This Rotten World (Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

wasn't drunk. She was
just so ill that she had no idea what was really going on. She was an older
lady, her hair white and curly, the fine gray down on her lips shone underneath
the fluorescent lights, slick with her own mucus. Her husband stood off to the
side, wringing his hands in a concerned manner. As she was examining the woman,
who was clad only in a stained nightgown that clung to her sweaty body, she
leaned to the side and deposited some bile on the floor.
    Down the
hall, she could hear a commotion building. She heard the shattering of glass
and muted yelling and thought, "Great... another junkie." As she
installed an I.V. on the patient in front of her, she had no idea how wrong she
was.

Chapter 6: Clara
     
    The walls
dripped moisture. The hot breath of the packed concert hall's sweaty patrons
clung to her own sticky body. The music thumped, vibrating through the air and
her body as she ran through the circle, pumping her fist and screaming along
with the music.
    Clara
should be sleeping, or at the very least, dead tired. Tuesday night was not the
time to be out at a punk rock show. She thought she had left that phase of her
life behind her when she had been accepted into graduate school. She should be
at home, in bed, dreaming of case files and precedents, and bar exams. Instead,
she was in this crappy dive, sweating away her evening, her white wifebeater
clinging to her ribs and breasts.
    But what
are you going to do?  When Electric Fever, the quirkiest, cultiest, Japanese
punk rock band that ever existed suddenly shows up in town, you drop whatever
the hell you're doing and get your ass to the show.
    Things
wouldn't be so bad if Electric Fever hadn't been exactly what they were,
snotty, self-involved cokeheads with a complete lack of regard for their fans.
Clara supposed you could afford to be that way if you only ever toured once or
twice every four years. She had showed up at 11 with her boyfriend Courtney,
hoping to sneak in, down a few drinks, and catch Electric Fever's set, but when
she had showed up, the first opening band was only just hitting the stage.
    They were a
lackluster local act; the type of band that only played gigs in local venues
because they couldn't afford to call in sick to their day jobs the following
morning. Clara and Courtney listened to one song; they were thoroughly
unimpressed, so they walked up to the bar, ordered some PBR's, and stood there
sipping them while trying to have a conversation, which was nearly impossible
amid the eardrum-splitting feedback blasting out of the clubs speakers. The
club was relatively new and had the smell of "soon to close" all over
it. That's the way clubs were in the city; here one week and gone the next.
    When
Electric Fever had finally hit the stage, after three more forgettable punk
rock acts, they were just as billed. The lead singer had stormed onto stage, chugged
a beer, and then threw the empty can at his adoring fanbase, all while giving
the middle finger to the crowd. His name was Ace Fever, the coolest Japanese
man that had ever existed. It was a wonder how he was still alive. Behind him,
Hey Fever, the drummer, and Jungle Fever, the bass player entered in matching
leather outfits. The studs and buckles glittered underneath the multicolored
lights that hung over the stage and turned mere mortals into momentary gods.
    The crowd
had surged forward, and they hadn't even played a note yet. Ace Fever stood on
the stage, regarding the crowd from behind his dark sunglasses, his arms
crossed. With his left arm, he slowly reached for the microphone, and when his
fingertips touched the mic, Electric Fever sprung into action, assaulting the audience
with a barrage of unintelligible distortion, screaming Japanese, and electric
guitar fury. Flames shot out of Ace's mic stand and the room began to naturally
spin in a fury of twisted limbs and energy as a circle pit turned the middle of
the dance floor into a sweat-slicked meat grinder. She loved every