PROLOGUE
Anny never once took anything seriously during the five years we’ve toured together. We all just thought it was because she was a hardass. But there was something much deeper than that. Hatred. Rage. Unsatiated hunger.
Those photos. The way she smiled when she showed them off to us. I have to say that I’m proud of myself for not punching her square in her jaw from the shock of the gore. I never realized just how fucked up she was. She never shed a tear, not even once.
I can’t say that I feel sorry for her. The person I feel sorry for is Carrie. I visit her every weekend at the Red Garden Correctional Center. She was the only person in the band that I was close to. She always made sure I was okay and would even stand up to Anny for me.
I can’t say I feel bad or sorry for Anny. She never cared about any of us so it seemed. This was her band and she didn’t care how uncomfortable any of us were.
You may be asking yourself, well, why did you stay? Firstly, I am an artist. What I felt was a peaceful workplace became truly destructive, disgusting, and truly ended in bloodshed. Secondly, I didn’t feel right about leaving. As fucked up as Anny was, I was sure this was her own fucked up way of grieving. I was wrong. Dead wrong, pun unintended.
I am the only member of the band that still has her feet on the dirt of this earth. I feel that I owe it to Carrie and the original dream to keep the band going. We don’t have to go down as the band that destroyed itself from the inside out. We can go down as the band that went through darkness and came to light on the other side.
