Rock and Roll
JP with Jaxx, Redsword, Trustno1 and Cindy
The stage quaked beneath their feet, the aftermath of the Star Bearer’s words hanging heavy in the electrified air. Alyssa’s gaze met the cosmic deities before her, and with a slow, deliberate inhale, she gripped the talismans in her pocket tighter. Her lips curved into a determined smirk, and her voice cut through the charged silence, a battle cry of rebellion and triumph.
“Rock and roll all Nite and party every day!!!!!!!!!”
The words ignited the amphitheater. As if her proclamation were a cosmic trigger, the amplifiers roared to life, and the band launched into their signature anthem. The opening chords surged through the air, a sonic tidal wave that rattled the bones of everyone present. A series of cataclysmic explosions erupted in tandem with the music, each blast cascading through the building with enough force to warp reality itself.
Fire erupted all around them, licking at their faces with a searing intensity that felt all too real. The heat was overwhelming, a living entity that seemed to hunger for them. The walls of the building began to fracture and collapse, every surface shuddering under the relentless assault of sound and flame.
And then came the confetti.
From every conceivable angle, bursts of colorful, glittering paper shot forth, enveloping the team in a kaleidoscopic storm. Visibility disintegrated into a blinding whirlwind of hues, the confetti sticking to their faces and clinging to their clothes. It filled their mouths, their noses, their eyes, rendering them effectively blind. The air became a suffocating cocktail of ash, heat, and the acrid tang of burning paper.
“Move! Now!” Peter Sartre’s voice barely pierced the chaos, his tone frantic as he shoved Alyssa forward. But their steps were unsteady, each one met with the deafening percussion of another explosion. The floor beneath them heaved and buckled, forcing them to scramble for balance as the inferno encroached.
The music rose to a fever pitch, every chord vibrating through their very beings. Sparks rained down like molten stars, burning their exposed skin. Alyssa’s lungs screamed for air, each breath a struggle against the oppressive heat and the choking clouds of smoke. She could hear the drumbeat of the Catman rising above the chaos, each strike sending tremors through her chest.
“I can’t see!” someone shouted, their voice lost almost immediately in the cacophony. The confetti was unrelenting, each burst an assault on their senses. Alyssa swiped at her face desperately, her hands slick with sweat and ash, but the confetti kept coming, blinding and suffocating in equal measure.
Flames surged closer, their heat blistering. The walls of the building began to collapse in earnest now, beams of fire and debris crashing down around them. The explosions grew louder, each one a hammer blow against their eardrums, leaving them disoriented and stumbling.
“Keep going! This way!” Alyssa’s voice cut through, her hand grasping blindly for the others. She could feel the talismans burning against her skin, a painful reminder of the impossible power she held.
Time became a blur. They stumbled and clawed their way through the collapsing inferno, the music’s relentless beat driving them forward. The confetti storm never abated, and the fire’s searing touch remained a constant threat. It was a trial by chaos, a test of willpower against insurmountable odds.
And as they pushed forward, the sound of the anthem reached its climactic crescendo. The final explosive chord echoed through the shattered remains of the building, shaking the very cosmos around them. The band’s presence faded into the smoke and flame, leaving only the wreckage of their performance and the indomitable spirit they had inspired.
For Alyssa and her team, survival would come down to the next step—if they could find it in the blinding storm of confetti and fire.
The building groaned and shuddered as another explosion ripped through its core, the air alive with the roar of fire and the relentless pulse of music. Alyssa’s vision was a blur of color and flame, her mind racing with the instinct to survive. Then, amidst the chaos, one of them rolled the dice—a gamble against the abyss.
“The windows! We have to jump!” Peter Sartre’s voice, strained and urgent, barely pierced the cacophony.
Without hesitation, they turned toward the tall, shattered panes of glass, each one a shimmering gateway to the unknown. The void beyond the windows loomed, a blackness so complete it seemed to devour the light itself. There was no time to think, no time to doubt. Alyssa led the charge, her feet pounding against the trembling floor as she flung herself toward the window.
Time slowed as she leapt. The glass shattered around her, fragments catching the firelight like falling stars. The heat of the flames licked at her back, urging her forward into the dark embrace of the void. One by one, the others followed, their forms silhouetted against the inferno as they dove headlong into the abyss.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence—a terrible, consuming silence that swallowed sound and thought. The void wrapped around them, its blackness infinite and oppressive, as if they had plunged into the heart of eternity itself. And then, faint and haunting, came the voice.
“I’ll see you in your dreams…”
The words echoed through the void, reverberating in Alyssa’s mind like the lingering notes of a song she had once heard and forgotten. A chill ran down her spine. She had heard it before, that voice, that promise. It clung to her like the darkness, a thread of familiarity in the incomprehensible expanse.
The fall seemed endless. Time lost meaning as they tumbled through the void, their bodies weightless and unmoored. Around them, there was nothing—no up, no down, no light, no sound save for their own ragged breaths. Alyssa’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate reminder that she was still alive.
Then, as if the universe itself had taken a breath, there came a final, cataclysmic sound. From behind them, the Star Bearer’s guitar struck the stage with a force that shook the very fabric of reality. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the void, the sound so deafening it became a physical force. One explosion after another erupted, a symphony of destruction that crescendoed into a single, earth-shattering thud.
The apartment complex was no more. Leveled in an instant, it collapsed into a ball of fire that blazed against the darkness like a dying star. The light seared their eyes, even through the void, before fading into nothingness. The shockwave followed, a resounding boom that seemed to chase them through the abyss, reverberating in their bones.
And then there was silence again. Pure, unbroken silence.
Alyssa’s thoughts churned as she floated in the darkness, her body weightless and her mind reeling. The voice echoed once more in her memory, the promise lingering like an unspoken truth.
The morning came gently, the sun’s rays seeping through the curtains of Alyssa’s RV with a golden warmth. It bathed the interior in a soft glow, a stark contrast to the chaos and fire that had consumed her dreams. Her eyes fluttered open, her senses pulling her slowly into the waking world. She felt... refreshed. Rejuvenated. As if the horrors of the night had been nothing more than an elaborate trick of her subconscious.
Nearby, the faint sound of steady breathing caught her attention. Sartre lay sprawled across the opposite bed, stripped down to his boxers, one arm flung carelessly over his head. The rise and fall of his chest was a serene rhythm, a reminder of the mundane normalcy that now surrounded them. The rest of the team was similarly at peace, their quiet snores mingling with the soft hum of the RV’s air conditioning. For a moment, it was as if none of it had happened—the flames, the music, the void.
Alyssa stretched, the oversized T-shirt she wore brushing against her skin. It was the only thing she had on, its hem skimming her thighs. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool floor. But as her toes touched down, she froze. Beneath her feet was something unexpected. Confetti.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the tiny, glittering pieces scattered across the floor. They shimmered in the morning light, a kaleidoscope of colors that felt out of place in the otherwise calm setting. And there was more—bottles of alcohol littered the ground, their labels catching her eye. “Alba’s Margaritas” was emblazoned on several, but it was the cluster of smaller bottles that truly arrested her attention. “Cold Gin,” the labels read, the words ringing in her mind like a distant echo of a forgotten melody.
Alyssa’s pulse quickened as she rose to her feet, her gaze trailing the strange remnants that didn’t belong. She moved toward the small mirror mounted on the bedroom wall, each step crunching softly against the confetti. Her reflection greeted her, a vision of disheveled hair and wide, searching eyes. But it wasn’t her reflection that stopped her breath.
The shirt she wore, the only thing covering her, bore a logo she had never worn before. Bold, unmistakable letters spelled out “KISS Army” across the fabric, the design both garish and iconic. She stared at it, her mind racing to connect the threads of her supposed dream with the undeniable evidence before her.
Her fingers brushed the hem of the shirt, the fabric soft beneath her touch. The weight of the moment settled over her like a shroud, a lingering question she dared not voice. Was it truly a dream? Or had she glimpsed something beyond the veil of understanding?
The confetti sparkled at her feet, the bottles of “Cold Gin” glinting in the morning light, and the words on her shirt burned in her vision.
For Shannen Doherty.
For Brother Marc Doetsch.
For Peter Henry Korman III.