Ch.  1 Killer Koffins

"When the fuck is that loser waking up?" Erhyn asked tapping her drumsticks on the old wooden table.

It was six o' clock, at night. E.J still hadnt risen.

Killer Koffins, the group was waiting for our lead guitarist to awake. We sit in his near empty mansion.

E.J moved here from New York, he was alone except for Lorenzo, he never spoke of his parents. He bought the empty mansion on Lansing hill, it filled my little batty posse with hope when we saw him walk down the halls.

The mansion on the outside was decaying, the shingles from the roof, slipping downwards to crash on the thick over grown lawn, but inside the decay seemed to cease. This huge mansion served as a glowy, warm bat cave. And continually our place to crash over the summer.

Besides the bottom floor we were never allowed to explore the next two. It had always intigued us, but nobody dared to piss off E.J, who we found out to have a bad temper.

And as for even porbing about his parents;

When we bring it up he side steps us so gracefully its hard to ask again.

We sit in the grand hall, before the staircase landing. Ben is spawled out on the persian rug staring up at the candel lit, chandelier. His bass resting beside him.

We joke that thats all he needs, his hand and his bass.

He's like, the vampire Lestat to our band. He started us. But at the same time he tears us apart, we only see him after darkness lowers over Washington.

Till the sun is gone, and nothing is left but the one side of the moon and the millions of scattered stars over the dark purpley bruise of the sky.

"Bells, when are you getting that new mic?" I look up to see Lorenzo with his black butler outfit on, Lorenzo.

Lorenzo. E.J's butler. It was always him, and E.J. In this big, bat infested mansion.

"When Mr.Lestat up stairs gives me the money," I glare up at the dusty oaken staircase that we were waiting E.J to desced from.

"Ahh, indeed. He's spoken to me about taking you to-," As if on cue, the sun gone from view, E.J bounded down the steps, the clunck of his red and black K swiss agaisnt the steps echoed through the near empty mansion.

Dressed in his normal attire of black worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt. And his ragged patched up hoodie. It was his simple way of saying fuck the world.

"About fucking time!" Valdimir growled standing from his spot on his fender amp.

E.J gave him the stern bird, his pale finger extending elegently.

"Is that an offer?" His voice low and seductive, "Eh E.J?"

"Are you guys ready to go?" E.J asked his tone husky. He still looked sleepy, there were dark circles under his chocolate brown eyes.

I wonder why there would be purple circles, almost as dark as the sky outside bagging under his eyes. He slept enough.

"No, I think we'll sleep another six hours," Ehryn growled. She hit his black mop of his head with one of her sticks.

I saw something shift in him, it was this flash of this animalistic tense up. It was gone as soon as it had came.

"Whatever, c'mon," He grabbed his guitar, a polished black Gibson resting agaisnt the wall and we headed over in the back of Valdimir's truck to his house.

In this part of town that Valdimir lived in, we called the Pastel Sect.

It was literally like on Edward Scissor hands, except there was five Edwards.

At night it seemed to be even more sickening because it was a community of the typical american family.

Outcasted isn't even a word for how Valdimir felt.

And we were the only ones who even called him that, around his house Henry,

or as his mom would say, Henrykins.

______________

We started, I grabbed my mic, which was so crappy it couldnt carry my voice, it broke in spots and it made it sound like I fell out all the time. Which I didnt.

"Im falling, im reaching, everyone preaching the same old lies, im decaying, worthless in their eyes," I growl into the mic for our opening song.

Ehryn slammed it out, the sound of relentless gun fire echiong through the empty street. The sound hit me in the chest driving me on to the next line.

I imagined the whole pastel neighbor hood filled with bat loving, Donnie Darko adorers such as ourselves.

It was a wonder they didnt call the cops, but since Valds' dad was a cop, nothing would every happen to precious Henrykins.

Everyone envied him for that.

"The first to fall the last to rise..." The mic gave out. But I continue. No one stops.

Valdimir begins the support on E.J heart tearing solo, the notes a cresendo of agony. His calloused fingers dance with expertise down the fret board.

And then there it is, everything else drops back as the rush of deep soulful notes are plucked from Bens bass.

And we were in the music, in our element where nothing, no preps, cops, parents, or principles could touch us. Nothing could hold us back now.

And thats why we played. Not for the money or the fame, not that we had any of that.

(If we did id have a new mic.)

It was just our escape.

Our addiction.

Just a bunch of kids, with issues even Frued couldnt handle.

Killer Koffins was safe; everything else. Wasn't.

Im back! Woo. It feels great, subcribe, I feel good about this story, damn confident. And if I dont get my butt in gear send me growly messages to get me going! You guys help alot. <3

Thanks loves!

K.