YOU and HIM (rewrite) snippet #3

An even BIGGER snippet of the rewrite.

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Carnifex 19:3

“Those who abandon the will of their God will face His divine judgment, and their spilled blood used to enrich the soil of a world shaped by His vision.”

Prologue:

HIM

The purple haired singer offers the crowd a beatific smile paired with a small wave.

They scream his name, fans clamoring to get closer past the lineup of security creating a barrier with their bodies. A few of them try reaching around the line of defense, their fingers desperate and outstretched, clawing at empty air. 

“We love you!”

“Marry me!”

“Have my babies!”

The cacophony of voices makes his ears want to bleed. He resists the urge to curl his lip in disgust. 

They're all so fucking annoying—placing him and his band mates on a pedestal for the simple fact they're attractive and can carry a simple tune. 

The world around him proves how shallow every single human being on this planet is. 

Day after day.

City after city. 

Dead body after dead body.

There's not a single person out there who's line of thinking he can't predict—not a single person who stands on equal ground with him in the slightest.

They're all fucking worthless.

Although…

Some people are worse than others, their very existence defiling the sanctity of this world. 

And those are the people he swore to enact divine His judgment upon. 

An oath written in blood. 

The purple haired singer moves with his band mates towards the awaiting bus ready to ship them off to the next destination, when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

He pauses at the bottom steps of his tour bus, glancing down at his phone. 

It's a text, or rather, an alert. 

The purple haired singer smirks as he skims over the details, studying the location, name, and basic information given to him by an unknown number. 

But he knows full well who this number belongs to.

A month's passed since the last text he received from them and now he's eager to reach the touring bands next destination—Parkbend, Arizona.

He hides a vicious smile as his bloodlust rises like a tide. 

???: “Hey.”

The purple haired singer peers up from his phone and another man stands atop of the steps of the bus, looking down at him.

The purple haired singer can practically smell the smoke coming off of his band mates clothes. 

He resists the urge to wrinkle his nose from the acrid scent. 

Disgusting. 

The purple haired singer’s always hated that smell and his hatred for it intensifies because of the man standing in front of him and what he says next, his gravelly voice grating on the purple haired man's nerves. 

Tired looking man: “Let's go. You're holding up the bus.”

It's a command. 

As though he's got the fucking right to order him around.

The purple haired singer withholds a sneer, knowing full well they've got an entire audience behind them and he can't let his mask slip, not until they're on the move again. 

The purple haired singer gives the tired looking man a smile as he plants a foot on the first step.

Purple haired singer: “Sorry. I got distracted. My bad.”

For anyone else, the purple haired singer comes off across as apologetic.

But the other man's eyes narrow, telling the purple haired singer he's not fooled by his act, but cannot say as much out loud or call him out for it. 

The tension between the two is palpable when they're finally standing on even ground as the purple haired singer reaches the top step, forcing his band mate to take a step back in order to make room for him. 

The tour buses' doors close behind them. 

And the purple haired singer’s facade drops.

He gets up in the tired looking man's face whose response is to remain firm in his stance despite the purple haired singer grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt. 

Purple haired singer: “Don't ever fucking order me around again or I'll make your life a living fucking Hell.”

The tired looking man knocks the purple haired singer's hand away and his gaze narrows. 

Tired looking man: “Traveling on the same bus with you already is.”

 The purple haired singer curls his lip and shoulder chucks the other man as he storms past and there's a low whistle that comes from one of the seats.

???: “Mom! The kids are fighting again and it's tearing our family apart!”

Says a different band mate with an easy going grin, his arms laced behind his head while he remains seated on one of the plush leather couches, his legs out in the center aisle. 

The purple haired singer knocks his feet out of the way with a shove of his boot.

purple haired singer: “Oh fuck off.”

Easy going guy: “You know, for as many times as you've told me that, I'm starting to think you need a swear jar. Maybe if you collect enough it'll pay for some much needed therapy bills.” 

There's a soft sigh as a man with light blonde hair fixes himself a cup of tea within the tour buses kitchen.

Steam rolls off his cup in waves as he brings it to his lips before he speaks, his voice gentle and soft. 

Blonde haired bandmate: Please behave yourselves. I understand we're all tired, but antagonizing one another isn't the way to go about things. We've still got a long tour ahead of us, so please try to get along. 

The purple haired singer curls his lip in annoyance as he strides past them and towards his bunk.

Purple haired singer: Oh, look at our patron fucking Saint over here.

Purple haired singer: Let's not fool ourselves into believing that's an actual fucking possibility. Especially with tweedle dee and tweedle dipshit over here. 

His easy going bandmate looks over at the tired looking man.

easy going guy: Aren't the pet names he gives us the cutest? Only downside is I can't figure out who is who. You wanna be tweedle dee or tweedle dipshit? Either way it's getting embroidered into a pillow.

tired looking man: You can embroider?

easy going guy: No, when has my lack of knowledge on any given subject ever stopped me?

The purple haired singer doesn't hear the response from his tired looking bandmate as he heads to the back lounge where he can get some much needed peace and quiet away from the other band members.

When he's out of sight, he draws up the details…

All pertaining to YOU.

Despite his tense interactions with his bandmates, he lets a cold and malicious smile find its way to his lips.

He just can't fucking wait to get to the next city.

YOU

DJ: In other news: CAKE—The hit boy band that's skyrocketed to popularity in recent years—is playing live tomorrow night at the Sanita Valley Stadium in our very own Parkbend, Arizona!

DJ: Can you believe that, Kenny? I'm absolutely ecstatic and looking forward to their performance.

The car's radio crackles and a new voice joins in on the conversation, his tone coming across as both Jovial and somewhat cartoonish. 

Kenny: I'm more shocked by the fact that you managed to score tickets for the concert itself considering these reports!

The other DJ clears his throat and you can hear the rustling of papers as he continues. 

Kenny: According to our sources, CAKEs concert tickets were sold out within seconds of their initial online release date, despite the website crashing due to the overwhelming traffic visiting the stadiums website. 

Kenny: Of course they managed to get the site up and running again. But many were logged out and missed their chance due to the lack of foresight. 

The other DJ pipes back up.

DJ: Oh, I remember the public backlash that came after it.

DJ: People took to Twighter and got the hashtag “LetUsEatCAKE'' trending for over a week before the Stadium came out with an official statement, apologizing for the error. 

DJ: It caused quite an uproar.

kenny: I'll say! I can't believe what I'm seeing here. 

kenny: And just to think, these are the same young men who—by all accounts—came from pretty modest and quiet backgrounds that took the world by storm.

Kenny: I don't think I've seen a boy band craze this bad since the last peak in the 90s and 2000s. But even I don't think those compare to the phenomenon that we're seeing today, don't you agree, Bob?

Bob, the other radio DJ, lets out a giant guffaw. 

Bob: Whooooooo boy, is that an understatement.

Bob: Although, I'm not sure mine and my husband's daughter would agree with labeling them as a boy band given their slight rocker edge. 

kenny: A big fan, huh? She's got good taste in music then!

Bob: Both her and my husband. 

Bob says with a boisterous laugh.

bob: Their newest single, Cross My Heart and Never Stray, is all they can talk about. But he's happy bonding with her over it and vice versa.

kenny: Now that's impressive. I know you talked about your husband not caring for modern day music. But it sounds like CAKE brings the whole household together. 

Bob: Exactly! If they can make even my husband love their sound, then you just know they've got that special something going for them. 

When they start playing CAKE's latest single you turn down the dial on the radio in order to focus on the stretch of road before you. 

The blistering heat of the Arizona sun already makes concentrating hard enough as it is without the added distraction of an overhyped band's music playing through the speakers.

Not to mention you've driven almost…

You look at your dash for mileage and cringe. 

Yup. You were right. 

You've driven almost three hundred and twenty three miles thanks to all the pleas from your aunt to drop your uncle's “valuables” off at his new apartment in the next six towns over.

Sans “valuables.” Or in other words…guns. 

You shake your head when you remember trying to weasel your way out of it, not wanting anything to do with her after the nightmare fueled summers you spent with her.

Sure, the memories are vague. 

But they color your current interactions with her and the most recent memories you have of her are no better, all stress induced highs and lows tempting you to just block her. 

And you did.

Right up until she started harassing Jay to hell and back. 

You don't even know how she got his number considering she detests social media.