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.
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