Why don’t you try that last riff, again? he said. And backing down, thankful to be making music, Orange picked up her drum sticks.
And Tommy, his grip strong on the battered guitar, swung it with the ferocity of his own playing.
It’s my fault, he thought to himself; the way I took her in, her issues, my issues, flirting and fighting like she was my soulmate; my fault, my deal. But how the hell can I change that, now?
The guitar slammed into the back of her head, cracking it. The sticks flew wide, and the snare drum screamed out a loud beat. A beat shaking and reverberating with red.
Tommy looked at it, shocked. He looked at the purple fringed wound on the back of Orange’s head. She fought to sit up on her stool, grabbing for her sticks, and a sparkling splinter of wood stuck out from the pulsing hole.
Flash Fiction: Thankful to Be Making Music © 2012 by Shawn Radcliffe
This flash fiction excerpt deals with relationships, death, and making music, and is based on Jim Thompson’s novel, The Grifters