Why Can't We Make This Darkness Feel Like Home

Bill sat in the corner of the small room and sighed. He watched his band mates and manager riffle through the thousands of contest submissions they received the past few weeks. He wasn’t helping because he thought the idea was stupid. Yes, it was a perfect opportunity for them to interact with their fans but the prize clearly wasn’t thought through.

The contest was designed by Jost, his manager, to help promote the band’s new album. The fans were to submit their own outlook on how the album should be. The winner would win the chance to attend the tour with the band. That’s what Bill hated the most. Some stranger was going to follow them around for a couple of months.

“Jost, please tell me you put an age limit on this,” Bill said while looking over his brother’s shoulder. Both of their eyes widened at the stick figures in crayon.

“I did. The contestants must be younger than 25 to compete,” Jost replied before throwing more papers into the trashcan. Bill shook his head and rolled his char closer to the table.

“No… I was asking if they have to be over a certain age.” He watched the many letters and drawings fall into the trashcans and shredders.

“Oh… why didn’t you say so? They have to be at least 13.” Bill’s jaw dropped.

“Are you serious? We might have to baby sit some crazed little girl during this whole tour?” He crossed his arms across his chest and scoffed. Sure, kids are alright when their parents or someone was around to watch them. But he’s seen the many young girls that claim to be one of their fans. Just a couple of days ago he accidentally came across some fan made stories about the band. They have too many fucked up fantasies for his taste.

“Don’t worry Bill. Anyone under age is going to have to have an adult come with them. You should know that much,” Georg said with a smirk. Bill rolled his eyes and stared at the pile. So now they might have to deal with a fan girl’s mother. One of those crazy mothers who criticize how horrible he and the boys look and telling them how bad of an influence they are.

“How about this one? It’s pretty wicked if you ask me,” Tom said while holding up one of the submissions. Every smirked as they stared over at the drawing. It featured all of the boys, unlike the ninety percent of the other submissions, performing on stage in front of a huge speaker with their logo on it. Bill was crouching down in front while pointing the microphone towards the viewer. The three others were performing right behind him.

“It’s perfect!” Bill exclaimed while pulling it out of Tom’s hands. He stared at it with a huge smile on his face.

“It looks like we found ourselves a winner. Are you guys sure you don’t want to keep looking?” Jost asked. Bill shook his head quickly.

“Nein, this is the one.”

“Alright, We’ll post the results in an hour. Go home and pack. You’re going to pick up Addison Moore in a couple of hours,” Jost said while reading the letter that was sent with the art. Bill nodded while his band mates starting talking amongst them selves.

“I hope she’s not twelve,” Tom muttered while walking out the door. Bill inwardly agreed.