Title Goes Here

     Nate, frontman of one of the latest new age punk rock bands to become known around the world, rested his head on the door frame, hoping some fresh air would help ease the pain of the migraine before the concert, since there were no painkillers around.  He lightly ran his fingers through his lengthy dreadlocks and massaged close to the point of pain.  The stress from the interview had not yet worn off, leaving him a mess, which, for his type of music, was the perfect look.

     Eric, Nate’s bassist, stepped into the room.  “Hey, we’re on in half-” He took in the almost sickly condition of the singer and became deeply concerned.  “Whoa man, you okay? Were you any paler, you’d probably fade away.”

     Nate turned his head slightly and met Eric’s eyes, then quickly averted his gaze.  He was thankful for his band mate’s care, but it made him a bit uncomfortable.
     
     “I’m fine.” Nate gave a short, weak smile to reassure Eric, again meeting his eyes only for a second.  

     “We’re on in half an hour.” Eric finished.  

     Nate nodded in response, then listened to the sound of footsteps gradually grow silent as Eric left the area.  Nate sighed, wishing the colossal headache would quickly recede.  

     Once it was time, Nate made the final preparations to go onstage with the headache still lingering, but he’d just have to ignore it.  Finally, he, along with the rest of his band, stepped on stage, causing the crowd to suddenly roar with enthusiasm.  Nate addressed the crowd with a short, slightly insulting, yet rousing speech that prepared the group of die hard fans for his tongue in cheek music style.  It wasn’t long before he dove into the first song.  Watching the fans feed off the music gave Nate the inspiration that made him a great musician.  When the exhilaration built up, he quickly disappeared to the back of the stage and soon returned with his own bass in hand.  He returned to the front of the stage, forgetting his usually shy tendencies, and started playing.  

     It was rather peculiar, the contrast between his everyday behavior in comparison to his acts on stage.  In his personal life, he had a silent charm about him, but he was simply too shy to become popular, as he easily could have.  Any therapist would have attributed his withdrawn attitude to the lack of attention he received from his parents, but his parents never cared enough to send him to a therapist.  They never saw that he needed that sort of attention.  

     But now, as he so passionately expressed himself through the music, showed a side of him that he'd kept hidden for so long.  His smile, when it was shown through his dreadlocks that were flying about from his thrashing, showed a pride that every fan in the room believed he deserved.  His talent onstage wowed all who stood near.  The sound of his bass shredded through the air, even over the gunshots, which were completely unnoticed until one blasted through Nate’s bass, causing the wood to shatter and splinter any who stood near.  

     The strings whipped back and struck Nate on his throat, barely piercing his skin.  The shock prevented anyone from realizing the bullet entered Nate’s abdomen until he fell to his knees, clutching his side.  He was shocked himself, unable to process the information that the pain screamed out to his mind.  He could have sworn he heard his name shouted from somewhere nearby, but it was hard to tell among the pandemonium.  Many images swirled through his mind.  The faces of his band mates, paramedics, doctors, and what appeared to be various hospital rooms.

     His thoughts remained unclear until he fully awoke in a hospital room.  He couldn’t help but relive the whole scene, and pain shot through his torso once again.  His back arched in a desperate attempt to inch away from the agony.  He wasn’t aware of his writhing until he hit the floor, having wriggled himself off the bed.  The IV needle was yanked out of his arm as he fell, along with the other life supporting tubes and monitor wires that were inserted into his body.  He was overcome by fatigue, and the floor felt unusually cold, as though the chill somehow penetrated his bones. As uncomfortable as he was, he had little desire or strength to get to his feet if it meant putting forth any physical effort.  A few feeble attempts were all he had to give before he dropped in defeat.  He blinked several times, only to find he could not push away the blackness that crawled along his vision and swallowed him forever.