Fiction Fragment: Band Night

I started this last night but wasn’t quite sure where I was going to go with it, so I’ll stick it up here as a fragment – and if inspiration wanders back I’ll develop it further:

The band played on. That was what stuck with him as a memory later. In the middle of all the unfurling chaos; the explosions and sparks, the screams and shouts; the band played on. Their clothing was pristine and uniform. Their hair gelled and teased to coiffed perfection, they looked like they had stepped off an album cover, or a promotional photoshoot.

Even when a seven foot biker was bodily tossed at the stage, the lead singer merely swayed his upper torso a lazy few inches out of the way. He didn’t break a sweat, the beat, or his rhythm. The drummer broke the biker’s neck instead as he tried to clamber back upright on the drumset.

Short Story/Drabble: The Fight

Five seconds into the fight, and Bob knew it was a mistake to have placed the bet. Never mind the ethics of it, there was the very real chance that any action in the ring was going to equalled by action taken outside it when Hannibal found out he had no money.

With a growing sense of appalled immanent doom, he watched as limbs flailed between the equally matched opponents. Harnesses contained the fighters, and reins attached to them were quickly deployed when voices of authority rang out to halt the barbarism.

“You’re making our babies wrestle? What’s your problem?”

Fiction Fragment: Roadside Carnage

I really do get the strangest ideas while driving around. This was inspired by someone I encountered while driving in West London today. I’ve no plans to expand it so I thought I’d just bounce it out there:

The old man walked out into the street without another word. The grenade that had suddenly appeared in his hand looked no more dangerous than an apple, and no one paid him any attention as he ambled into the middle of the road. He weaved through gaps in the traffic with casual affability and without pause.

A couple of cars threaded between him and the guards as he reached the central paint lines, and he popped the live bomb through the open driver’s window of the first vehicle. It was a casual motion, made as the sedan passed him, and he continued his path to pass behind the second car at the same unhurried pace.

To anyone who hadn’t been paying attention, it would have seemed a miracle of good luck that he was shielded from the resulting blast by that second car.

He stepped forward and plucked the rifle from the hands of one of the surprised guards, just as everyone began to react to the explosion. Three shots in quick succession saw the other guards fall before the first even realised what was happening. He was still reaching for his sidearm when the old man clubbed him down with the butt of his own weapon and dropped it beside him.

“Where did you dig him up from?” whispered Tom, “and how big were the Keep Out signs?”

“I thought he was with you.” Jen replied. “Do you think he’ll notice if we run away now?”