I: The Vanishing of the Lone Rebel

Light drizzling rain was carried by the wind to the brick walls of the Spastic Flea club in Mistview Grove, Washington. Inside, a mixed crowd of people mingled in the large main room where the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke clung to the walls. Careless parents hunched over on bar stools and rambled at the bartenders; workers with some time to kill paced around billiards tables; thrills-seeking teenagers made a little too much noise in groups spotted around the room; all ignorant or unaware of the music the scheduled bands played on the small stage of the venue. It may as well have been white noise.

At this moment, thrash metal band Locust were up on the stage playing covers with their instruments tuned a whole step down to achieve the elusive ''heavy''. Though amateurish in most aspects, their performance was energetic and passionate, complemented by flawless playing from weathered musicians. Somber songs of grim themes rather than shallow, simple ballads about girls and love filled the environment when they took over.

Kieran Idzikowicz, Locust's vocalist and rhythm guitarist, commanded the stage from the middle behind the microphone, dressed in a black-and-white T-shirt layered under a black denim vest, paired with black cargo pants tucked into black leather combat boots. Strands of his jet-black hair hung ahead of his blackish-brown eyes, somewhat obstructing his line of sight on the rosewood fretboard of his black Gibson Explorer. The guitar, sporting dings and nicks all over as scars earned in combat, hung from a worn leather strap, also black. From under Kieran's black-wristband-laden forearm, the finish and paint of the guitar had been worn off, revealing the grain of mahogany wood that told of its owner's aggressive technique and constant use. As most could tell at first sight, Kieran liked the color black.

To his right was Rebecca Fletcher, the bassist, clad in an old, ragged white T-shirt obscured by a ratty studded brown leather vest that hung stiff over her frame. The metallic circular buckle of a studded belt shone with pride over red tartan pants and worn brown combat boots. The vibrant colors of her clothing stuck out from the darker tones the rest of the band wore, but who among them was gonna tell her to change, being the oldest of them at twenty-three? Whether the songs on the setlist were about crimes against humanity, false prophets, or nuclear devastation, it mattered little to her. A vixen-like grin adorned her radiant shoulder-length red hair and charming green eyes throughout her performances, born of sincere enjoyment of the music and the thrill of playing on-stage. From pale-skinned arms with freckled shoulders and a makeshift strap built from an old leather belt and an assortment of bolts, screws, and rivets hung the heavy weaponry of the band: a Fender Jazz Bass plastered over with stickers of a hundred punk bands; their names faded, but their influence enduring. Its metal parts were corroded with rust, the strings encrusted with grime, and the cavity of the missing neck pickup hidden under a strip of duct tape. Becky's excuse for the blatant neglect of her instrument? "Gives it character, mate," she'd say with a shrug. At least she was up-to-date on her tetanus shots…

In the back, under a swaying mane of long, curly brown hair, was Jason Laskaris, carrying the tempo of the song without flaw from behind a battery of drums and cymbals. Drumming was the most physically demanding activity of the band's duties, so it called for attire that allowed him to stay cool and unencumbered. Therefore, he preferred to wear a dark blue tank top tonight with cargo shorts imprinted with a camouflage pattern of moss, brown and sage color blotches, and black sneakers with white Wilson socks creeping halfway up his calves. Dents and splinters blemished his sticks, but Lask insisted his reliable tools still had plenty of hits in them to deliver before snapping into two or more pieces. Curated throughout the years, his drumkit contained everything he needed to drive the powerful, tight sound of the band. He kept only the essentials. Cymbals, toms, a snare, two bass drums, gotta keep it simple. Nothing more, nothing less. They were thrash, not prog, come on. No need for anything fancy.

Valentina Cárdenas, the lead guitarist, reigned on the left corner of the stage, fearless despite being the shortest and youngest of the bunch. The black color and the metal studs of her crop-top leather jacket gave a defiant flair to the military green T-shirt she wore atop light-gray slim-fit jeans and off-white high-top sneakers. An M9 bayonet knife, a precious gift from someone special, hugged her beige cloth belt in its sheath, also beige. A scratched-up white Jackson King V protruded in three different directions in front of her like a medieval weapon. An impromptu wrap of duct tape around the tips of the horns and headstock protected against further damage, both to the instrument and to anyone around it. Though the youngest at eighteen, Val's energy not only matched, but often surpassed that of her bandmates. A passion for the music, burning so hot it could melt steel, evident in every single moment of her performances scorched the stage with her ferocity. Hairsprayed collarbone-length dark-brown hair was her wreath of victory. Intense in her movement, skilled in her playing; both traits made this musician a virtuoso by nature and dedication.

Tonight's show was one more of the efforts to make the dream of these four young, ambitious souls come true, who had made a blood covenant to make it out of Washington at Mach speed and into legend like the band whose music had brought them together.

''No more can they keep us in

Listen, dammit, we will win

They see it right, they see it well,

But they think this saves us from our hell,'' Kieran growled with a hint of desperation amid a sullen melody with drums that echoed like footsteps down the corridor of a mental asylum.

''Sanitarium

Leave me be

Sanitarium

Just leave me alone

Sanitarium,'' he sang as he asked. The melody went down the scale and ended in a roaring D power-chord, giving way to an increase in tempo, after which Kieran screamed away from the microphone,

''Just leave me alone!''

The musicians broke into a frenzy of pounding their heads like hammers coming down with crushing force as the drums boomed with the release of rage, the cymbals rang like the spurs of the horseman of death, and the three amplifiers snarled like the heads of Cerberus. Only one note came out of the speakers: a D in rapid repetition, frantic; wrathful; murderous, like the beating heart of a madman that saw red through a manic glare and thirsted after the blood of his captors post-security breach.

''Fear of living on

Natives getting restless now

Mutiny in the air

Got some death to do

Mirror stares back hard

Kill, such a friendly word

Seems the only way

For reaching out again,'' Kieran finalized, his last word devolving into a shriek as Val on the left scraped her pick down the strings before tearing into the third solo of the song. It was adrenaline in audible form; crazed euphoria that pulsated through the patient/prisoner's being as one chance for violent vengeance was granted unto them, surely not by God. Her fingers, spiderlike, slid with ease and dexterity through pentatonic licks and pinched harmonics before skittering up the fretboard into the final screeching D note.

The music went silent as the frostbite of reality sank in. Those ''hospitalized,'' imprisoned had been liberated at the cost of the lives of their torturers. Would they try to fit back into the world? Or would they ravage it, mark it as theirs? The melody Val progressed into was bittersweet like the prisoners' newfound, long-awaited freedom. Solemn, melancholic, yet determined to make the best of what remained. Kieran stepped away from the microphone and joined her by the side to play the same melody she was playing so she could move into the harmony, though she didn't see him approach. Her eyes were closed and her soul enraptured by the melody she knew by heart. They stood together, Kieran focused on his instrument, exerting a mighty display of mechanically perfected technique, and Val hypnotized by the hints of what tasted like freedom that dripped into her spirit from the harmonized melody. On the right of the stage, by her lonesome, yet united with the band during the instrumental break, Becky savored every note as the resistance and the rough surface of the thick nickel-plated strings against the tips of her fingers made her whole hand ache and burn up to her forearm, every sensation making her smile only grow wider. This was nothing, and she would take more with the same smile. Behind them all, Jason kept up the rhythm with machinelike precision under his mane, through which occasionally showed the enamel of teeth clenched together in response to the intense physical strain of drumming through such a song.

Locust were in their technical prime, and they were climbing higher, fueled by youthful energy and repressed anger.

Val, possessed by the flow, signaled the first note of the last solo. The symphony of tonewood shapes, magnetic coils, brass cymbals, and mylar drum heads plucked at the strings of her heart. As she had done a thousand times before in rehearsals in her room or in Lask's garage, she glided through the measures without effort, allowing her to move to the tune of her emotions. Her shadow darkened the white of her guitar, her legs slightly bent forward and sideways in an imposing stance and her head was bowed, eyes closed, her brown hair so dark that it was almost black swaying ever-so-slightly with small movements she made in response to the sustained notes that bit into her soul. Her lips curled to the fading beauty of the melody as it finished in a crescendo. If reincarnation was real, she bet this was probably what it felt like.

The trance released Val and she joined her bandmates back in the mortal plane. Everyone was in place and on time, ready to wrap this up. Their movements slowed as the song did. They played down the scale and finished in one last D power-chord that they strummed repeatedly as the cymbals crashed and drums pounded behind them, welcoming them home; the end. The mournful groan of the guitars clung to life through the speakers before Jason released a final assault on his kit, and the whole band finished with one last note accompanied by the cymbals.

Any eyes that may have been on them turned away instants after the last note was played, as it always had been throughout Locust's short history as a band. Every night was the same. No matter how well they played and sounded, not one positive reaction had been garnered in any of their shows, unless some guy drunk out of his mind yelling ''Play Free Bird'' from the corner could count. 1986 had been more than forty years ago. The melodies and lyrics composed by Hetfield, Hammett, and Burton had long since been rendered obsolete by the passage of time. There was no denying the record was iconic and revolutionary in its days, but it was no longer innovative or interesting to crowds that hungered for something new and fresh. If there was one thing that was worse than being disliked, it was the complete, undeterrable apathy that kept Locust trapped under a jar.

Kieran, Becky, Jason, and Val's entire bodies ached. Every muscle burned with a need for rest as drops of sweat trickled down their arms and dripped off their chins. The only remedy available at the moment was panting and heavy breathing. The solution to being ignored by the city had remained unknown for eighteen months.

''Thank you, goodnight,'' Kieran slurred into the microphone. Nothing but the echo of his voice answered back. There was only the monotone clinking of glass and indifferent chatter of the patrons as they returned to their business, or simply remained in it after not paying the band more than a second of attention.

The musicians scrambled to pack away their gear to make way for the next band on the schedule: some indie band called Rosebud. As Kieran was placing his Explorer inside its case with care, he caught a glimpse of Val flicking something away from her eye while coiling her cable.

"Val,'' he called out with concern. She turned to him with teary eyes. ''You okay?''

She gave a thumbs-up with an amused smile. ''I'm good,'' she answered. ''Just got a little emotional with the last solo."

The answer eased his worry that so many nights of being ignored by the crowd had finally gotten to her as it had begun to get to him. From behind the lifted lid of his case, he looked over it at the crowd for a moment. Had Locust not been forged well enough through rehearsals and perfecting of technique and execution? Was their sound grating on the ears? Was it just boring? Or had Metallica lost the respect it earned from the world after fifty years of existence? It didn't matter either way. Locust had grappled with indifference for eighteen months, and it was getting old.

The band members walked out of the Flea through the back door, carrying Lask's drum parts to the band's white van parked in the lot beside the club. Rain drizzled still, a welcome relief which cooled the raised temperature of their bodies. The smell of wet earth could be noticed through that of car exhaust and old oil spilled and dried on the lots. Becky, hauling one of the big bass drums inside its case with Val, stood to face the stormy night sky. Droplets of rain mingled with her sweat and sent it streaming down the sides of her face, washing it away. Val stood waiting with her while Lask limped past them both with a grumpier-than-usual facial expression. More curious than concerned, Val asked,

''You alright, Lask?''

''Nope. Something's wrong with my ankle,'' he groaned, his face contorting with discomfort every two steps he took. ''I fucked up in the double-bass section during the last solo, and my ankle hurts like a bitch because of it.''

Becky's signature grin grew on her face upon hearing her bandmate's grievances. ''Aww, poor little Laskie need a kiss from his mum?'' she teased, with her head still turned up and her eyes closed, enjoying the rain washing over her face.

''Shut up, Becky, I'm not in the mood.''

Kieran, as he walked behind Val and Becky towards the van carrying a small tower of the snare and two toms, said, ''Get a move-on, guys. I have work in the morning and I'm dying to get to my bed.''

''You heard the man, Becky,'' Val said. ''Let's go.''

''Ah, a few minutes more of being awake isn't gonna kill him. Besides, he isn't my boss, and you should remember that he isn't yours or Lask's either.''

''I know, but he's gonna get impatient if we don't load all the gear on the van ASAP, and then we're gonna have two grumpy dudes to deal with. You don't want that, do ya?"

''You have a point," Becky admitted. Shame. She was starting to like the rain.

''Come on,'' Val said, pulling on the bass drum to lead Becky to the van. ''A shower's better for cooling you off than rain, anyway.''

''Fine…'' Becky sighed out, going back to helping Val carry the drum.

''...if you even shower, that is,'' Val added with a smirk.

''Piss off, lass,'' Becky snapped off with a smile. ''Don't make me drop this drum on your toes.''

''Nononono, please don't, I'm sorry!''

''Quit fucking around, girls,'' Lask barked standing on his good leg and his other leg held up by the open back of the van holding nothing but his drumsticks. Kieran was met by Lask's glare when he got to the back of the van and placed the tower on the floor, careful not to push around his, Becky's, or Val's gear. ''What took you so long?'' Lask asked him.

''Carrying your things for you,'' Kieran answered, pushing the tower deeper inside. He looked Lask up and down. ''Nice flamingo impression,'' he commented before walking to the only door on the left side and climbing onto the driver's seat.

Lask's face scrunched up in offense before widening in surprise as Becky made a squawking bird's call impression right next to his ear when she passed by after placing the bass drum with Val, to which Lask pointed out, ''That's a seagull's call, genius.''

''Oh, I didn't know you had a doctorate in ornithology,'' Becky said as she hung by the door.

''It's an obvious difference in sound. An eagle's cry is different from–''

''Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure. Shut your gob and get in, twerp,'' she said before climbing into the backseat.

''Yeah, get in, ya twerp,'' Val said from beside Kieran on the passenger's seat. ''Careful with your foot, though.''

After Lask's groans and winces from climbing into the same extended seat as Becky, the first notes and pick scratches of Smells Like Teen Spirit sounded from inside the Flea.

''Listen to these damn pansies,'' Val remarked. The drums and the distortion kicked in, and the whole crowd's cheering could be heard through the walls.

Becky laughed at the absurd injustice of the situation.

''What's this guy using, a Hello Kitty kit?'' Lask observed.

Val's head bounced as she let it fall on the seat's headrest. ''This has to be a fucking joke,'' she croaked.

''That's the way it's been for the last year and a half, Val. I don't think it's a joke,'' Kieran opined while turning the keys to the ignition. ''Maybe it never was,'' he added under his breath as the engine sputtered alive.

''It's not fair! We're way better than these clowns!'' Val ranted. ''We're faster, heavier, more technical–''

''Yet,'' Kieran interrupted, ''the crowd likes them. Not us.''

Kieran's knuckles turned pale from his tense grip on the smooth synthetic leather steering wheel. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead as if traveling through a busy highway, but the only signs of traffic he'd seen thus far were strangers stumbling through the streets and one or two other vehicles passing by with the driver looking worse for wear. Throughout the whole ride, he hadn't tried to remind Lask to have manners, or advise Becky to just ignore her seatmate to avoid any bickering, or offer feedback on anyone's performance, or notify them of future shows; not a sound from him. Val noticed Kieran's demeanor and scanned him with concern out of the corner of her eye.

''See you later, guys,'' Becky said as she hopped off the van with her case and amplifier.

''See ya, Becky,'' Val replied.

Kieran remained silent.

Val rolled down the window, out of which she cried out, ''Remember to take a shower!''

''Don't forget to comb your hair and we have a deal, love,'' Becky hollered back.

Val settled back into the dusty-smelling, old-90s-sofa-like fabric-clad seat giggling to herself while the van began rolling away. She patted her legs with her hands, trying to think up a way of sparking a chat with Kieran.

''You did great tonight, dude,'' she complimented.

After a few seconds, Kieran blinked a few times and turned to her. ''Hmm?'' he sounded.

''You were awesome at the show. Basically Hetfield,'' she added with a smile.

''Ah. Thank you. You were great, too,'' he said back. His eyes returned to the front.

Val spent a moment in silence as she thought of another topic for conversation.

''You really think Lask may be hurt?''

Kieran shrugged.

''He didn't seem to be pretending.''

Kieran remained silent.

''Becky would probably know. She was with him all this time.''

Kieran remained silent.

''Dammit, I should've asked her…''

Kieran remained silent.

''Eh, I'll ask her when I next see her.''

Kieran remained silent.

''Oh, or I could text her,'' Val said, pulling out her phone.

Kieran hoped this would be the last he'd hear from Val for a minute.

Val opened the messaging app and tapped on Becky's contact. She began,

Yo Becky

hey val :)

Oh damn didn't expect you to pick up lol

You know what's wrong with Kieran?

wdym?

Idk he's like all quiet and brooding

I've been trying to chat but he doesn't say anything back

that sounds like normal kieran to me lmao

Well yeah but now he's like much more Kieran than he usually is yk?

oh ok got it

hmm

well has he been this way before?

No never

never?

Never

Literally never

Not when we were still in school, not the million times I've been alone with him in the van, not when I show up early for rehearsals, never

He's always pretty chatty

anything you said tick him off?

I mean

Unless telling him about my thoughts on his performance or caring about Lask maybe seriously being hurt ticks him off, I can't think of anything

Because other than that, I haven't said anything to him

ok listen to me val

Or him to me

rn

do like i just explained something to you

and you understood

go ohhhhhh

you know what i mean?

''Ohhh…'' Val sounded as if she had just been told the solution to a difficult equation. She hoped that was what Becky meant.

Done

Maybe

good

that should throw him off

do you know if anythings going on with his family?

other than the usual of course

you know how theyre breathing down his neck about college

Last I heard, he pretty much told them to fuck off with that

hmm

what about his job?

Being a cashier ain't exactly fun

yep

depressing kind of gig

But I know Kieran

He's a hardy guy

Doesn't let that kind of thing get to him

right

do you know if he has a crush on somebody?

Maybe

Maybe not

I think he would've told me

Or I would've noticed

His ''I hate everything'' eyes would've changed up

And they haven't

well idk honestly

youre his confidant

id wager youd be the one to know

I don't tho

Know what's wrong with him

well i wouldnt press him on

but

i just know you will

if you really have to push this try not to get on his nerves ok?

you were right, we dont need both of the dudes to be grumpy

lask alone is enough atm

Alright I'll see if I can cheer him up a little or smth

ok good luck but do not get on his nerves

tonights show was particularly depressing

even for me

Wait you think that might be why he's all like this?

idk maybe

howd you feel about tonights show?

I hate those Rosebud guys now

That was bullshit

yeah but howd you feel about the show itself?

Pretty good

I had a lot of fun tbh

I fuckin nailed the solos

And you were basically Cliff lol

the audience didnt seem to care

Fuck em

They wouldn't know good music if it slapped them on the face

and how do you think kieran feels about the show?

Oh

It's kinda starting to click

yep

well its already quite late and i gtg

dont wanna get robbed or shanked lol

or both

Yeah man dw

Good night

sweet dreams love 3

You planning on taking a shower right?

valentina.

i swear

by the queens bones

if you carry this into tomorrow

i will kick the tan off your arse

Ok ok sorry lol I'll drop it

mind your own fuckin business

cardi v

Ok ok goodnight fr this time

Val turned off her phone and tucked it into her jeans' pocket. She took a deep breath as quietly as she could to brace for wherever the talk she was going to try to start would lead. In a quiet, relaxed tone she hoped would sound inviting and non-invasive to hide her concern, she turned to him and asked, ''Anything on your mind, Kieran?''

He sat still and quiet, eyes fixed ahead, hands stiff on the wheel. It was time. She was making a move for this as he feared she would. Truth or lie? Consequences or mistrust? He's tired, sore, and still wet with rainwater and sweat, all things that increased the risk of him lashing out at the little sister he never had. Addressing this issue tomorrow morning with the others when everyone had gotten rest could be a better idea, but if he really wanted to, had to do it, then there was no stopping it, so he may as well get it over with now.

''Yeah,'' Kieran broke his silence.

''Is it personal?''

He shook his head before answering, ''No. I wouldn't say so.''

''Can you tell me?''

''I don't think you may want to hear it.''

''Why not?''

Kieran took a deep breath. ''You should know when you have to stop,'' he implied, hoping it would be enough of a hint for Val to pick up on.

Val's eyes widened as Kieran gave her a kind of response she had never gotten from him. ''Alright," she murmured, nodding and still looking at him. "Alright, that's fair,'' she repeated, looking away and out the window. ''Stop asking'' was what that sounded like to her.

The urge of looking in Val's direction just in case what he said may have come off as rude jostled inside Kieran, and he beat it. He figured it was better this way.

Streetlights passed by and rain streamed to the borders of the van's windshield as it made its way to a third destination: the street that led to the apartment where Val lived with her mother. Kieran's mind raced. He knew Val wouldn't have the best reaction to the decision he was making up his mind to take, and whether she would answer with sullen anger or quiet sadness, he couldn't bear the thought either way. It wasn't like he couldn't take a few more shows. Maybe this was a trial of faith of some sort; a trial of his conviction that he could hold his ground as a musician and that Locust wouldn't be snuffed out under adversity. He could always express his opinion to the others and suggest they play a wider variety of music. 80s thrash classics and Locust's originals were good practice, and he couldn't deny there was always thrill in playing them live, but if it wasn't what the crowd liked, and therefore what would earn them recognition, then perhaps a grunge song or two wouldn't hurt to learn. They could always return to their own sound later down the line and hammer it out into something better and more unique.

How ''later''? And what ''line''? Most, if not all of the widely-known bands made it because their sound was new or trendy or according to their city's music scene, or because they had a good marketing strategy, or just from an unlikely streak of good luck. Those that had neither, like Locust, never broke through, never moved out of their hometown, never achieved their dreams. Locust were the chaff of old-school metal among the wheat of alternative rock and new wave grunge. It was only a matter of time before the jaws of the music industry's combine would rip them apart. Then, being tossed into the fires of being forgotten was sure to follow.

They would fare well enough afterwards, right? Surely there were more people that knew how to play guitar and do vocals at the same time? Maybe one of the Kurt Cobain or Chris Cornell wannabes could do the job. Doubt they'd last a single day without Val wanting to rip their throat out with her teeth, though. Doubt they'd stand Becky's jokes and constant poking at everyone, or Lask's irritability, too. Kieran could imagine the pang of Becky's raised-eyebrow-and-grin combo out of amusement at his reluctance to keep on going, and Lask's contemptful side-eye and crossed arms at his refusal to bear the situation with them.

The nights would surely be much more lonely in a college dorm. Though Locust had yielded no financial profits, it had produced more than its share in unique, memorable experiences. The frustration and effort in rehearsals, the hauling all the gear, and, of course, the shows themselves; Kieran wouldn't change it for anything in the world. If it were sustainable, he'd keep going until the end of time. But sometimes you just have to cut your losses and move on to whatever else must follow.

Val's eyes darted between the raindrops that went faster than the others down the window she was looking out of, which was fogging up from her laying the side of her head on it. She caught glimpses of concrete buildings. Of the sidewalk, too blurry as they went by to notice its characteristic parallel streaks. Of passing streetlights that kinda reminded her of pawns in chess, or maybe bishops. It all went out of focus as she tried to decipher just what exactly may be happening to Kieran. There was the thing with his parents urging him to drop out of the band and go to college. Other than the drumset being at Lask's place, there were good reasons why Locust never rehearsed at Kieran's. The years Val had known Kieran for were good enough to know that, at times like this, the things that bounced around in his head weren't exactly all sunshine and rainbows and more like thunderstorms and razor blades. It can't be easy. And she was sure he had a right to feel the way he did, all the more a reason why she wanted to help him sort it out. Their pain had always been shared. She couldn't and wasn't just gonna let him soak in it all alone. If it was so much that he kept it to himself, Val felt more of a duty to carry it with him.

The last stop approached. Val's time to hop off and say goodbye for the night was coming closer.

''You can trust me with anything, Kieran,'' Val reassured. ''You know that, right?''

Kieran remained silent as the van slowed down at Val stop, but if he truly knew her, he knew she wouldn't leave until she had some idea of what was wrong with him. Her eyes cast a light of concern on his profile; a light he shied away from. She had a right to know.

There was only the pitter-patter of raindrops as they tapped on the sheet metal ceiling of the van after Kieran pulled the keys out of the ignition. He took a quiet, deep breath through his nose. His mouth parted to draw in breath to signal to Val that he's ready to begin speaking, but he held it for a moment as he scrambled for words.

''How many more nights like this are you willing to go through?'' he asked, daring to look her in the eyes as he spoke.

''As many as I have to,'' she replied.

''And that would be good if it was just you, like a solo project or something. But it isn't. There's Becky and Lask, and there's me.''

She lashed at herself inside. Hopefully she didn't seem selfish now. ''I know… Sorry.'' She shifted in her seat to address him more directly. ''Look, I know it's been basically pointless, but… I mean, Metallica played shows for two years before they recorded their first album. You know the rest.''

''We are not Metallica, Val. We're four amateurs in Washington playing covers. We're not anything new, we're not anything anyone wants. The crowds would pay mind to us if we were.''

''What does it matter if the crowds don't pay us attention? All we need is for one representative from a record label to hear us play. Then we're golden and we'll be playing Wacken or Bloodstock in no time."

''We'd already be recording an album if there even were any reps from any labels here. And if there were, chances are they'd much sooner sign up bands like Rosebud than bands like us.''

"It depends on the label. Universal wouldn't sign up a band like Morbid Angel, but Metal Blade would. It doesn't matter. We'll just hang on.''

''But it does matter. Years can go by without anything happening. One already has, and we're on our way to two years. And not so much as a single damn shirt sold,'' he chuckled.

''The money will come later. For now, we just have to keep going until we get discovered by a label. I mean, this whole music thing is what we wanna do, right? Fuck regular employment, fuck bureaucracy, fuck obeying orders from a manager or a CEO, all that?''

''It's not the money that bothers me. It's the wasted time we're never gonna get back. We've sunk months of our lives into this for… what, a warm beer or two? That we can't even drink 'cause only Becky's old enough.''

''Locust isn't a waste of time, Kieran, it's an investment,'' Val countered, taking on a more outraged tone.

''It must be easy for you to say. You're taking a gap year.''

Val frowned and looked away as Kieran's words made more and more sense. She still had time. He didn't anymore.

''I'm running out of time to invest, to be honest,'' he continued. ''My sister is doing really well at her new job and my little brother starts college next month. I can't–'' he stopped himself to look for neutral words to avoid upsetting Val again.

''Keep wasting time?'' Val finished his sentence, staring into space as unpleasant emotions stewed inside her.

They both locked dissatisfied eyes. Before, these glares had been directed towards others; never towards each other.

''Stay in one spot forever in my life,'' he corrected. ''Even less so for something I'm not even sure will work.''

Val tried to visualize herself in Kieran's situation past her simmering anger. Two parents disappointed in his decisions being vocal about it on the regular, and two siblings too many strides ahead of him in the race of life, while he worked a dead-end job and played songs no one liked on his guitar with his friends in dirty old clubs. And it had gone on for this long because Val insisted on persevering. An arrow of guilt pierced her heart.

''I thought… I thought this was your dream, too,'' she stammered.

He looked away and took a deep breath as he rested his body on his seat. Misery assailed him. His entire body was sore, eyelids heavy, and sweat still trickled down and clung to his skin.

''Sometimes chasing after a dream turns out to be a fucking nightmare,'' he croaked.

''Nightmares end.''

''I wish this one already had.''

The course had been set. The trigger had been pulled, but Val refused to acknowledge it.

''So… Do you want to suggest a change in strategy, or…?''

''No,'' he said, his eyes fluttering shut and open before saying, ''I want to suggest that we take a break.''

There they were. The dreaded words that sunk their claws into Val's heart and pulled down, ripping and tearing without mercy.

''You should know when you have to stop,'' he repeated.

For how long? Val wanted to ask, but shock locked her jaw in place.

''Maybe I should go to med school like my parents want.''

That long. Her dream–all she had left, what kept her going–had been dealt a fatal blow. Was this what losing a limb was like? Two risks reared their heads. On one hand, that of damaging her treasured relationship with Kieran if she tried to convince him to give the band a little more time. On the other, that of losing contact if life were to take them in different directions if she encouraged him to follow the course he seemed to believe was better. The stars in the sky of her dreams were what gave her eyes their naïve gleam of youthful optimism. Looking away may as well have been a death sentence. Val sat motionless, looking ahead glaze-eyed in her seat. This emotion was too new, too unfamiliar for her to understand, and she didn't like it one fucking bit.

The sight of Val's falling demeanor and the knowledge that it was his fault stung Kieran. ''We can always get back together after a while,'' he offered, a tinge of hope in his voice. ''And maybe the city will be more receptive by then.''

For a moment, his words were met only by silence from Val; silence that allowed their futility to sink in.

Val's eyes fluttered shut and back open before she blinked several times in disbelief as she shook her head. "A-are you sure?'' she managed to articulate.

''Yeah. It happens sometimes.''

''I don't mean that, Kieran…'' she said, shaking her head and looking at him.

His gaze turned somber. The hope he offered was false, and she knew it as well as he did. ''I'm sure,'' he answered.

''Is there any way I can change your mind?''

''Don't try. Please.''

''Okay, um…'' She swallowed saliva and her own words. ''...okay…'' she whispered, opening the door and hanging one leg out, before turning to look at Kieran with eyes that no longer shone with hope for the future and asking, ''See you around?''

Kieran only managed to get out a regretful, dry-sounding, ''I hope.''

Val's shoes landed on the wet asphalt. Walking away from the van already felt like walking out on the smoldering rubble of what her dream once was, and the drizzling rain sprinkling on her leather jacket felt like it added a crushing weight on her shoulders. From the other side she heard a lock unlatching and the squeak of a door followed by footsteps leading to the back of the van; Kieran was meeting her around the back, hoping he could do her a favor of little significance to ease the disillusion he had caused. Confusion, sorrow, despair, Val pretended none of them existed to mask her emotions of shock and anguish to avoid upsetting Kieran any more than she thought he may be. By the back past the open door, there he was, all tall and dark-looking, a concerned look in his eyes she had rarely seen before. He transferred her amplifier and guitar case onto her weak hold. She drew in a shallow breath as she looked for any last words to say to him for the day, but her emotions were still too raw.

''I'm sorry,'' he said, trying to mend this.

She lifted her eyes up from the ground and offered him a feeble but sincere smile. ''Don't worry…'' she replied, while the words ''Not any more than me'' died in her throat before she could utter them.

She turned on her heel and began walking home, but with every step she took, distancing herself from her already-former bandmate, the emotions she was trying to hide threatened to spill over. She placed her gear on the ground, then began a brisk walk back to Kieran.

''Did you forget something?'' he asked before looking inside the van for something that may belong to Val.

''Hold still, twerp,'' she replied. Kieran turned his head back and to the side in expectation of the worst. When she got up to him, she threw her arms around him and pulled him into a hug that put his stiff, tough chest to the side of her head. Kieran raised his arms to the side, then lowered them and placed two hesitant hands on her back between her shoulders, without a clue of what to do. After a few seconds, Val pulled back to look at Kieran. His eyes were wide with genuine confusion.

''No hard feelings, Kier,'' she said, smiling.

''Oh,'' he sounded in response. ''Oh…'' again, in grateful understanding.

Val laughed to herself as she retreated from Kieran's awkward reaction. In the middle of her walk back to her gear, she turned on her heel and walked backwards as she said, ''Sleep well, okay, dude?''

''Yeah,'' he replied. ''You too.''

Val retrieved her gear and began walking away, while Kieran pulled himself away from the view and climbed back into the van. The van began sputtering and driving away, the rumble of the engine growing more and more faint as it rolled down the road. Once the engine couldn't be heard, Val loosened her posture and bowed her head as she released the breath she had been holding. It gave way to a shivery, shuddering sob. Tears welled up in her eyes, but the scorpion of pride stung her. Not here. Not here. Anywhere but here. She isn't weak. She is not weak. She isn't weak. She ISN'T WEAK!

She slammed the lid back on. Not as much as her heart, her case and amplifier hung heavy, but she couldn't put them down in the middle of the street. They belonged in their space in her room back home; home where she didn't doubt her mother waited awake to storm her with another volley of questions and reprimands; home where posters of her favorite bands stuck to the walls of her room, having made it, yet she had been pushed away from the destiny those in the posters enjoyed, reminding her of the dream that had come crashing down tonight. Going home would only make things worse. She needed a place where she could think clearly, and maybe, maybe release her emotions… if she felt like it.

In the entrails of the woods beyond the outskirts of the city, there existed a deep pit of rock that filled halfway with water during the rainy seasons of Washington. It had been dubbed by the locals as Aurelius Pond after the ancient Roman philosopher who advised himself to ''remember death''. It was simple when by the pond. All it would take to be reminded of death was standing near the edge. If one were to do this, one would see there was no way to climb back up to safety were one to fall in. Such an incident would not only result in a more tangible reminder of death, but also in a fast way of falling into its embrace. Children in the current age as well as in the 19th century were kept away by the warnings of their parents. If logic wouldn't sway them, then old legends of demons crawling out of the waters and climbing up the sides of the pit on their claws cobbled together out of whispers and superstition would have had to suffice.

Pine trees towered behind Valentina, wet dirt and gravel crunched under her shoes, storm clouds rustled in the sky above her, and the cliff of Aurelius Pond jutted out ahead of her. So far, no demon had dared to show themselves despite the fact she would have gladly welcomed meeting one. Her arms ached from the weight of her gear, so she put it down where the dirt of the woods met the stone formation. Careful and mindful of the deadly danger that lay still beneath her, she put one foot after the other, walking to the wet rock of the cliff. The clap of her dusting her hands echoed back at her as she sat down by the edge. No one could see her, hear her, or perceive her. Only in solitude could she truly be herself. The cold air she drew in for breath to exhale stung her nostrils, yet it was undisturbed, untainted by the city. It was pure. She hunched over as she released her breath. Her eyes fluttered almost shut, her head felt heavy and devoid of energy, and her jaw hung slack almost as if bitten by a spider whose venom was sudden exhaustion. Maybe a gallon of energy drinks would set her up straight, but she didn't have one at hand, and she sure as hell didn't have the money for it.

Just like that, huh? A year and a half down the drain. Time spent, sleepless nights, broken strings, arguments; all for nothing. Maybe they would've been better off getting the hint after the first few months, but nah. Baby wanted to play rockstar. They played over a hundred shows, and they hadn't gotten a single record deal; only indifferent crowds that couldn't be bothered to give a fuck. Maybe playing Nirvana covers like those Rosebud guys would've been a better idea. What was she even thinking? Metallica? Maybe she was the real idiot for thinking this ever had a chance to work in the first place. How long before her mother was breathing down her neck about college? How long before she began feeling the weight of time bearing down on her? The fear of missing out and being left behind?

With her knees close to her chest and her head resting on her forearms, sorrow declared war on Val. First with a slow sob in a frail attempt to fight back against the emotion that split her spirit in two, but it was too intense, too excruciating for any effort to make any meaningful change. Sobbing led to gasps and sighs; stifled vocalizations of dying hope as her hands, balled into fists, trembled out of rage and powerlessness at her inability to defeat this emotion while tears streaked onto the leather of her jacket's sleeves. A mourning growl she gave out of grief for the death of her dream echoed back from the sides of the pond. This battle was lost, and sorrow had won. There was a lonely girl crying by the edge of Aurelius Pond tonight. Sorrow demanded an outburst of expression, a showcase of agony, but the unstoppable force of torment met the immovable wall of pride. Death seemed preferable to screaming and wailing out of woe in the middle of the night.

Val sniffled hard–any harder and she would have given herself a nosebleed–and shook her head to the side with a groan. Feeling things hurt too much to be worth coming to terms with. Her breath stabilized with shudders and sniffles. It was about time to go home, anyway, and she didn't want to get robbed, shanked, or both. After forcing her feeling session to a silent, sullen halt, she placed her hands on the surface to her sides and began rising, putting her weight on one leg, until the deafening sonic crack of lightning from the sky shook the entire forest, startling her and making her lose her balance.

"Fuck–!" she snapped as knock-off Nikes skidded off the wet rock and her arms scrambled for anything to hold on to, but the surface was too slick. In a split-second, she went from sitting on solid ground to barrelling in freefall to the ice-cold waters of the pond. She screamed as the air rushed past her, but the trees drowned out her criesthe trees drowned out. The water's deathly cold embraced her in an instant, seeping through leather, polyester, and denim. A groan from her in reaction to the sudden cold bubbled to the surface, wasted oxygen essential for survival. Suspended in the cold void, she opened her eyes to see what her options to stay alive were. An arm's reach away from her she saw the blurry image of a possible exit. Her arms thrashed and her legs kicked as she swam to it with more vigor than she thought she had left in her body. Finally, she escaped her liquid captor.

The inescapable danger of Aurelius Pond was common knowledge, but still she looked for a way out. She was too young to die. Amid gasps for air, she surfaced from the water expecting the sides of the merciless pit of rock to look down on her in inanimate mockery. Instead, clusters of crystals that shone with their own light cast their hues all around the inside of the cave Val found herself in now, varying shades of red, blue and yellow draping the stone dome and reflecting off the water and back up onto the apex in a fascinating natural show of lights.

''Woah…'' Val sounded, her attention taken for a moment by the phenomenon taking place around her. The sound of water rippling reminded her she was still floating in… water that wasn't freezing cold? She scanned her surroundings. Stalagmites rose in various sizes, dark tunnels connected the dome to the system, and solid ground met the borders of the water; solid ground she swam to with renewed hope for survival. Once there, she pulled herself out of the water and onto her feet. She caught her breath and her bearings with her hands on her knees. Some undocumented cave formation under the deadly Aurelius Pond wasn't her home and she couldn't make one out of it. There was no exit back where she came from, so the only way out must have been through wherever the caves with paths concealed by crystal-less darkness would lead her, where she hoped she wouldn't come across carnivorous animals. Despite the possibility of danger, exploring the caves was her best shot at finding a way out. It did seem like a better choice to her than just waiting around splashing in the water.