Bodies - Rewrite
Prologue
John dropped his sticks as a wave of adrenaline seemed to flood his body, his veins were on fire and the blood rapidly pumped through him. He was on a high, a natural high. None of the drugs he had taken in his lifetime had compared to this, at least this would be remembered in the morning. A wide grin broke across his lips and he didn't even attempt to contain it, it would be absolutely pointless anyway, he was happy and not ashamed to show it.
“Fuck guys!” He stood up and beamed at his band mates; in return, they shot him several disdainful looks. “Aww c'mon, that was amazing, what's with the attitudes?” They regarded him with their less than enthusiastic gazes. He turned to Simon, the band mate that he, at least, thought he got on with most. “Mate?” John almost pleaded with him. Simon's response was to sigh deeply and shrug half heartedly as he peeled off the strap to his bass guitar. John frowned to himself, his brow furrowed. He had thought it had gone well. He averted his eyes and caught a glimpse of Macy as she angrily threw her guitar back on its stand. He decided not to speak, he had seen her in a mood like this before and it hadn't been pretty, well, not unless you count John's best bass drum being speared through with the neck of a Squire Strat contemporary art. He shook his head and looked down to the floor, it was grubby and stained with various marks that John really didn't want to investigate any further. He surveyed the pub quickly, it was a bit of a dive really, moth bitten bar stools and retro print curtains weren't really what you could call chic, even in an artsy environment like this.
John ventured from his own stool, from behind his glossy, black kit and made his way to the back of the stage, he wanted to bag his sticks, these were lucky and he had misplaced a few too many pairs already. As he pulled the ties on his duffel bag tightly he felt somebody brush past him. He looked up to see the faded auburn hair of Macy, this resulted in a scowl plastered over his face, “Mace?” he called out to her, irritation evident in his tone of voice. She turned around and narrowed her eyes,
“What John?” She asked simply, not giving any hint of emotion away.
“Well, I'm proud of us, tha'sall” He nodded firmly, folding his arms over his chest in a businesslike manner.
“John, we blew out...how many times did you screw up in `Morality` huh?! We practiced that for fuckin` weeks!” she exclaimed, now letting her anger and disappointment hit hiim fullforce. The floodgates had been opened. “YOU sucked, you're the drummer, you're supposed to be the backbone of the band!” John was extremely hurt, her words scolded him like a heated poker. His face fell and, as she noticed his expression, so did Macy's. He walked forward, to pass her but she blocked his path with an outstretched arm. “Look John...” She hesitated, “You are a good drummer...”
“I'm just not good enough right?” He cut in, concluding what he thought would finish her sentence. He pushed past her roughly and headed to the main area of the pub. He weaved his way through the few people that were now sparse on the dance floor and pulled up a stool at the bar. He held his face in his hands, oblivious to the chaos around him. The bartender's calls fell on deaf ears as he asked John what he wanted to drink but, then a smooth female voice cut in, “He'll have a JD and coke” John dropped his arms and searched the face of the owner of the voice, a brow raised, “Sorry” She sounded vaguely amused, “Just thought you could do with a pick me up.”
“Fuck guys!” He stood up and beamed at his band mates; in return, they shot him several disdainful looks. “Aww c'mon, that was amazing, what's with the attitudes?” They regarded him with their less than enthusiastic gazes. He turned to Simon, the band mate that he, at least, thought he got on with most. “Mate?” John almost pleaded with him. Simon's response was to sigh deeply and shrug half heartedly as he peeled off the strap to his bass guitar. John frowned to himself, his brow furrowed. He had thought it had gone well. He averted his eyes and caught a glimpse of Macy as she angrily threw her guitar back on its stand. He decided not to speak, he had seen her in a mood like this before and it hadn't been pretty, well, not unless you count John's best bass drum being speared through with the neck of a Squire Strat contemporary art. He shook his head and looked down to the floor, it was grubby and stained with various marks that John really didn't want to investigate any further. He surveyed the pub quickly, it was a bit of a dive really, moth bitten bar stools and retro print curtains weren't really what you could call chic, even in an artsy environment like this.
John ventured from his own stool, from behind his glossy, black kit and made his way to the back of the stage, he wanted to bag his sticks, these were lucky and he had misplaced a few too many pairs already. As he pulled the ties on his duffel bag tightly he felt somebody brush past him. He looked up to see the faded auburn hair of Macy, this resulted in a scowl plastered over his face, “Mace?” he called out to her, irritation evident in his tone of voice. She turned around and narrowed her eyes,
“What John?” She asked simply, not giving any hint of emotion away.
“Well, I'm proud of us, tha'sall” He nodded firmly, folding his arms over his chest in a businesslike manner.
“John, we blew out...how many times did you screw up in `Morality` huh?! We practiced that for fuckin` weeks!” she exclaimed, now letting her anger and disappointment hit hiim fullforce. The floodgates had been opened. “YOU sucked, you're the drummer, you're supposed to be the backbone of the band!” John was extremely hurt, her words scolded him like a heated poker. His face fell and, as she noticed his expression, so did Macy's. He walked forward, to pass her but she blocked his path with an outstretched arm. “Look John...” She hesitated, “You are a good drummer...”
“I'm just not good enough right?” He cut in, concluding what he thought would finish her sentence. He pushed past her roughly and headed to the main area of the pub. He weaved his way through the few people that were now sparse on the dance floor and pulled up a stool at the bar. He held his face in his hands, oblivious to the chaos around him. The bartender's calls fell on deaf ears as he asked John what he wanted to drink but, then a smooth female voice cut in, “He'll have a JD and coke” John dropped his arms and searched the face of the owner of the voice, a brow raised, “Sorry” She sounded vaguely amused, “Just thought you could do with a pick me up.”