band, flash fiction, haunt, Rebecca Lyon, short stories, short story, vss, writing
by Rebecca Lyon
The headlines said he fell because he thought he could fly. He didn’t. He fell because he was off his fucking face and I know because I was there. I was going to do it, but he got there first like he always did. He was lead guitarist, I was drums. But that was a long time ago. Before I got deaf and old and he stayed young.
Forked Tongue disbanded of course. And he used to fucking haunt me. Couldn’t see a guy with long hair without shivering. Couldn’t get free of that smell of fucking incense that used to hang around him. Couldn’t get clean.
I burned the albums we couldn’t sell. I thought he’d approve of the phosphorescent waste, the stinking glory. I imagined where the other copies might be. In the afterlife with him, or in charity shops.
Now I don’t hear his voice because I don’t wear my hearing aid. It fell into a container at the dump when I thought I saw his face smirk at me from behind a cracked plastic cover.
Rebecca Lyon likes reading, writing and running, usually in that order. Her poem Ecclesia and the Hatran King, a dialogue between a statue destroyed by ISIS in Mosul and a statue destroyed by English iconoclasts in Winchester, was exhibited at Winchester Cathedral in 2015.
Jayne Martin said:
This piece is totally fierce! Love it.