One Hour Speed Write VI

One hour! One story! Quick thinking! Quick writing! No stopping! No escape! Soundtrack: Random Access Memories. Seed: Music. Time left: Thirteen minutes, fifty seconds. (F**k that was depressing.)

Morgan sits on the stool by the bar. The bass swells out the speakers and collides against her spine with a certain rhythm that felt slightly different from its sound. The glass keeps her fingers cool and moist with condensation. As she slugs down another shot she begins to think of what could have been.

"I know it's a dumb idea." Morgan laughed.
"No, no it's actually a really good idea." Kelly couldn't possibly mean that, could she?
"You're joking right?"
"No I'm not. We're doing this."
"I...ok."
And with that simple conversation their band was born "The Flaming Flamingoz" the Z was supposedly required by law. Well the band wasn't technically born at that. Their was a singer and bassist comprising Kelly and Morgan respectively but they weren't delusional enough, nor narcissistic enough, to believe they two could be the whole operation. In reality what happened after that point was that Morgan returned home trying to laugh off the idea, that way when it Hindenburged it would be less painful. Her singing friend however was less afraid of such an outcome and began plastering the new band on the internet. Three weeks later she returned to Morgan with three people she'd never seen. This group of strangers melded surprisingly well and quickly grew into friends.
At first the Flamingoz flocked to Jason's house, partly because he was the only male in the band, partly because drums are difficult to haul about, but mostly because he was the only one with a house instead of an apartment.

"Barkeep! More!" Morgan shouts, suddenly thrust back into the present by a shortage of booze.
She swallows her swig.

The others had left, even Jason, and he lived there, but Morgan remained strumming on her bass waiting for her mother to return. Morgan was supposed to get a car when she was sixteen, well she did, but not for long. With a sudden shitstorm in the economic department she found herself selling much of her worldly possessions because it was preferable to starvation.
"Yo! Guess what?" It was Jason who spoke before taking a drink of water.
To his disappointment his question went unanswered by the girls who claimed to have "no time for guessing games" no matter how much he tried to persuade them.
"You guys suck! We got a gig."
"Bullshit!" The response came from Sharon, her guitar almost slipping out from her hands.
"Yes yes! When?" Kelly's excitement was more than enough for the whole band.
"Two weeks. So we need to practice, like a s**t-ton."
Two weeks can pass surprisingly quick. That time came and as they stood backstage Morgan began to tremble, her knees liquified as her heart slowed and her vision blurred.
"Please welcome our next band! The Flaming Flamingoz!"
"Morgan, Morgan come on!" Kelly snapped her fingers in front of her friends face.
"No."
"What? What the hell do you mean no? Get your a*s out there." She began to pull her friend up but she just fell on her face.
"Oh s**t! Morgan! Are you okay?"

"Alright lady, you're cut off." The bar tender places his hand over the glass pulling it back.
"No! You f**k! Booze! Ice! In that glass! Now!"
"No more!"
Morgan sits on the curb, the water from a not to previous rain soaking into her jeans. A different sort of water from her eyes soaks her face.

She didn't remember coming back into her room, but there was her ceiling. Did they play? She couldn't remember that either. With a pain in her neck that only grew worse she turned her head to see the clock, which flashed, because she forgot to reset it when the power went out, seven months ago. Her phone on the other hand tells her a more accurate date.
She sends a quick text to Kelly and soon learns the tale of her failure.
She sat up that night with her phone in her hands constantly typing, but never actually sending anything. She worked at her message chipping at it, she was a sculptor and her letter was a rock. She told the Flamingoz to find a new bassist, and they did.

She's not even that drunk. They shouldn't of kicked her out. Morgan trudges along the street still wet from the tears and the rain.
"Planetary Records! Deals so great it's out of this world!" Morgan looks across the way at the place she had dreamed of in her youth, the place where the Flaming Flamingoz are in this moment, recording without her.
Her eyes flood some more and she looks away. She continues her march of shame, it ends at another stool, by another bar, and another glass of whiskey, being slowly diluted with tears.