Bombs fell a few miles off as the band took the stage.
The crowd, thousands strong, the last remaining survivors of this cruel/joyous world, had assembled for one final show.
This concert was humanities last and futile stand against the forces that tried and succeeded in destroying normalcy. Everyone who was dancing knew that they would die soon enough.
Michael flailed his arms in an invisible mosh-pit, smashing the faces of those who had taken his family.
Ann moved with a desperation that only the Red Plague brought on.
Tommy wielded a sacred knife, marking those he wished to accompany him to Paradise.
Jasper laid flat on his back, staring at the brown-black sky, wondering what the point was.
Samantha took a handful of broken pills from her pocket, ensuring that this show would be a wild ride.
People prayed, people cursed, people laughed, people cried, people drugged, people purified, people fucked, people fought, people killed, people loved, people died, people danced, people sang, people screamed, people dreamed.
The band began tuning their instruments. One singer, one guitar, one bass, one drum set. No one had ever heard of them. It would be a great show.
The music started as a bright light appeared in the distant dark sky. It moved in and out of the smoke from civilization burning. Everyone knew what it was.
Fast riffs, heavy bass, blinding drums, and half-yelled lyrics droned out the sirens and the screams. People amassed and swayed. The light grew larger.
On and on the band played, would keep playing, until their bodies collapsed in exhaustion. The crowd deserved no less.
The last chord rang out as the bright light fell from the sky. It hit the stage with a boom like a twenty-megaton bass note. There was no encore for Apocalypsapalooza: the party at the end of the world.
Adam Callaway enjoys pulling works of surreal magnificentacity from the hot womb that is his mind. That’s what he tells himself, at least. When he’s not prematurely placing the forceps into his gray matter, he can be found on the interwebs at adamcallaway.blogspot.com and on Twitter @sensawunda. Send him a message if you care to find out what any of the above decadence means (as soon as he figures it out, that is).