Status: I haven't the heart to delete this after committing so much time to it, but I don't have the desire or time to update it either, so it will remain unfinished until further notice.
Green Day Saves the Day
Middle of Nowhere, AZ
“…No, it’s not…It’s…We’re…a hallucinaaatiooon”, Tré said in a wavering ghostly voice.
“Tré…” Mike sighed.
“You’ve been smoking too much weeeeed. ”
“Tré.”
“Go back to sleeeep—”
“Tré! Cut the bullshit. They need to know what’s going on.”
Tré sighed deeply and looked at the wide-eyed, green haired band member that had so obviously recognized him. “All right, it’s me. And he’s…him,” he said, jerking his thumb at Mike.
“What the HELL is going on here?” Minty demanded.
“Yeah, didn’t you guys die like 20 years ago?” Dré added.
“No, dude. It was more like, 24 years ago,” Tré said in mock anger. “Well for me. 23 for Mikey. Anyway, we came here looking for Billie Joe and—”
“He’s here, too?!” a now slightly less bewildered Minty asked. “Hey Robb, you won’t believe it. Green D— Robb? Where the hell is Robby, Dré?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!” Tré screamed. “Oh. Oh. Dré. My bad.”
Dré pulled himself up from his makeshift bed of band T-shirts and bundles of cords to look out the window. “Oh, I don’t know, Mint. I’d guess about 15 miles THAT WAY!” he screeched as he pointed out into the desert. “We’re in the fucking middle of nowhere!”
Minty let his friend’s bitch fit bounce off of him. After 10 years, he had come to realize that he usually cooled off pretty quickly. Calmly, he looked first at Tré, then at Mike. “You guys still have a lot of explaining to do. But first, we need to find Robb. Hop in.”
***
“Gramps, we’ve been up for like…10 hours. Can’t we take a break?” Robb asked pleadingly.
“First of all, it’s Billie Joe, Billie, or Beej if I’m in a really good mood…or drunk. If you EVER call me Gramps again, you will be joining me on the way back up there,” Billie said, jabbing a finger towards the ceiling to indicate the ghostly world that awaited his return. “Second, we can’t rest until you come up with a half decent punk song. Hell, a half decent anything would be nice.”
Robb groaned and took a second to take in his surroundings. He and Billie were on the floor amongst the sea of random objects that had been tossed about the previous night and they had been in the same spot for what felt like an eternity. He sighed, looked down at the notebook in his lap—which now contained only three sheets of paper—and picked up the chewed pen once more. “All right, how’s this? I tried and I tried and I tried all night but the words couldn’t come out right. Why is it that I lose this fight every time? I just want to do something right. I just want to please you but it’s so damn hard to do. Go on, insult it.”
“Actually…that was…that wasn’t bad. Hell, it was good,” Billie Joe said with a proud smile on his face. “I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
Robb smiled gratefully and breathed deeply. “Now, to explain this to the guys.”
Billie Joe froze. “What are you talking about?”
“My band mates. I think they have the right to know what’s going on.”
Billie Joe winced as if he’d been kicked in the side. “All right, let’s just get this over with.”
Robb smirked. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“Oh, shut up!”
The stiff, tired pair proceeded to leave the dressing room and walk down the road to where the van had been the night before. The only evidence that showed it’d been there was a stray guitar pick that had been left behind somehow. Robb picked it up and slipped it into his pocket before looking up the road. “Ah, shit.”
“Tré…” Mike sighed.
“You’ve been smoking too much weeeeed. ”
“Tré.”
“Go back to sleeeep—”
“Tré! Cut the bullshit. They need to know what’s going on.”
Tré sighed deeply and looked at the wide-eyed, green haired band member that had so obviously recognized him. “All right, it’s me. And he’s…him,” he said, jerking his thumb at Mike.
“What the HELL is going on here?” Minty demanded.
“Yeah, didn’t you guys die like 20 years ago?” Dré added.
“No, dude. It was more like, 24 years ago,” Tré said in mock anger. “Well for me. 23 for Mikey. Anyway, we came here looking for Billie Joe and—”
“He’s here, too?!” a now slightly less bewildered Minty asked. “Hey Robb, you won’t believe it. Green D— Robb? Where the hell is Robby, Dré?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!” Tré screamed. “Oh. Oh. Dré. My bad.”
Dré pulled himself up from his makeshift bed of band T-shirts and bundles of cords to look out the window. “Oh, I don’t know, Mint. I’d guess about 15 miles THAT WAY!” he screeched as he pointed out into the desert. “We’re in the fucking middle of nowhere!”
Minty let his friend’s bitch fit bounce off of him. After 10 years, he had come to realize that he usually cooled off pretty quickly. Calmly, he looked first at Tré, then at Mike. “You guys still have a lot of explaining to do. But first, we need to find Robb. Hop in.”
***
“Gramps, we’ve been up for like…10 hours. Can’t we take a break?” Robb asked pleadingly.
“First of all, it’s Billie Joe, Billie, or Beej if I’m in a really good mood…or drunk. If you EVER call me Gramps again, you will be joining me on the way back up there,” Billie said, jabbing a finger towards the ceiling to indicate the ghostly world that awaited his return. “Second, we can’t rest until you come up with a half decent punk song. Hell, a half decent anything would be nice.”
Robb groaned and took a second to take in his surroundings. He and Billie were on the floor amongst the sea of random objects that had been tossed about the previous night and they had been in the same spot for what felt like an eternity. He sighed, looked down at the notebook in his lap—which now contained only three sheets of paper—and picked up the chewed pen once more. “All right, how’s this? I tried and I tried and I tried all night but the words couldn’t come out right. Why is it that I lose this fight every time? I just want to do something right. I just want to please you but it’s so damn hard to do. Go on, insult it.”
“Actually…that was…that wasn’t bad. Hell, it was good,” Billie Joe said with a proud smile on his face. “I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
Robb smiled gratefully and breathed deeply. “Now, to explain this to the guys.”
Billie Joe froze. “What are you talking about?”
“My band mates. I think they have the right to know what’s going on.”
Billie Joe winced as if he’d been kicked in the side. “All right, let’s just get this over with.”
Robb smirked. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“Oh, shut up!”
The stiff, tired pair proceeded to leave the dressing room and walk down the road to where the van had been the night before. The only evidence that showed it’d been there was a stray guitar pick that had been left behind somehow. Robb picked it up and slipped it into his pocket before looking up the road. “Ah, shit.”