We're from America (Marilyn Manson)

The Nobodies

He stopped caring about the world a long time ago. He was superior to the rest of the scum that roamed this Earth. He only wanted to make music and art. When one of those was threatened, though, he had to start caring. At least for a second. Just long enough for him to fix his problem. He didn't know yet that what would come would make him care for more than just a few seconds.
.
He and his band were sitting in an auditorium, waiting for the auditions to start. You see, their drummer had died of a heroin overdose, and they needed to replace him as quickly as possible. So, they sat and waited. One after another came drummers who looked almost the same. Black emo haircuts. Heavy makeup. Black clothes. Combat boots. Each and every one of them played the same. They were all mediocre. Slowly, it started making him angry. Was it so hard to find a good fucking drummer? These fuckers put more effort into their unoriginal looks than their actual performance. Is that what the world thought about him? That he was all look and no substance? Unbelievable. He was just about to stand up and end the whole thing altogether when something unheard of happened. A girl walked on stage.
"Are you lost, miss? These aren't cheerleader tryouts," Twiggy said, and the others, including Manson, laughed. The tall lanky girl, with black hair tied in a ponytail stared at him with an 'are you fucking serious' expression on her face. She took off her red all stars and said, "No, you ass, I'm here to audition." They tried repressing their laughter but failed. She sighed, saying something along the lines of, "Biased sexist pigs," and walked behind the drum set. She sat there for a moment, unmoving, staring into space and murmuring something to herself. Then she took the drumsticks in her hands, twirled them around her fingers twice, and started playing. Up until this point, they weren't even paying attention to her anymore. They were joking about something as if she wasn't even there. After hearing the first beats, they shut up though. She was playing their song. You might be thinking something along the lines of, "Well duh," but the fact was that none of the other drummers did that. They just showed off with some beats that were supposedly difficult to pull off and expected the world to bow down to them. But she played The Nobodies. Then (S)aint and after that Snake Eyes and Sissies. She played all of them perfectly. After she finished, she stood up and did a mock bow; sarcasm pouring from the move. Then she turned to leave.
"Stop."
She turned around and raised an eyebrow.
"What's your name?" Manson asked. "I call myself James Wuornos." She understood the meaning behind their names, and she perfectly pulled off their songs. He was impressed to say the least.
"Interesting... Well, you would definitely fit in our band with that name. Why did you decide to audition?"
"Isn't it obvious? I want to play in a band. In a band that sends the world a message I believe in."
"Okay," he said and nodded.
Seeing as they didn't seem to have anything else to say, she left.
"She was honestly the only one who didn't suck. I think we can all agree she's the one."
"That's the problem, man. She is a SHE. We don't do girls."
"Well, I don't know about you, but I do do girls."
"You know that's not what I meant," Twiggy was blushing at the remark.
"Why would her gender be a problem? We are made to shock. We are not conformists."
"She didn't even fit into our style!"
"DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I SAID? So-fucking-what? We do not have a fucking style. All those idiots who looked the same were horrible. Were you not there with me listening to them?"
That shut them all up because in the end, it really wasn't about the look but about the message. "Let's vote. All those in favor of James raise your hand." It was unanimous. "Good, now, does anyone know where to find her?"
She had not left any information about herself except the name. They all shrugged, and Manson sighed. He got up and left to search for their new drummer. Luckily, she was still outside.
"I am not in the mood for more misogyny. Just let me enjoy my cigarette in peace, please."
"You're in. The tour continues tomorrow. Be here at 3 A.M."
.
They were standing in front of their bus, sharing a joint. It was 2:59 A.M. when they saw someone approaching. It was James. She put her bag down at her feet when she reached them. She pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Quietly, she lit her Marlboro Red and stood there, observing her new band mates.
"Sorry about the sexist remarks yesterday..."
She held up her hand to stop Twiggy from speaking. "I don't care. Save it for when you actually mean it. And seriously, whatever. I'm used to it."
After a few minutes of silence, Marilyn passed her the joint, and she took it. "Do you know all our songs by heart? We don't exactly have too much time to practice, and we have a reputation to uphold."
"Do you seriously think I'd audition for a band during their tour without being prepared?" He nodded at her response.
"Yeah, so anyway, as I was saying earlier, I know this guy who said he can hook us up. He'll be at our concert," Pogo continued the conversation from before James joined them. One would think heroin was something they would steer clear of, seeing as their previous drummer overdosed on it, but they didn't seem to care.
After finishing the joint, they all started boarding the bus. James picked up her bag, but then Twiggy took it from her. She gave him a murderous look, and he quickly returned it. She carried it up herself. She wasn't a fucking damsel in distress. She was used to being the one who took care of everything by herself.
"So you'll be sleeping on the top bunk, above me. You can put your bag here. To the left in the back is the bathroom and toilet. You can see our humble kitchen right there. And way in the back is a room specially reserved for when you have someone over. Though, we mostly stay at hotels anyway. Feel free to use it if it comes to it. But put a sock on the doorknob," Pogo explained to her. When he mentioned the sex room, everyone else looked at James to see her reaction. They were disappointed to find her cold hard face unphased and unchanging. Soon they all went to bed, as they had a long road before them to the next city.
.
They arrived in Miami five hours before their show. Everyone except James went to the hotel where they would be spending the night. She, however, made her way to the stadium, taking her bag with her to the dressing room. She quickly changed from her sweatpants and all-stars to a red suit, with a red shirt underneath. She took off her shoes because she always played barefoot. There was something so natural about feeling the cold pedal touching your foot while you slammed into it rhythmically.
She painted her face white. She used black eyeliner to line her eyes all the way around. She drew two straight vertical lines above and below each eye, looking like a clown. Then she used a black lip stick and drew a heart shape on her lips. Her nose was painted red. Then she finished it with two lines that symbolized her eyebrows. She let her long black hair flow down over her face and her shoulders. She was ready. She went on stage and started practicing. After going over every song twice, she still had two hours to kill. Returning to the dressing room, she took out a book from her bag. It was The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde. Her favorite book in the world. Her grandmother had given it to her when she was ten. She also took her pack of cigs and a lighter and left. She quickly found a side entrance and plopped down onto the floor. She put in her earphones, pumped the volume to the max limit and started reading.
After an hour, and 10 cigarettes later she noticed a figure hovering above her. Looking up she saw it was her new front man.
He gazed questioningly at her book and she lifted it so he could read the title. He sat down beside her, taking out a cigarette of his own. They sat in silence. This later became a tradition of sorts. James and Marilyn enjoying a cigarette together before every show. The silence was also mandatory.
.
They joined the others in the dressing room. They all looked at her attire.
"I think it's safe to say you'll fit in nicely," Twiggy said and in return she gave him a curt nod. They all put their makeup on, and she retouched her own. They had an hour before the show. On stage, they had a sound check, quickly going over a few songs and suddenly it was time for the show to begin.
The lights went out and were replaced by only red rays as people started filling the arena.
Then they started playing an eerie melody. And he started singing.
"Today I'm dirty
And I want to be pretty
Tomorrow, I know I'm just dirt
Today I'm dirty
And I want to be pretty
Tomorrow, I know I'm just dirt