Deathtrap.
1/1.
"Xander, stop flirting and get ready to play!" John Graham, the lead singer of The Flashing Thunders called to his fellow band mate. Yeah, John was a pretty big deal, if he was being honest. He was lead vocalist for TFT, only the biggest rock band in Xenia, Ohio. It's not like they were the only rock band in the small city. No, that wasn't it. Definitely not. The band was a sensation in bars all across Xenia.
Paul thought it was because the band regularly used a xylophone in their music. Maybe he thought that because he played xylophone. John knew it was because of his voice, though. Not that John was overconfident. Their guitarist, Grey, was never sober enough to care. The drummer, Brady-- he thought it was because Grey was drunk enough to make the audience not feel bad for drinking through the show. Xander, the bassist of The Flashing Thunders, didn't think it was such a success. But he didn't care much, he got to flirt with hot girls all night.
Xander sighed, walking away from the attractive, tipsy girl he'd been talking to, and picked up his instrument.
Deep down, each of the five boys knew the band wouldn't last. They wouldn't make it past the bar scene. The drunken residents of Xenia would stay loyal, but only because the band was playing in the bars they loved to go to. TFT would always be a stupid bar band. Yes, the guys all knew this. But they wouldn't admit it, because they were nineteen, and when you're nineteen the world is yours. When you're nineteen, your dreams have to come true. When you're nineteen, you're invincible. You'll stay that way forever. You have to. You're nineteen. But Grey was 23 and he knew better. Maybe that was why he was wasted all the time. He didn't have the heart to crush their dreams. He still wanted to believe in them himself.
"Alright, everybody! Are you ready?" There were a few cheers, some slurred "I'm ready"s.
They start to play. It isn't magic anymore, though. It's just routine. The crowd doesn't care that much anymore, but they probably never did. They just wanted background music while they drank their sorrow away.
The Flashing Thunders knew they were going nowhere. And there was nothing really left for them. But they would bleed the bar scene dry. They could live like this for a while, there were always sad people who wasted their lives away in bars, just drinking to forget.
The only cost for this way of life? Flash forward a few years.
Look into that run-down bar right there. On stage is a new band, young and overconfident, just like another band that once played there. Just like John, Xander, Grey, Brady, and Paul. What happened to them, to The Flashing Thunders?
Now pan over to that table in the back. To the five men there, drinking, eyes avoiding the stage where they once spent their nights. See the sad eyes. The sorrow. See them drinking their sad lives away. Yes, this is what's left of The Flashing Thunders. Things were so much better when they were nineteen. And Grey, older and wiser, knew it would happen. He likes to think he could have saved himself, but the alcohol makes him forget that for a while.
Thus the fate of young, confident, promising men. Small cities like Xenia are just deathtraps for aspiring musicians. "We'll be playing real venues soon enough," they assure themselves. Oh, how wrong they are.
Paul thought it was because the band regularly used a xylophone in their music. Maybe he thought that because he played xylophone. John knew it was because of his voice, though. Not that John was overconfident. Their guitarist, Grey, was never sober enough to care. The drummer, Brady-- he thought it was because Grey was drunk enough to make the audience not feel bad for drinking through the show. Xander, the bassist of The Flashing Thunders, didn't think it was such a success. But he didn't care much, he got to flirt with hot girls all night.
Xander sighed, walking away from the attractive, tipsy girl he'd been talking to, and picked up his instrument.
Deep down, each of the five boys knew the band wouldn't last. They wouldn't make it past the bar scene. The drunken residents of Xenia would stay loyal, but only because the band was playing in the bars they loved to go to. TFT would always be a stupid bar band. Yes, the guys all knew this. But they wouldn't admit it, because they were nineteen, and when you're nineteen the world is yours. When you're nineteen, your dreams have to come true. When you're nineteen, you're invincible. You'll stay that way forever. You have to. You're nineteen. But Grey was 23 and he knew better. Maybe that was why he was wasted all the time. He didn't have the heart to crush their dreams. He still wanted to believe in them himself.
"Alright, everybody! Are you ready?" There were a few cheers, some slurred "I'm ready"s.
They start to play. It isn't magic anymore, though. It's just routine. The crowd doesn't care that much anymore, but they probably never did. They just wanted background music while they drank their sorrow away.
The Flashing Thunders knew they were going nowhere. And there was nothing really left for them. But they would bleed the bar scene dry. They could live like this for a while, there were always sad people who wasted their lives away in bars, just drinking to forget.
The only cost for this way of life? Flash forward a few years.
Look into that run-down bar right there. On stage is a new band, young and overconfident, just like another band that once played there. Just like John, Xander, Grey, Brady, and Paul. What happened to them, to The Flashing Thunders?
Now pan over to that table in the back. To the five men there, drinking, eyes avoiding the stage where they once spent their nights. See the sad eyes. The sorrow. See them drinking their sad lives away. Yes, this is what's left of The Flashing Thunders. Things were so much better when they were nineteen. And Grey, older and wiser, knew it would happen. He likes to think he could have saved himself, but the alcohol makes him forget that for a while.
Thus the fate of young, confident, promising men. Small cities like Xenia are just deathtraps for aspiring musicians. "We'll be playing real venues soon enough," they assure themselves. Oh, how wrong they are.