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Words are my job—words and drums. Cyrus is bass and merch and agreeable bodies to gigs, or that will be one of his jobs already we get a gig, which we absolutely will, apparently soon. Drastus acclimated to be guitar, but his mom fabricated him quit. Now cipher is guitar.
I’m words because sometimes these aphotic phrases stick with me for no reason. Like, I’ll deathwatch up with “arsenal of arresting tuna” glottal in my head. I’m abrasion my teeth and it’s an armory of arresting tuna. Arresting adolescent on the bus, in algebra, in PE, aback I’m mowing lawns. I acclimated to anguish that article was amiss with me, but now I apperceive it’s aloof metal, that the alone way to agitate a ailing anticipation is to accompany it to Cyrus so he can put a aboriginal bassline to it. Sometimes I’ll anguish that what my academician has appear up with is stupid, but Cy consistently seems impressed.
“Dude,” he’ll say. “This works on two levels. Maybe three.”
Cyrus could address lyrics, too, if he wanted, because he says the sickest, funniest, best bedraggled being to anyone, alike his stepdad and our teachers, alike his shrink. I frontman from the back—I’m shy unless I’m abaft my drums, accomplishing annihilation voice. Once, this babe Amy P. came over to area I was sitting at cafeteria and handed me a agglomeration of ketchup packets aloof to see what I’d say. What I said was, “Uh, thanks,” and she and all her accompany died bedlam because none of them had anytime heard me talk, not once, not all year.
Cyrus and I allotment the flyers. I can’t attending at a affair and draw it, not like Cyrus can, so he does the art. He put calm this maggoty, full-color skull, the sun in the accomplishments like a big orange brawl of hate. He brand me to do the book because my autography is actual neat.
“What’s the point of a badass demon spewing being if cipher can apprehend it?” he says.
We accept a arrangement accessible to go, with the time and date and area larboard blank. Already we get appointed for a show, I apperceive absolutely what affectionate of atrocious calligraphy I’ll use, tiny and analogously spaced, serial-killer style. The bandage name is bare for now, too, because we haven’t absitively on one yet—it’s affectionate of a abscessed subject.
So far, merch is aloof a box of atramentous t-shirts my grandma best up for us at Costco. Cyrus set anniversary one a little bit on blaze in this actual cardinal way, again drew on the bastard skulls in red. It’ll be adamantine to calibration up already we charge bags of them, because he puts a lot into authoritative every shirt. He spreads them out on the grass in the sun and absolutely thinks about area the burns should go. He knows how to abort a affair aloof the appropriate amount.
I anticipate it’s maybe added metal that we don’t accept a name yet, that maybe not accepting a name is our best thing, what makes us unique, like not accepting a guitarist or not arena abstracted songs so abundant as one long, abominable groan. For now, the bandage is mostly aloof a activity Cyrus and I share, but sometimes I lie in my bed and anticipate about how ancient soon, people’s minds will be blown: girls at school, our families, neighbors, everybody.
I accept this dream of boot onstage, covered in sweat, absolutely possessed, Cyrus’ abandoned bass assault along. We’ll attending out at the army and all the bodies who abhorrence us will be attractive back, stunned. Suddenly Amy P. and her accompany are casting their hair, pumping their fists. They’re cutting our t-shirts—you can see little flashes of bendable bark assuming through Cyrus’ burned-out patterns, or maybe they’ve alike got the shirts askance up at the abdomen the way girls sometimes do. I’ll see that bodies are cutting our shirts, too—guys who aloof bought them from the merch table and can’t wait, so they’ve got on two shirts at once, not alike caring how hot it is. Poor Drastus will be there, too, headbanging in the advanced row, no adamantine feelings. I’ll accomplish sounds like a agrarian animal with its throat ripped out. Cyrus will be abduction on his back, fingers bleeding. Everybody will be shocked—they’ve never apparent us like this. Alike afore the money starts cloudburst in, afore the acclaim and biking booty us abroad from this asleep town, anybody will apperceive they’re in the attendance of article aroused and abhorrent and true. It’ll be this huge bank of doom, atramentous and all-consuming—and the two of us, me and Cy, the aftermost guys anyone would accept expected, will be abaft it all.
Kimberly King Parsons is the columnist of the abbreviate adventure accumulating Atramentous Light, which was longlisted for both the 2019 National Book Award and the 2019 Adventure Prize, and is a finalist for the 2020 Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction, the 2020 Texas Institute of Letters Sergio Troncoso Award for Best Work of First Fiction, and the 2020 Oregon Book Award for Fiction. Her fiction has been appear in The Paris Review, Best Small Fictions 2017, Atramentous Warrior Review, No Tokens, Kenyon Review, and elsewhere. She is commutual a atypical (forthcoming from Knopf) about Texas, motherhood, and LSD.
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