Sunday, October 23, 2011

Flash Fiction - Live3

Good evening,

 Early bird here! I'm continuing on from Live and Live2 and hitting you with a cliffhanger!


            “Have you seen Mark and Jeff?”
            This was the question Adam posed to every one of his friends that he could find. Lost in a maze of concert-goers, vendors, and security guards, Adam weaved his way through the mass of people in search of them. A thunderous bass from one of the many stages shook the trees as he hunted for the pair.
He remembered seeing the panic on their faces as they bolted through the crowd ten minutes ago. He had to know why. Responsibility dictated that he was to find them, and to support them however he could. He knew where all the Lost and Found stations were. There was a first-aid kit in his car. He had memorized the exact locations of each outhouse, emergency services tent, and information desk. He would do his part. He was ready.
It was Paul he flagged down next. Drenched in sweat, the man wiped his face on his shirt and shrugged, “Dunno where they are now,” his friend admitted, pointing to his left, “But I did see Fat Johnny passed out in one of those outhouses over there.”
            “Oh,” winced Adam, “Oh, wow.”
            “Yeah, and he stank of vodka. I think Nanako’s Chinatown gang loaded him up and set him loose.”
            “He was dressed, right?”
            “And how. I’ve never seen a man wear that many ponchos.”
            “We’re getting sidetracked. What about Jeff and Mark?”
            Paul shook his head and thumbed to somewhere in the distance, “I saw them heading that way.”
            In an instant, Adam pulled a map from his pocket and scanned it. His finger ran along the page and his eyes darted back and forth from the paper to the horizon, “Okay, so they’re going North-East...” he mumbled, “so they’re heading to the hot dog stands, or the Stanktastic show, or the –”
“Dude, what does it matter?” Paul griped, “You’re not Superman.”
“No, I’m their friend,” he said, boldly, “And I have to be there for them.”
Paul rubbed his cheek, “Doesn’t mean you gotta chaperone two twenty-five-year-olds.” He stopped and leaned left, “Oh, hey!”
Adam turned to see who he was hailing. Bleach-blonde Claire entered, tall and lithe and pouting. A taller, tanned man he assumed to be her latest victim strode up with her. He felt his sinuses burning away from all of the perfume she wore.
Paul stepped forward and waved to her, “How’re you liking the show?”
“Broken Nose was tight,” she said in a nasally, whinging tone, “Some prick tried to grind me during ‘So Low?’ But then Gustavo showed him what’s what.”
“‘Sup?” said her consort.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Adam yammered, forcing himself between them, “I’m looking for Mark and Jeff. Have you seen them around?”
            Claire sneered and checked her Blackberry, “Those guys? I saw them just now. They’re looking for Mark’s ho-bag.”
            He never understood why she didn’t like Haruka, “Did she get lost?”
She put the phone to her side, “Nah, she went over to that rap battle in the parking lot? Jeff told her to check it out.”
            Adam’s blood froze. He knew who was performing and how volatile they were known to get. He remembered seeing one of the police cruisers and a handful of security rushing off moments before he saw Jeff and Mark run for the distance, “What’s going on there?” he asked, expecting the worst.
            “I dunno,” Claire said, checking her Blackberry again, “Some fight broke out and they think Haruka’s dead or something? Whatever. Is there any pizza here?”


 Expect Part Four of Four on Tuesday. I'm a busy boy!

See you soon,


EDIT: May 23, 2012. Edits. WHAT.

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