DEVASTATOR.
I. Mustard Gas

Light the cigarette, listen for your cue; And 3, 2, 1…a thrash of metal, clanging and ear aching sound blasts through the stadium. In all his glory and kingliness, he stands, hands crossed across his chest, face shadowed by his bangs. His royal court stands to his right and his left, slamming their instruments with picks and drumsticks. At the sound of a piercing scream, he raises his head. All can see clearly that the scream is coming from his own hoarse throat. The cheers echo loudly as the bass shakes the insides of the viewers and players alike. Sounding like a demon, he distorts his voice and screams the lyrics with all his might:

Dreams vanquished; an outcast loved by all humanity. Breath in the sweet pineapple spice, the flavor blasts your brains out and leaves you blind. Five weeks to go, lungs collapse. Choking up your ambitions, gagging out your last words: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

And it’s hard to accept that twenty-four hours ago I was a hero. A subsequent statistic, conjunctivitis burns like lemon juice. Weapons of mass destruction; devastation.

‘It’s ironic,’ he muses, ‘how these women worship he who sings of violence and bloody deaths nowadays.’

It has become a routine for Lukas Leroy and his three band mates. He sighs in silence, each concert got fewer and fewer people. He was a greedy man; the smaller the audience, the less enthusiasm he felt.

He puffed on his cigarette, breathing in the sweet, musky smell. As the band left stage, his bassist slapped him five. Sweating profusely from the performance, Lukas collapsed onstage, laughing loudly and tiredly. He was becoming delirious and he knew it.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood finally, and sauntered into the VIP section of the stadium. A more comfortable place to lie stood before him. He threw his coat off and once again collapsed – this time onto a plush red sofa.

Screaming fans rudely awakened him outside his door soon afterward. He cursed just like he imagined the soldiers in his song to and squeezed his eyes shut, frustration draining out of him, ‘Why bother?’

Girls of the night knew their way around town.

This being said, it wasn’t often one dropped by somewhere they hadn’t been or met someone new. This made life a bit dull for Mamie. She longed for the excitement of a career beyond this. But Mamie knew the truth – it was all she would ever be. What else is there for a teenage girl, a high school dropout without parents and a home to call her own? What else could she ever be? If only things had been different. Back then it was…no.

There’s no changing the past. She knew this. She had hoped for it for too long. Even with this outlook, she knew she would make it. She had to make something out of her life. If she didn’t…what would she have to prove herself except for a bra full of money?

“Mamie!” squealed a scantily clad blonde-haired girl.

She turned quickly. “Lin! It’s good to see you!” Lin was a friend of Mamie’s, another girl caught up in the world of fascist men.

She was more suited to this lifestyle than Mamie was. Mamie admitted that at times she enjoyed her work but Lin almost always did.

“Mamie, newsflash! A street girl from the Yellow Light District told me she saw Lukas Leroy of Mass Murder. He was wandering around with some of his bodyguards outside her joint! What a gig, huh? What if he wants one of us for a music video or something like that?”

Mamie grinned sheepishly. “Don’t get your hopes up. There are at least a hundred of us.”

Secretly, though, Mamie longed to see him for herself. If she just had one chance…She nodded, reassuring herself. She would make it happen.