Solomon wasn't sure exactly what had awoken him from his peaceful slumber; it could've been the annoyingly loud alarm that rang beside him.

It also could have been the gentle yet firm nudging against his shoulder.

All he knew was that one minute he was in a deep, wonderful, dreamless slumber, and the next he was furiously blinking at the painfully bright morning sunlight. His massive nest of choppy, platinum blond hair seemed to amplify the sun's blinding rays.

As he groggily burrowed deeper into his mountain of blankets, a sweet, musical voice called out, "Come on baby, you gotta get up."

Solomon sleepily looked up from the thick wall of cotton and into the beautiful face of Cyanna, his girlfriend.

Her gorgeous blue hair was teased and laid in front of the right eye. Her body was wrapped in a thick wool comforter.

Finally, he sat up onto the edge of his comfy spring mattress, fully awake now. After pressing his lips firmly onto Cyanna's, Solomon asked quizzically, "Where's the curtains?"

She giggled for a quick moment before answering, "Donnie's sleeping in 'em."

It took a long second for Solomon to fully understand the statement.

"Where is he at now?" He asked.

She shrugged happily before jumping off the bed and slipping into a warm cotton pullover.

He too then swung out of the bed to find Donnie.

As he crossed his bedroom, indistinct metal rang out of his stereo in the living room. When he got closer, he realized it was White Zombie.

As he crossed the living room, he noticed Steven, another of his roommates, sprawled out on the floor. His choppy, close cut black hair lay in front of his eyes, and his mouth was agape.

It took Solomon a moment to notice the mass of blankets curled beside of Steven had a woman beneath them.

Solomon smacked Steven hard on his bare chest, and then stood back as his roommate reeled up from the pain. He laughed hysterically as Steven gingerly touched the massive red mark he now wore.

"Dude, who's that?" Solomon asked as he gestured towards the still sleeping girl beside of Steven.

Steven checked the figure over once or twice before answering, "I honestly can't remember."

They both laughed for a quick second before Solomon told him, "You gotta get up man, we gotta get ready for the show. God, you smell like Vodka and bong water."

He, Steven, Donnie, and their other roommate Marcus were all part of a band called 'Beneath the Briar Patch. They were currently and Indie band stationed in Clinton, a small suburb in Canada.

Their popularity had steadily been growing over the past few months, and the show they were playing tonight was far from a normal one.

It would be their biggest show to date.

Before this, they'd only played to five or ten of the friends, but today their audience would be a roomful of strangers.

Solomon's stomach churned with excitement as he thought of the show.

Staring out over a sea of people, their bodies slamming and moving together in joyous anger; their passionate screams of emotion ringing out as the hard, pounding music reverberated inside of them. At least that is what he hoped it would be like.

As he entered the kitchen, the first thing he sensed was the over powering scent of coffee as it permeated the air.

Sitting at their small dining table, with a notebook clutched in his left hand, was their guitarist Marcus. His hot pink, shoulder length hair glowed blindingly in the bright morning light.

In his right hand, he twirled a straight razor through his fingers like a poker chip, never once cutting himself.

After years of practice, Marcus had developed great skill at playing wit the razors as his picks. The sound it drew from the instrument was so beautiful and unique that it more then made up for the hundreds of strings he'd gone through perfecting the art.

Steven, who played the bass, had recently begun learning the technique himself, but he still preferred simply using his fingers.

"Hey man, you're finally awake! 'Bout time." Marcus observed.

"Yeah, I know," Solomon replied. "Where's Donnie at?"

"He passed out in the tub. I already tried to wake him."

As Marcus said this, his current girlfriend, Kriss, Walked into the kitchen and sat upon his lap. Her long, dirty blond hair hung across her face, with several strands of it made into dreadlocks.

After giving Marcus a quick kiss, she looked up at Solomon.

"Hey punk, I got Donnie awake. You guys need to start getting everything together."

"Yes Mom," Solomon called back to her as he went into the bathroom.

They had only known Kriss for a few months, but already she'd bonded with them all.

Since she was often the most mature of them, she had earned the nickname 'Mom'.

Solomon found Donnie leaning over the sink, cleaning a cut on his forehead. He didn't seem to notice Solomon's entrance until Solomon asked, "Where'd you get the cut?"

"I have no fucking idea," He told him, laughing.

Donnie's hair was shaved close on its sides and dyed purple, leaving the top long and hanging over his face.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his black jeans were stained with bleach.

Solomon finally managed to reattach his curtains as everyone began to get ready.

Steven, after showing out his lady friend, pulled on a pair of tight, marker stained jeans and an artfully torn white tee.

Donnie wrapped a thick coat over his bare chest. Since he usually played drums shirtless, he didn't want to bother with one.

Marcus, of course, was already dressed in a long wool black shirt that went down to his thighs. He also wore green trimmed Tripps.

Solomon's wardrobe was one he had been saving until such a show. They'd recently come to call it the 'Cutter Outfit.'

The shirt and pants were pure white, both made of the same cotton fabric. However, the wrists and abdomen of the shirt, along with the thighs of the pants were shredded to ribbons, just enough to show skin, yet still intact. Red paint outlined the cuts.

Finally, they were all ready to load up their equipment.

Whenever going to a show, they always used Steven's blue, sun faded, late 90's van, for the simple reason that the equipment fit.

The place they were going to, a small comic book store, wouldn't be supplying anything, to room was tight inside the van, but finally, with an hour left until show time, they were on the road.

Donnie drove because, even with a slight hangover, he was still the best driver of them all.

As they sped down the highway, Cyanna busied herself with styling Solomon's hair, teasing it and spiking it into various angles.

Marcus lay slumped against the back seat, absently playing with a strand of Kriss' hair as she sat on top of him.

All the while, there was never one silent moment, for the entire drive the van was filled with chatter.

Subject after subject, from health care to happy meals was discussed, but the main topic, of course, was the upcoming show.

Excitement fueled fantasy of what it would be like up there, the feeling of the crowd's footfalls and chants as their band played their hearts out.

They couldn't wait.

Finally, with thirty minutes still left, they arrived.

The interior of the shop was filled with shelf upon shelf stacked with manga and comics. Now, however, those shelves were pushed close against the walls to allow the audience more room.

The stage, a small wooden platform covered in rubber matting, was set against the far back wall.

The second they arrived, the guys started setting up their equipment.

The majority of the time was spent on Donnie's massive drum set. It was essentially four basic drum sets lined up into a complete circle, and it took up the better half of the stage.

Slowly, the small shop began to fill to its capacity with the murmuring chatter of eager fans and curious newcomers.

Finally, the scheduled time had come.

Donnie jumped onto the 360 swivel stool at the center of his drum set as Steven began a slow, guttural bass rhythm.

Once Marcus began his melodic looping intro, Solomon tightly gripped the mic.

As he looked out upon the sea of swelling forms, he felt a great intake of air, like just before a great storm.

He set his bare feet firmly onto the matted surface; like always he was performing with no shoes. He loved the organic feeling it brought upon him.

Then, after counting away the notes in his head, Solomon erupted in a deep, primal scream.

Like a dam bursting, piercing, melancholy music flooded from the stage and washed over the crowd.

Donnie beat the feral backbone of the song out rapidly; all the while furiously spinning like a gyroscopic puppet.

The crowd, instantly becoming one with the music, began to jump and slam their bodies into one another as Solomon belted out "Leave me alone in my insanity; your broken smile is lost on me!"

As he did so, he melodically wrapped the mic cord around his neck, not enough to impede upon his singing, but enough for him to feel it.

Marcus beautifully ran his fingers along his pure white guitar, spewing forth sharp, ever more complicated rhythms. His body was jerking and shaking like a malfunctioning android.

Steven continued adding power behind the music with his steady sound, stooping like a great, dark sculpture of a vulture.

Song after song they played, with each increasing the crowd's excitement, adding to the show's complexity.

In their fourth song, titled "Romeo Was a Pussy," Marcus sliced a long, deep gash into his hand using his 'pick', and stained his guitar with his blood.

All the while, Solomon lay on his stomach, pouring out his voice with Steven grinding his booted foot into his skull.

As Solomon began their seventh song, "Flavor of Pleasure," Donnie began to use thick knots of rope attached to chains to play.

Once Solomon jumped into the crowd yelling out, "I taste your pleasure with my callous tongue!" Donnie set the knots on fire. Using a fire proof gel, he continued to pound out a rapid tribal beat until they were nothing but ashes.

Once the final, fleeting chord of their last song faded into nonexistence, Solomon, out of breath, said to the crowd, "We are Beneath the Briar Patch! Thank you all; we love you! Goodnight!"

Slowly, and with great reluctance, the audience dissipated, but not without giving their complements.

The drive home was far more hectic than the ride up.

Everyone was bouncing around inside the van, restless with adrenaline.

Steven had found a new lady friend at the show and was now directing his full attention to her.

Marcus sat with most of his torso out of the window, drinking in the freezing Canadian air and stroking Kriss' delicate curves.

As they all entered their house, each returned to their respective rooms, the adrenaline long worn off.

Solomon and Cyanna slumped onto their bed, carrying a slight buzz. As they did so, Solomon slowly began to caress her form.

At three in the morning, they finally collapsed, naked into each other's arms.