The Alcoholic Scientist

1

Guitars screamed and young, carefree voices danced in the air as the stupid and wild crowd cheered. No one seemed to care what anyone else was doing, just so long as they were living in this moment. The stench of alcohol and the fire in her throat told Sam Peterson that not only was she wasted, but so was everyone else. This was what a concert felt like, but not just any concert. 'The Flesh Curtains' was a band that almost seemed to be an overnight success, and rightfully so, because the music Sam was hearing at this moment was careless but at the same time right on point. Spontaneous, yet planned. 

Just like her.

Which brings her to now. The moment in which she felt the same fiery feeling in her throat and spastic music burst like little electric shocks through the air. She was at a bar, and since she lived close, getting home in her current state was quite a bit more possible. Sure, she'd probably recall bits and pieces of tonight, but not much. Only little fragments. Broken glass shards of a once full mirror of memory.

And her mind seemed to flicker back to that concert from about ten years ago. The concert she'd wormed her way into. They didn't let seventeen year olds in due to the risks associated with this band in particular. There was so many different types of drugs there, as well as a tendency for crowds to get a bit out of hand, much like a moshpit. One particular band member kept taking the focus of Sam's now slow mind. His name was Rick, and that's about all she knew. He was the guitar player of the band, and really, the only human one. Energy of some sort of genius seemed to flow from him, without any effort required. He didn't seem like the type to be in a band, more like someone who could stop anything that he wanted or start something at any given time. He could put out the sun and replace it before anyone noticed. She didn't know exactly how, just that he could. But most of all, she remembered meeting him-

The loud sound of a door swinging open ripped Sam from her blurry euphoria. Slowly turning around she met eyes with someone who she remembered all too well.  A lanky figure in a lab coat stood in the doorway. Eyes seeming lifeless, like that of someone with shell shock, he was drunk. He looked so different now, that it took a minute to recognize him. And then the memories seemed to overlay her vision. It was Rick. Somehow, and some way. The weirdest part was that she'd just been thinking about him. If she believed in some sort of fate coming out of this, that's exactly what she would call it.

Rick the guitar player. The man who could do literally anything.