Into Oblivion

Standing there forgetting about your vulnerability.  Fingers gently glide towards the opening.  Moving expertly up and down, faster and faster.  With one hand on her neck, you squeeze tightly.

It's hot; waves of passion cascade down as your face is glistening with ecstasy.  Your hips start moving as well.  You feel yourself lost in the instant.  Everything freezes as the moment that's been building washes over you.  Screaming in a frenzied pleasure:

“You won't escape me if I'm your fate. 

You will suffocate with every breath you take”

Then it's over.  Another euphoric performance has concluded culminating with a release that's as satisfying as a sexual encounter.

Now, the after event.  It's gotten easier as the band has gotten more popular.  It used to take going through dark alleys or dive bars, smelling of sweat to get home after each set.  Now I have my own dressing room. I can take some time to come off the high.  Have a nice shower.  Ripped jeans and crimson top lie in a pile as I let the water wash away the deviance that is always in the shadows of my mind. Scalding hot water erupts from the shower as the frothy liquid pools around my feet, dripping down from the ends of my tattered scarlet hair.  The pulsating hypnotic sensation creates some peace as i wash the world away.

Refreshed is an understatement as I emerge renewed with life and calmness as my night begins.  Finding an off the beaten path bar in each city I go to has become more and more of a challenge.  I used to love the excitement of someone knowing who I am as I enter a room.  But now, the anonymity that I find solace in has been my constant search.  It helps with the hunt.  Looking for fulfillment and just trying to survive has been the number one goal.  I hear someone yell “that's Bella Perron” and another say “Legendary guitarist” let's me know this isn't the place.  Heading to a darker side of town, I open the door to a slightly used hole in the wall.  The creak shattered the silence as I pushed the door.  The stale air seems to hold everything in suspension, so thicke the light doesn't even refract through the room. The paint peeling off old posters, of heros long gone, adorn the walls.  Walking through, I feel like this is a living time capsule of another era.  Living may not be the best word to describe this saloon.  The lives of the people that have called this place home have long been extinguished by the suffering and torture of what their lives have become.  Wretchedness in the walls and on the stools.  I turn to look at the door once more before closing and entering in.  I may be out of place and stand out like a clock chiming midnight, but this place is just what I needed.  I meander over to get my first shot of whiskey and add another to the line of glasses I asked her to stack up.  She feels sorry for me or maybe afraid as she asks if I'm meeting someone here.  I say I hope so and move back to downing another drink.  This isn't the rich full-bodied flavored I'm used to in a Blantons or EG, but more of a dirty edgy taste.  One that makes your senses feel assaulted with every mouthful.  I see I'm drawing more attention with every burning gulp that lingers on my lips before swallowing hard.

A few of the patrons move closer to my personal space while a few others close off the side doors.  There's five of them.  Aware of my surroundings and the precariousness of the situation.  I stood in silence as the weight of my condition hits me full force.  One guy strolls up to me and asks if I was talking about him when I stated I hope to be meeting someone.  As fast as I could say No! I felt someone else put their hands on my shoulder.  Not hurting but definitely forcefully turning me around. 

Quickly I've gotten into a situation that got out of hand.  One guy grabs my arms as if asking me to dance while one of the others start to grab at my clothes.  The attack came swift, and now I'm completely surrounded…

The ambush was so disturbing that it ran as the top story in every newspaper across the country.  The violence shown was so horrendous that carnage lined every inch of that little bar.

It ended up closing, never to reopen.  That's something good that came from that night. With so little blood, the police had to wonder if the crime took place somewhere else, but with the amount of destruction to the room, there was no doubt that it happened right on site.

They never figured out what happened that night.  They only knew the victims identity by a police dossier left at the scene.  Each guy that died had a long rap sheet of violence, and their reports were tacked to the wall next to the dart board that had hung there for over 30 years.

The only other item out of place was found at the bar amongst many empty shot glasses.  It was a single butterfly adorned custom style guitar pick.