Nights like that one, the music sang through me. I felt like I had left early, with only the guitar and my voice left to bear the burden of the stage. My audience wasn’t there for rock and roll. I could have played it. But they didn’t want it. What they wanted was the raw singer/songwriter, red hair shining almost pink under the hot lights.
When it was over, I left. Fans made me nervous, people with Kazie tattooed on their eyes. My stage name is as close to “crazy” as I’ll ever let any of me get. Unfortunately, now it’s the only name I have.
It had been raining most of the night. I remember the miserable broken lines of water, pouring straight down like water through a sieve. I pulled my hood up, threaded my scarf between the hood and my neck.
Someone else pulled it tight around me.
I fought. No one could have fought like I did. I clawed until my fingers broke, screamed myself hoarse. My nose broke against the sidewalk. Water flooded my nostrils. I was drowned in a puddle an inch deep.
Then I woke up a ghost, with no memories but these.
Just an idea I had. Probably won’t be this graphic if I come back to this later. Unless graphic works. I dunno.