new story extract...
The band venue was getting ready, in Gothic Night the bands were unloading equipment, checking lyric sheets, tuning musical equipment. The first band was setting up their equipment. This was Scarlet Onions, a small three piece from a village just west of Renford. They made one hell of a noise during rehearsal with their fast aggressive songs. They wouldn’t win any prizes, bei...ng a new inexperienced outfit but had youth, enthusiasm and loved what they were doing. Compared to the old hands who had years of experience, they were minnows in a pond of really big fish. The main bands were more organised and took their time to get ready. Their energy would be apparent later in their music. For everyone here today this was the reason to be alive – gothic music in all its many forms and sounds.
Sandra finished her artwork that she had been commissioned to do. It was a piece in oils of a landscape under turbulent grey clouds measuring four by three feet. Six weeks of solid painstaking work and delicate detail, a real work of passion that she loved doing. She looked at the painting that was now complete taking in the wild scene it portrayed remembering so long ago when she had walked over that very spot with her husband on a stormy day. It was so long ago; she sighed and shut her eyes remembering. Why was it that her dead husband’s face was becoming more indistinct as time went on? She struggled to remember his face. Opening her eyes she withdrew a small purple velvet wallet and hurriedly took out his photo. Sandra smiled as she looked at his happy features. His was a face of youthful invigoration at the beginning of life that was wickedly stolen by this evil disease. She hated cancer. Putting the photo away Sandra left her completed artwork and started to get ready.
She didn’t know what to wear. This thought played in the back of her mind since the morning, niggling away and annoying her. She went to her antique ornate oak wardrobe and opened it and looked at her stunning gothic outfits. Fuck it! She would wear her wedding dress she wore when she married her young precious husband not two years ago. Sandra gently ran her fingers through the delicate white fabric, remembering. And smiled. She had been so happy and now? Now she was all alone, a widow at twenty-four years of age. So young and still grieving over her indescribable loss but she promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no not on this gothic music day. She would weep twice as much tomorrow, like she did every other day of her young wounded life. This thought made her speak aloud, “I miss you my love. My pain is so much. It’s so unfair how you were taken away from me. I know that you’re around me but my longing to be with you is immense. If I didn’t have your love in my heart and my art I’d kill myself right now. But you wouldn’t want that. I remember your last words to me before cancer stole you from me…”
The band venue was getting ready, in Gothic Night the bands were unloading equipment, checking lyric sheets, tuning musical equipment. The first band was setting up their equipment. This was Scarlet Onions, a small three piece from a village just west of Renford. They made one hell of a noise during rehearsal with their fast aggressive songs. They wouldn’t win any prizes, bei...ng a new inexperienced outfit but had youth, enthusiasm and loved what they were doing. Compared to the old hands who had years of experience, they were minnows in a pond of really big fish. The main bands were more organised and took their time to get ready. Their energy would be apparent later in their music. For everyone here today this was the reason to be alive – gothic music in all its many forms and sounds.
Sandra finished her artwork that she had been commissioned to do. It was a piece in oils of a landscape under turbulent grey clouds measuring four by three feet. Six weeks of solid painstaking work and delicate detail, a real work of passion that she loved doing. She looked at the painting that was now complete taking in the wild scene it portrayed remembering so long ago when she had walked over that very spot with her husband on a stormy day. It was so long ago; she sighed and shut her eyes remembering. Why was it that her dead husband’s face was becoming more indistinct as time went on? She struggled to remember his face. Opening her eyes she withdrew a small purple velvet wallet and hurriedly took out his photo. Sandra smiled as she looked at his happy features. His was a face of youthful invigoration at the beginning of life that was wickedly stolen by this evil disease. She hated cancer. Putting the photo away Sandra left her completed artwork and started to get ready.
She didn’t know what to wear. This thought played in the back of her mind since the morning, niggling away and annoying her. She went to her antique ornate oak wardrobe and opened it and looked at her stunning gothic outfits. Fuck it! She would wear her wedding dress she wore when she married her young precious husband not two years ago. Sandra gently ran her fingers through the delicate white fabric, remembering. And smiled. She had been so happy and now? Now she was all alone, a widow at twenty-four years of age. So young and still grieving over her indescribable loss but she promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no not on this gothic music day. She would weep twice as much tomorrow, like she did every other day of her young wounded life. This thought made her speak aloud, “I miss you my love. My pain is so much. It’s so unfair how you were taken away from me. I know that you’re around me but my longing to be with you is immense. If I didn’t have your love in my heart and my art I’d kill myself right now. But you wouldn’t want that. I remember your last words to me before cancer stole you from me…”
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