another violation, dance and sing like a puppet on strings. Because that's what Paulie did. It was a violation of basic decency to the mourner. He exploited Asher. It wasn't messy at all; he went straight for it like a professional. Paulie was like a heart surgeon with his cruelty. Cleanly cutting out a still-beating broken heart for display. He got what he came for.
He got his clicks.
And still, we all waited for him.
In an arena of over seventeen thousand people, you couldn't hear a cough. It was like Dustin's memory didn't just obliterate Asher, it emptied out all of us.
Asher shakes his head at the band. Waves them off and the guy on the drums is first to go, followed by the bassist. And then the guitarist walked off the stage right towards me. Their faces were confused, more than dejected.
A frustrated Paulie watches Asher. The false, affable mask slides off his face as time ticks by. That lack of the Paulie B smile that doesn't reach his eyes is chilling. Paulie doesn't spare his anger for slowing the end of the show.
Asher walks in circles on stage. The audience fidgets while watching a man pacing on stage past the mic instead of singing into it. A restlessness in the crowd is almost tangible as it grows. Paulie takes that step forward but is frozen in place when Ashers Kells hazel's eyes lock on him with red rim fury. His blue-gold nebules eyes were without compassion. No forgiveness in his gaze for the man who attempted to barge onto his stage. The mic sticks up, a flag planted in the ground. Like some sort of proof that no one will take one more step on his stage.
Paulie's face drops in surprise. He makes placating hand motions and backs off the stage right.
"What the fuck is wrong with that kid?" Paulie growls under his breath.
Man. It was an automatic correction in my mind. Because he was a man, not a kid. A man that Paulie used for a tragedy porn segment on his show. Every second that video was playing, it was obvious Asher was more destroyed. Some of Dustin Kells' last moments on earth are immortalized in the amber of the video. Unlike memories or time capsules that always have that faded edge to them. Asher's brother was forever in sharp relief. Drugged-out-blown irises and singing. He sang like he was dripping amber honey into the mic and crushed glass into our souls. His song hurt. They had him sit through it for the pleasure of the audience at home and on the big screen for the arena. We all knew the truth of it. Anyone who had a heart, anyone who has ever lost. We Knew.
