"To put your life in danger from time to time... breeds a saneness in dealing with day-to-day trivialities." -- Nevil Shute.
Apparently, Dune can sing. We heard 'Follow Me Down' from the new Alice and Wonderland soundtrack (what is up with that movie? it's like, stalking us) and apparently he can play the lead singer like, scarily well. My voice doesn't really match the girl in the background, but we worked out with it a bit so I didn't sound too much like an injured prairie dog. And you know that song, Good Girls Go Bad? By like, Cobra Starship? (Cobra Starship. What is that? An interstellar snake? What is that?) He can sing like that guy, too.
So, when he finished his hit-singles, I got to step up and sing as many Avril Lavigne songs as I knew (not all at the same time, obviously...) from Nobody's Home to Don't Tell Me to The Best Damn Thing.
Most people were in a hurry to get to, well, wherever, but we got a lot of smiles. Some people clapped, threw coins in the guitar case (like in the movies!) and a couple children dragged heavily-shopping-bag-loaded parents over to listen for a minute.
I'm kind of obsessed with music, so it was pretty much the coolest thing ever. All of those people in the shopping district, a swirl of colors and shapes and sizes and voices, and just us playing guitar surrounded by a bunch of aggressive pigeons who were trying to pull the sandwhich out of Dune's backpack. Dune thought he'd be clever and hold it on his lap so they wouldn't come near, but a squirrel eventually snagged it right out of his hands. Devious city animals, they are.
Well, apparently you need a permit to play music on a sidewalk like that, but no one bothered us. I thought eventually we'd get busted, but we were okay. I don't think anyone thought of us as a pair of heinous teenage criminals. (But we looked pretty snazzy.) BUT. All the weird stuff sort of started when I was thirsty, so I put down my guitar and ended up sneezing and trying to talk at the same time, so it came out as more of a, "Hungry! I mean, I am. Hungry."
"Talk like Yoda, do I so." Dune snickered.
"Pfft. You only wish you were that cool." I rose from my seat and said I'd be back in a moment, taking off down the road. There were some little vendors set up on the street, so I bought a soda and sat down on a bench for a minute, downing it in like, five seconds flat. Then some older guy sat down next to me, breathing heavy like he was about to give birth to a fifty-pound watermelon. He was talking nervously on his cellphone in like, Chinese or Spanish or Costa-Rican or Finlandish. Or English.
I stared at him for a minute, then announced, "Eww. There's something coming out of your ear!"
That got rid of him real fast.
So I enjoyed my Mountain Dew in silence; then stood up and started heading back, hoping Dune hadn't pissed someone off and gotten mugged. You know how in the movies, sketchy stuff always happens in dark alleys? Well, there weren't any dark alleys here. But there was a grimy street wedged between an office building and some high-rise apartments.
I came around the corner, humming some nameless song to myself - it was getting dark now - when I saw a guy, a flash of him - pinned against a wall. I did a complete double-take. The first guy was stuttering skittishly; I couldn't blame him. Another man had him by the throat, the muzzle of a gun pressed to the bottom of his chin.
He pulled the trigger.
There was a bang - not a rattling, throaty gunshot - it must have had some sort of sound suppresser on it. The gut-wrenching noise - that came a few milliseconds after; that was the sickening snick as his head exploded, the splatter as blood and brains pasted the wall.
The body fell - silently, like a tree falls - and folded to the stone, skin sliding delicately off a partially-exposed skull.
The man raised his head; saw me. He smiled. A wild, bloody, pointy-toothed grin. He raised his gun and fired.
If I had not moved a few seconds earlier, I would have been hit. His aim had been sure and would have struck me in the heart. But something was different. Something had changed.
In a single, blinding, instant. Light. It exploded in my eyes, slithered through my bones, fired through my veins and bloomed like a brilliant fire. Like passion and fury, it screamed and burrowed into my head, until everything slowed - everything was painfully clear, painfully easy. The man smelled hot, like adrenaline and ice. Like bone and blood and sweat.
He was inferior! Ridiculous! Standing there, such a tiny, tiny, soft shadow. Defenceless. Slow. Weak. My own arrogance struck me, the power I felt, the storm beating in my heart, the eager, sure-footed way that I bolted across the ground, the way I flew like a wild fire. I could feel and taste the panic that squealed in his eyes, could hear his scream cholking in his throat, could feel the blood pusling and throbbing and flooding beneath my hands.
BANG BANG! He fired, somewhere, but it felt far away. Like something happening to someone in a movie. Only a vague concern. What did he think he was going to do? Shoot me? Ha!
Someone must have whacked me with a cattle prodder; poured water over me and electrocuted my skin. Like someone had opened my eyes and my ears and my nose, flooded my senses with an overwhelming, powerful, exhilerating ocean....and then it was gone. I smelt the blood in my mouth; tasted it. The sun had set, leaving the sky the color of pennies and rose petals.
The man with the gun was on the ground, bleeding. Presumed dead. I did not look at home closely to see his injuries, but turned and ran.
He shot himself, I said. He shot himself with his own gun. I was shaking; something about post-accident shock. He was trying to shoot me, I say. He misfired and hit himself. It killed him. That's all.
I pause on the sidewalk - and look back - just for a second. There is sound from a nearby street, probably someone curious from the noise. And there, in the blood and the dirt, are a set of perfect, wide, pawprints.
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