Fiction
The Girl with Purple Hair
A show thats out of this world
The club was packed.
Packed to the rim. The kind of crowd that makes the fire marshal nervous and creates steam on the windows.
And the crowd was moving.
The people inside writhed and swayed and rubbed against each as one giant organism with a thousand arms and legs.
He had their attention. He always did. Ever since he was a child he had an ethereal ability to make people listen when he sang. More than one writer said they were in a trance at his show. He thought it was a bit over the top but he liked it just the same.
This was it, he thought. This is the perfect way to do this.
Sure he had played bigger venues but he’d always love these little clubs. He forced the label to schedule a couple like this every tour.
He wanted to be up close with the audience. He wanted to see them jumping to the beat. He wanted to see them singing along with him.
And truth be told, he liked seeing the girls lose their minds when he nailed a solo.
It was dark save for the purple lights making everyone inside looking like an alien species.
