Excerpt: Rock and Roll Suicide

Chapter One: Sound Check

The Albert Hall. The fucking Royal (ital) Albert Hall. He still couldn’t quite believe it. The Bats were playing here. From his seat up in the Grand Circle he kicked out a size 12 Doc Marten's boot into the empty seat in front of him. It went straight through it. He cursed again. Shit, even mindless vandalism wasn’t quite the thrill it used to be.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed, and one shaft of pale green light picked out the lonely microphone standing centre stage. From the gantry high up in the gods the technician hit the bank of switches. The eerie green glow faded and three vivid purple beams illuminated the row of guitars behind, standing silently, waiting. Then dazzling white spots began rotating up and down, slow at first, then faster, faster, until the empty stage blurred before Keith’s eyes.

When it cleared small ant-like figures swarmed the stage. Clad in the obligatory black t-shirts and jeans, one crawled forward and tapped the mike. Testing, testing… one, two, three. Feedback screamed through the hall, causing Keith to leap up, lean out across the rows of seats, and shout obscenities at those far below. But his words were drowned out by the wailing melody that reverberated all around him, as the roadie picked up the Stratocaster and started strumming through those familiar opening chords.

Keith shrugged. He had to admit it looked and sounded good. He flicked open his pen knife and scored the glinting blade carelessly across the seat's plush yielding velvet arms. “Rock ‘n Roll,” he muttered, but his heart was no longer really in it. It looked bad, and in a place like this. He carefully tried to pull the tattered red fabric back across the gaping wound.

His only real hope was that on the night the band would screw it up themselves. His lipsticked-smeared mouth spread out into a leering grin. That, he told himself, was always a distinct possibility. Particularly, while he was still around.

He stood up – catching his dim reflection in the smoky glass, admiring the shadow he still cast. Skin tight jeans, heavy leather jacket and the faint smudge of eye-liner. Yes, he smiled, he was still very much part of the band.