They practiced. It was 3 hours before the show. Roger sat in the front, hanging on to every rift his father played, and every lyric they sang. The London Press called it the show of the decade.
Pink hadn't felt this unity in a long time. Everything was coming together. Little did they know that after all the practice, the show would start in an hour. Back in the dress room, Pink, Roger, David, and Nick sat together. One of the stage crew came into the room, letting Pink know he had a phone call.
"Hello...?," Pink answered with a surprisingly questionable tone
"Pink...." Lucas said with a quiver.
"Lucas, what is it, Is something wrong?"
"Pink, a girl, a girl...."
"A girl what?"
" This girl was stabbed, brutally murdered, and left in cold blood, right outside the apartments."
"Who was it?"
"Just some girl Pink."
[Pink was interrupted by the same member of stage crew came in to let him know he had 5 minutes before the show started]
"Lucas I gotta go, I'll be back in two days."
"Are you doing a show Pink?"
"Yes Lucas, I'll explain it all in a few days."
Pink put the phone down. He couldn't beleive that a girl was murdered.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The lights went down, the crowd erupted, and The Floyd walked out on to stage.
They played for hours. Pink really thought he could get used to this again. David and Nick set the stage for the epic revival of pink. The guitar solos erupted through the crowd, and as the wall was built behind the band, the anticipation grew within the crowd. Comfortably numb began, and Pink was at the bottom f the wall. Singing the lyrics, David arose at the top for the chorus. Both muscians let their guitars sing for them. It was the show of the decade.
Roger sat there in awe. He revered his father. But to see this was once in lifetime. Roger then suddenly felt an anger. He didn't want anyone else to enjoy this. The same selfishness Pink grew up with. He hoped that this was all a dream, and that Pink had never actually come to play this show. It was no dream however. He knew his father was right there. He hadn't been there for the past 20 years, and then he just shows up. And as soon as he shows up, Roger gets no personal time with him. This obsession with The Floyd for so many years all came to an end as the show wrapped up.
Pink, Nick, and David all came backstage to end the show. The crowd was calling for an encore. Pink wanted to do it. So they decided to pick one song, and collecitvly, they agreed on "Wish You Were Here". Roger over heard this conversation. He grabbed a knife from the food table, and lunged at Pink, hitting him with a fatal wound to the heart.
No encore was played, as fans watched blood ooze out on stage.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Pink woke up in his apartment, in his chair in the living room, with his father standing in front of him.
"Welcome my son, Welcome to the Machine..." Was all Father Floyd said.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Pigs (Three Different Ones)
Pink Shot himself.
He layed there. Motionless, he had finally found peace.
There was knock on the door. Pink woke up, gun in hand.
“It’s the police... open up”
He looked to his right, and he clearly saw that a bullet had gone through is wall. Another smash hit the door. Pink felt his head, no blood, but more importantly, no bullet wound. He nearly tripped on the three bottles of vodka he must of pounded out last night. He opened the door.
“Why do you keep trying?”
“What do you mean?
His father looked down, at the revolver Pink was still holding. Three bullets remained in the chamber.
“It only takes one bullet to do the deed.”
Pink held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing happened. Bullets hit the wall with loud thumps.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
“Someone is waiting on you.”
“Fuck him...”
The is the first time father floyd changed emotion. He was internally angered with Pink.
“Alright you little shit. Let me put this into terms you will understand. You’ll probably recognize it. You are three different pigs, as one”
Father Floyd began to sing:
“Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a hand gun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are
You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
You're nearly a real treat
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....!.....!.....!.....!
You gotta stem the evil tide
And keep it all on the inside
Mary you're nearly a treat
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.”
Pink sang along. When they were finished, Pink fell down and cried. He hadn’t realized that his own songs were about him. He thought they were political actions, but no, it was his own future.
Father Floyd whipped out another plane ticket.
“They are waiting.”
Pink took the ticket, called the cab, and three hours later, he was on flight 1979 to London.
----------------------------------
The guitar being the only thing he brought, Pink had an easy time getting to David. They were at the O2. Roger had an old tour shirt on, 1977. The Floyd had just released “Animals” that year. There was a third person. It was Nick Mason. Pink had thought for sure he was dead.
“Pink,” David offered his hand.
“Hello David... Nick,” as he returned the favor.
“This is your son Pink.”
Roger walked over and offered to shake, but Pink grabbed him immediately. This is the first time he had hugged someone since the band had broken up.
“Son.”
Tears began to roll down his face.
“Pink, I know you want to spend time with Roger, but tomorrow night is important. We do our last show. You will have all of the time in the world to catch up,” David said casually.
They walked into the arena and began to practice. Roger just sat in the front row and listened , in awe.
He layed there. Motionless, he had finally found peace.
There was knock on the door. Pink woke up, gun in hand.
“It’s the police... open up”
He looked to his right, and he clearly saw that a bullet had gone through is wall. Another smash hit the door. Pink felt his head, no blood, but more importantly, no bullet wound. He nearly tripped on the three bottles of vodka he must of pounded out last night. He opened the door.
“Why do you keep trying?”
“What do you mean?
His father looked down, at the revolver Pink was still holding. Three bullets remained in the chamber.
“It only takes one bullet to do the deed.”
Pink held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing happened. Bullets hit the wall with loud thumps.
“Do you believe me now?”
“Why the fuck are you still here?”
“Someone is waiting on you.”
“Fuck him...”
The is the first time father floyd changed emotion. He was internally angered with Pink.
“Alright you little shit. Let me put this into terms you will understand. You’ll probably recognize it. You are three different pigs, as one”
Father Floyd began to sing:
“Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a hand gun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.
Hey you Whitehouse, ha ha, charade you are
You house proud town mouse, ha ha, charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street
You're nearly a real treat
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....!.....!.....!.....!
You gotta stem the evil tide
And keep it all on the inside
Mary you're nearly a treat
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.”
Pink sang along. When they were finished, Pink fell down and cried. He hadn’t realized that his own songs were about him. He thought they were political actions, but no, it was his own future.
Father Floyd whipped out another plane ticket.
“They are waiting.”
Pink took the ticket, called the cab, and three hours later, he was on flight 1979 to London.
----------------------------------
The guitar being the only thing he brought, Pink had an easy time getting to David. They were at the O2. Roger had an old tour shirt on, 1977. The Floyd had just released “Animals” that year. There was a third person. It was Nick Mason. Pink had thought for sure he was dead.
“Pink,” David offered his hand.
“Hello David... Nick,” as he returned the favor.
“This is your son Pink.”
Roger walked over and offered to shake, but Pink grabbed him immediately. This is the first time he had hugged someone since the band had broken up.
“Son.”
Tears began to roll down his face.
“Pink, I know you want to spend time with Roger, but tomorrow night is important. We do our last show. You will have all of the time in the world to catch up,” David said casually.
They walked into the arena and began to practice. Roger just sat in the front row and listened , in awe.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
High Hopes
It has been a week. No booze, cigarettes, or bars. To keep him away from it, Pink played his guitar. He played it fiercely. Like he used too. Every album created with the band ran through his head. It was all coming back to him. His wrist had since scarred, leaving him the reminder of what can happen if he slips off this new found path. In this past week, Pink thought about getting back to london. David was there. Not only would he get his son back, but in attempts, he thought he could make up for the past two decades of hate.
So pink played his songs. He even went and sat on the street corner and played his music. People came and watched. One person, which Pink fancied, was a girl named Kindra. She was on her way to the cas de waffle. She stopped and listened to a song that made the top ten nearly thirty years ago. She knew the lyrics. Pink had found enjoyment in his popularity as a musician. Although, he only saw here for a quick minute, his faith in humanity was rekindled. She left a dollar in his guitar case. He played a strong riff as she walked off. He almost wish he could be with her. He returned to the music. A request came in. It was his favorite song to play.
“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.”
For the first time, Pink felt elated. The crowd around him was pleased. He realized that he had actually made some money, just like the old days. Back at the apartment, which was clean, Pink thought about his trip. What would he do when he saw his son? There was a knock at the door. Pink answered but no one was there. He looked down and saw a plane ticket.
“That should get you started.”
“Holy shit Dad,” pink yelled as he turned around.
“I told you I’d be back when you got your life straight.”
“This ticket is for tonight”
“The sooner the better son.”
“So what will i do when I get there”
“That’s easy, you will get your son back. I know it will happen that way. He has been waiting a long time for his real father. David has watched him long enough.”
“So i just take him.”
“You are meeting David at the O2”
“Isn’t that a concert venue.”
“Your band will reunite, thousands will be there to watch you make amends.”
“We haven’t played together for such a long time.”
“Pink, you aren’t the only one who has practiced these songs fopr the past 20 years. you have to do this. It is your fate.”
And with a flash he was gone. Pink feared this plan. He hadn’t played in front of a crowd that large since The Floyd had broken up. This fear brought temptation back into Pink. He went and looked for booze and cigarettes. He couldn’t find any. He broke down, sat in his chair, and thought about what to do next.
So pink played his songs. He even went and sat on the street corner and played his music. People came and watched. One person, which Pink fancied, was a girl named Kindra. She was on her way to the cas de waffle. She stopped and listened to a song that made the top ten nearly thirty years ago. She knew the lyrics. Pink had found enjoyment in his popularity as a musician. Although, he only saw here for a quick minute, his faith in humanity was rekindled. She left a dollar in his guitar case. He played a strong riff as she walked off. He almost wish he could be with her. He returned to the music. A request came in. It was his favorite song to play.
“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.”
For the first time, Pink felt elated. The crowd around him was pleased. He realized that he had actually made some money, just like the old days. Back at the apartment, which was clean, Pink thought about his trip. What would he do when he saw his son? There was a knock at the door. Pink answered but no one was there. He looked down and saw a plane ticket.
“That should get you started.”
“Holy shit Dad,” pink yelled as he turned around.
“I told you I’d be back when you got your life straight.”
“This ticket is for tonight”
“The sooner the better son.”
“So what will i do when I get there”
“That’s easy, you will get your son back. I know it will happen that way. He has been waiting a long time for his real father. David has watched him long enough.”
“So i just take him.”
“You are meeting David at the O2”
“Isn’t that a concert venue.”
“Your band will reunite, thousands will be there to watch you make amends.”
“We haven’t played together for such a long time.”
“Pink, you aren’t the only one who has practiced these songs fopr the past 20 years. you have to do this. It is your fate.”
And with a flash he was gone. Pink feared this plan. He hadn’t played in front of a crowd that large since The Floyd had broken up. This fear brought temptation back into Pink. He went and looked for booze and cigarettes. He couldn’t find any. He broke down, sat in his chair, and thought about what to do next.
Wish You Were Here
Pink drank himself away in Isabellas. Lucas Shaffer welcomed himself into the seat next to him.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, man?” Lucas questioned.
“My dad just disappeared in thin air.” replied Pink in a drunken stutter.
“Your dad? You never had a father Pink. It has been you and your mom on this whole trip we call life.”
“Do you remember the days in the orphanage school. Do you remember a certain teacher, Father Floyd?”
“No, man. I think you have been drinking too much. We had a Father Frank as a teacher. I thought for sure you would remember him. That abstinent fucker gave you hell. Whenever you wrote a poem, he would pick it up and tell you poems were for the birds.”
“Lucas, what the fuck are you talking about? We had a teacher named Father Floyd. That teacher was my father. I saw him just a minute ago, and then, poof, he was gone.”
“Pink, Pull yourself together. There has never been a Father Floyd. Maybe your Dad is still alive, or maybe his spirit is haunting you, but seriously man. Your perception of reality is unclear. It just doesn’t make sense.
Pink waved for another drink. The bartender had cut him off. Pink stood up to leave out of the bar. he could barely walk in a straight line.
“Where do you think you are going man.”
“To see my father, he is here, and always has been.”
“I’ll come check up on you in a couple of days Pink.”
“Until you believe me Lucas, you can fuck off.”
Pink slammed the door to Isabellas. Lucas sat there, left to question Pinks destructive mental state.
Three hours late Pink woke up with what could be described as the usual hangover. However, there was something brewing inside of him. It was anger. An anger he hadn’t felt since the band broke up. An anger that started this downward slope he calls his life. Pink picked himself up off the floor, found his balance, and tried to make it to the bathroom. The repercussions of the hangover found the toilet. After he stood up, he looked in the mirror. Pink was stunned when he heard the troubling voice,
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Son?”
Pink startled jumped back. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you even exist?”
“As long as you live, I live as well.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means that I am as real as you make me to be.”
“Then why don’t you go the fuck away.”
“Because my job isn’t done, and you know it.”
“What job? The only job you have is pestering the shit out of my mind?”
“Like I said before, you are only doing it to yourself.”
“So what's next?”
“What’s next is the drinking. If you ever want to restore order into your life, you have to quit those obstacles which hold you back. To begin with is the drinking, plain and simple, you need to stop. As soon as you truly believe you could accomplish that, you may find your son. He is the key to your success. As soon as you repair yourself as the father you should have been, then the gate of this hellish life is forever closed.”
“And if I don’t do any of this bullshit...”
“Then you will never die. I’ll never go away, and you will bring this world down with you.”
“Son, I believe in you.”
Pink found an empty fifth and hurled it at his father. With a loud crash, it hit the amp in the hallway. It went straight through the image of his father.
“Pink, do you believe in the supernatural? I am, as you say, a ghost. But not this bullshit ghost publicized. I am the memory of my physical life. As long as you live, so will I.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Son, would you want your son to forever be haunted by the fact that you willingly gave him up? Do you want him to know that you are a washed up drunk, who quite frankly, should kill himself and do the world a favor? Do you want him to think that?”
“Of course not, why would any father want that?”
“Why do you think I am here Pink? It isn’t for the best Dad of the year award.?”
And with that final statement, he was gone. Pink sat there in the bathroom, in awe. A tear rolled down his face.
Pink, now knowing the truth, grabbed the only knife he had in the kitchen. He slit his wrist, but no blood came out. There was no pain. He really couldn’t die.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, man?” Lucas questioned.
“My dad just disappeared in thin air.” replied Pink in a drunken stutter.
“Your dad? You never had a father Pink. It has been you and your mom on this whole trip we call life.”
“Do you remember the days in the orphanage school. Do you remember a certain teacher, Father Floyd?”
“No, man. I think you have been drinking too much. We had a Father Frank as a teacher. I thought for sure you would remember him. That abstinent fucker gave you hell. Whenever you wrote a poem, he would pick it up and tell you poems were for the birds.”
“Lucas, what the fuck are you talking about? We had a teacher named Father Floyd. That teacher was my father. I saw him just a minute ago, and then, poof, he was gone.”
“Pink, Pull yourself together. There has never been a Father Floyd. Maybe your Dad is still alive, or maybe his spirit is haunting you, but seriously man. Your perception of reality is unclear. It just doesn’t make sense.
Pink waved for another drink. The bartender had cut him off. Pink stood up to leave out of the bar. he could barely walk in a straight line.
“Where do you think you are going man.”
“To see my father, he is here, and always has been.”
“I’ll come check up on you in a couple of days Pink.”
“Until you believe me Lucas, you can fuck off.”
Pink slammed the door to Isabellas. Lucas sat there, left to question Pinks destructive mental state.
Three hours late Pink woke up with what could be described as the usual hangover. However, there was something brewing inside of him. It was anger. An anger he hadn’t felt since the band broke up. An anger that started this downward slope he calls his life. Pink picked himself up off the floor, found his balance, and tried to make it to the bathroom. The repercussions of the hangover found the toilet. After he stood up, he looked in the mirror. Pink was stunned when he heard the troubling voice,
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Son?”
Pink startled jumped back. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you even exist?”
“As long as you live, I live as well.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means that I am as real as you make me to be.”
“Then why don’t you go the fuck away.”
“Because my job isn’t done, and you know it.”
“What job? The only job you have is pestering the shit out of my mind?”
“Like I said before, you are only doing it to yourself.”
“So what's next?”
“What’s next is the drinking. If you ever want to restore order into your life, you have to quit those obstacles which hold you back. To begin with is the drinking, plain and simple, you need to stop. As soon as you truly believe you could accomplish that, you may find your son. He is the key to your success. As soon as you repair yourself as the father you should have been, then the gate of this hellish life is forever closed.”
“And if I don’t do any of this bullshit...”
“Then you will never die. I’ll never go away, and you will bring this world down with you.”
“Son, I believe in you.”
Pink found an empty fifth and hurled it at his father. With a loud crash, it hit the amp in the hallway. It went straight through the image of his father.
“Pink, do you believe in the supernatural? I am, as you say, a ghost. But not this bullshit ghost publicized. I am the memory of my physical life. As long as you live, so will I.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Son, would you want your son to forever be haunted by the fact that you willingly gave him up? Do you want him to know that you are a washed up drunk, who quite frankly, should kill himself and do the world a favor? Do you want him to think that?”
“Of course not, why would any father want that?”
“Why do you think I am here Pink? It isn’t for the best Dad of the year award.?”
And with that final statement, he was gone. Pink sat there in the bathroom, in awe. A tear rolled down his face.
Pink, now knowing the truth, grabbed the only knife he had in the kitchen. He slit his wrist, but no blood came out. There was no pain. He really couldn’t die.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
In the Flesh, Part II
Pink arrived home and took off his bloody shirt. The memory was the only thing he could remember. He told himself that he would go see his dad in the morning. Right now all he could do was clean up and think of his mom. The only clean shirt he could find was his father’s army uniform. He put it on, and thought of his mom. She fucking lied to me. Why the fuck should I make up with her?
He found a photo of when he was young. This was buried away with the rest of his childhood. The photo was of him playing a new guitar, that his mom spontaneously bought for him. His face was happy. That was a different Pink. Now, the music made him angry and silence is what he preferred. His mom didn’t have the money to buy that guitar. But to see him happy, she would have spent every dime on him. She truly loved him.
Pink went to sleep holding that picture. The bottle of cheap whiskey was a good supplement for pain killers. Pink remembered.
It was a year ago when it happened. Pink had just pulled out of a long drinking binge. His mom came by everyday to make sure he hadn’t drank himself to death. He started the binge when he heard that a long time associate had released new music. The associate, David, made millions off the name they made for themselves in the 70’s. Mother Floyd wanted to take him out. They went for lunch, but being such a little town, they went to the casa de waffle.
“Why do you this to yourself?” she asked
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you let the past ruin you. go back to what you know best, making music. Sure David screwed you. This isn’t the first time. Don’t forget how he did it the first time. The lawsuit ended with him basically owning your name. You were left with nothing. Since then, you have smoked your lungs black, and inebriated your liver beyond repair.”
“he didn’t screw me.”
“what are you talking about, he took your band, he took your name, and worst of all he took your …”
“You better not finish that sentence,” he said interrupting her.
“Or what, David took your son away from you. He saw your state of alcoholic depression and had the courts emancipate Roger from you. ---, he took your son, and you didn’t do anything about it.”
“It was the best for him...”
“No the best was for him to have a father. David was just a surrogate. Fate falls into your hands Pink. You didn’t have a dad growing up. I kept you from the big bad world, I didn’t let you fly, but i let you sing.”
“you didn’t care what I did. You were a useless mom who didn’t teach me anything.”
Mother Floyd began to cry. She said, “Roger is in town.”
Pink sat there silently. It has been twenty years since he was taken away from him
“You better not bring him to me” he said
“Or what”
“Mom, he doesn’t even know who I am”
“He knows exactly who you are Pink. You are a music legend. He knows every little detail of your career good and bad.”
“why do you want me to meet him?” he asked.
“Because he is your fucking son!”
“I never got to meet my father.”
“That is because he died in the war. You know this. If you had met him, you would be a much better person. Your father was a great man. He gave his life for this country. How dare you be so selfish! But then again, you never cared about anybody but yourself.”
“Fuck you”
She stared at him. She was getting ready to cry, and stormed out of the joint. That was the last time he heard from her. She didn’t call.
Pink woke up in a feverish sweat. He should have never treated his mom like that. It was 7 in the morning. The whiskey was gone, and still no cigarettes. He sat there, and three more hours passed before he got out of bed. It was Saturday, at least he thought it was. Still hungover, ---- slowly made his way from the castle apartments to the church. He opened the doors only to find his father sitting in a pew.
“I knew you would come”
“How...”
“I know everything about you, where you have been, what you have done, and what you will be.”
“How...”
“Because Son, I am your father. It is instinct. You are just like me.”
He lit a cigar and took out his flask. He would have offered some to Pink, but figured that he already had the head start.
“So how do speak to her again”
“You must get become the father Roger needs. David has done his part. Now it is your time to fulfill your destiny. You have to teach the values of life.”
“What life.I Drink and smoke. what values come from that.”
“You can’t speak for who you are now. Your past defines you Pink. look to your lyrics. Roger has. Pink, he can play the guitar. It is your turn to help him change the world.”
For the first time in a long time, Pink smiled. He got up and walked out of the church, not saying a thing to his father. His son liked music. Pink then had a realization. Where in the hell was Roger, David, or his Mother. He turned around back into to the church. His father was gone.
Pink searched around and found a nun.
“Have you seen Father Floyd?” he asked
“Who” she replied
“Father Floyd... he has been here for the past two decades and teaches at the orphanage.”
“young man, we don’t have a Father Floyd. We never had.”
Pink left the church.
“What the fuck?!” He asked himself as he stumbled back into Isabella's for another drink.
He found a photo of when he was young. This was buried away with the rest of his childhood. The photo was of him playing a new guitar, that his mom spontaneously bought for him. His face was happy. That was a different Pink. Now, the music made him angry and silence is what he preferred. His mom didn’t have the money to buy that guitar. But to see him happy, she would have spent every dime on him. She truly loved him.
Pink went to sleep holding that picture. The bottle of cheap whiskey was a good supplement for pain killers. Pink remembered.
It was a year ago when it happened. Pink had just pulled out of a long drinking binge. His mom came by everyday to make sure he hadn’t drank himself to death. He started the binge when he heard that a long time associate had released new music. The associate, David, made millions off the name they made for themselves in the 70’s. Mother Floyd wanted to take him out. They went for lunch, but being such a little town, they went to the casa de waffle.
“Why do you this to yourself?” she asked
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you let the past ruin you. go back to what you know best, making music. Sure David screwed you. This isn’t the first time. Don’t forget how he did it the first time. The lawsuit ended with him basically owning your name. You were left with nothing. Since then, you have smoked your lungs black, and inebriated your liver beyond repair.”
“he didn’t screw me.”
“what are you talking about, he took your band, he took your name, and worst of all he took your …”
“You better not finish that sentence,” he said interrupting her.
“Or what, David took your son away from you. He saw your state of alcoholic depression and had the courts emancipate Roger from you. ---, he took your son, and you didn’t do anything about it.”
“It was the best for him...”
“No the best was for him to have a father. David was just a surrogate. Fate falls into your hands Pink. You didn’t have a dad growing up. I kept you from the big bad world, I didn’t let you fly, but i let you sing.”
“you didn’t care what I did. You were a useless mom who didn’t teach me anything.”
Mother Floyd began to cry. She said, “Roger is in town.”
Pink sat there silently. It has been twenty years since he was taken away from him
“You better not bring him to me” he said
“Or what”
“Mom, he doesn’t even know who I am”
“He knows exactly who you are Pink. You are a music legend. He knows every little detail of your career good and bad.”
“why do you want me to meet him?” he asked.
“Because he is your fucking son!”
“I never got to meet my father.”
“That is because he died in the war. You know this. If you had met him, you would be a much better person. Your father was a great man. He gave his life for this country. How dare you be so selfish! But then again, you never cared about anybody but yourself.”
“Fuck you”
She stared at him. She was getting ready to cry, and stormed out of the joint. That was the last time he heard from her. She didn’t call.
Pink woke up in a feverish sweat. He should have never treated his mom like that. It was 7 in the morning. The whiskey was gone, and still no cigarettes. He sat there, and three more hours passed before he got out of bed. It was Saturday, at least he thought it was. Still hungover, ---- slowly made his way from the castle apartments to the church. He opened the doors only to find his father sitting in a pew.
“I knew you would come”
“How...”
“I know everything about you, where you have been, what you have done, and what you will be.”
“How...”
“Because Son, I am your father. It is instinct. You are just like me.”
He lit a cigar and took out his flask. He would have offered some to Pink, but figured that he already had the head start.
“So how do speak to her again”
“You must get become the father Roger needs. David has done his part. Now it is your time to fulfill your destiny. You have to teach the values of life.”
“What life.I Drink and smoke. what values come from that.”
“You can’t speak for who you are now. Your past defines you Pink. look to your lyrics. Roger has. Pink, he can play the guitar. It is your turn to help him change the world.”
For the first time in a long time, Pink smiled. He got up and walked out of the church, not saying a thing to his father. His son liked music. Pink then had a realization. Where in the hell was Roger, David, or his Mother. He turned around back into to the church. His father was gone.
Pink searched around and found a nun.
“Have you seen Father Floyd?” he asked
“Who” she replied
“Father Floyd... he has been here for the past two decades and teaches at the orphanage.”
“young man, we don’t have a Father Floyd. We never had.”
Pink left the church.
“What the fuck?!” He asked himself as he stumbled back into Isabella's for another drink.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Hey You
Pink had just stumbled out of the bar for a cigarette. It was his last smoke. On his break from heavy drinking, he walked into the alley way next to the strip club. There he saw a few shady figures hanging around. Pink didn't think anything of them. He continued to pace up and down the alley.
Pink was humming a song. "Hey you, with your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out would you touch me, Hey you!....." The sentence was ended with a blunt force to the back of his head. The bud of his cigarette flew to the ground and Pink fell forward, out cold.
Pink woke up in a doctors office. Nothing was hurting him, although he was sure that someone had hit him really hard. The doctors looked familiar. Almost like a relative. He just couldn't put anything together. The doctor was going through the routine procedures for a concussion. Pink then asked, "Where is the pain?"
"There is no pain, you are receding."
"What?", Pink thought
"I have not given you anything. The pain is just in your head. Now son... what were you doing in that alley way"
"I was just going out for a smoke, get some air from that dump of a bar."
"Do you remember who else was down there"
"Just some dark figures, I couldn't tell, and sure as hell didn't care."
"What song was that you were humming when they hit you?"
Pink sat there in awe. How did he know he was humming a song. He refused to answer.
Pink yelled out, "Who the fuck are you?"
"I asked what song was that you were humming?"
"How do you know I was humming a song?"
"I know more about you than you think..."
"I gotta get out out of here!"
Pink stood up, but immediately hit the floor. The doctor stood over him.
The doctor said, "You are comfortably numb. When I was a child, I was a lot like you. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my future and changed."
Pink knew who it was. Father floyd, now Doctor Floyd.
"Dad, what the fuck are you doing here for?"
"It's been awhile. Since then, you ditched the only person who loved you, and since then, you blown all of my money on booze and cigarettes. It would be nice for you to say hi every once in awhile."
"Cut the bullshit, Dad. Why are you here?"
"Son, you are bigger than you think. Why don't you enjoy life."
"Because it won't bring her back."
"She misses you and has missed you since you ditched her. I know, Because I have been watching. Every night, she is out there on here own, and sits naked by the phone calling out would you tou--..."
"Not her," Pink Interrupted, "Mom."
"Ahh, well you have closed your self off from her. Even though you are her son, she was tired of your actions. Your mother was important and after everything she did for you, you eventually told her to get out of your life. Son, you need to get her back. She is a key role in your life, and a key role for what is to come."
Doctor Floyd was filling a syringe. Pink still was on the ground paralyzed. He couldn't understand why this was happening. His dad entered the syringe and whispered, "You have become comfortably numb..."
Pink asked how he could win her back but blacked out before his dad could answer.
Pink woke up with a massive headache. It had only been a few minutes. There was blood and his wallet was gone. It was all a dream. It was all a fucking dream. He looked up and saw someone staring at him from the street. He yelled out, "Hey You! Don't help them to bury the live!" He sat up until he could stumble into the bar. With the blood on his chest, He asked the bar tender to fill one up and put it on a tab.
He sat there drinking and thinking. The dream he had was as clear as a memory. He had to see his father. He had to see his mother.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The Pros and Cons of Hitchiking
Pink awoke in a nightmare. His girlfriend heard him, and immediately comforted him. The hitchhikers in the back were fast asleep. It was christmas eve. The castle apartments would take at least another day to get to.
Pink decided to give his girlfriend a break from the driving. Around 7 o'clock, they decided to stop. The po-dunk town they stopped in had a hotel where they could stay at, and choke and puke they called a restaurant. After eating, both groups got separate rooms. The four would finish their stretch tomorrow.
Later that night, Pink couldn't sleep. He stepped outside for a smoke. There he thought about his mom. He thought about the holidays. Since he could remember, he hadn't celebrated christmas. Pink's mom wasn't much for celebration. Her husband, Pink's father, left for the war at this time. Pink thought about how this was the first time he had actually been with someone on Christmas. The loneliness had affected this middle age rock star. he coped with hard drugs, sex, and music.
They woke and continued the drive. Christmas Day was silent. The hitchhikers were let out about an hour away from Pink's home. They never said a word. Arriving to the apartment, Pink's mid life crisis had kicked into full gear. He didn't care at all about his girlfriend anymore, as he felt nothing for her. Pink abruptly left her in the town to find her own way home. He found a bank, cleared his accounts, which due to his success twenty five years ago, showed him how much people liked him. His only happiness now was in material goods. He bought a green Lamborghini. He burned the rest of it.
This wasn't enough but it had been a long day. He entered his empty apartment, found his bed, and promptly slept. But he was awoken just as quickly as he went to sleep. Their were arabs with knives at the foot of the bed. They stood over him, two of them. In the light, Pink recognized them. The hitchhikers. How the fuck did they get in? Pink feared for his life.
The hitchhikers spoke in unison. "You care not for those who loved you. Your selfishness for life has brought you to an end. Death awaits a heartless soul for you, hopefully you appreciate your hell bound life. We'll see you in wyoming." They proceeded to stab Pink to his death, in the most ritualistic way possible.
Pink awoke in a heavy sweat. What the fuck was that? He has never thought like that before. He found a cigarette and a light, looked around, and only saw his father's uniform. He needed to go to confession. Or at least the bar.
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