Doose's Last Performance, Part 3

This is the next installment in The ShambElla Saga, and the final installment of three about Doose's Last Performance. For my part, given an opportunity to comment on these events irrespective of the Narrator's snark, I'd like to point out that I understand the need for gentility and compassion, but I am often left to wonder: where's the compassion for those who must step in and do the right thing when everything goes wrong? Again, I ask: Who saves the sacrifice?

Table of Contents:

Previous Chapter:

Doose's Last Performance, Part 3: Weeping with the Angels at the Beauty of the Light

The companions made camp for the night in a clearing in the forest, just as Damien suggested.

When they were all settled in, the EYEGOONS buzzed, and they saw Doose’s last performance.

By the time he got to the last song, the crowd had dwindled.

Doose was shitfaced, but no less eloquent, aside from the occasional exchange with Peter, which everyone enjoyed as much as the rest of the performance.

“Play Freebird!”

“Never heard that one before! Oh, and Peter?”

“Fuck you too, Doose!”

“Ah, nothing like an old friend who knows what you’re laying down! Anyway, this last song is one you’ve never heard before. I wrote it thinking about a Lady I know, and about my mom, and about all the people I love—yes, even you, Peter!—because I know that though we’ve all had tragedy in our lives, none of us would trade the incredible beauty with which we’ve been gifted just to avoid an occasional sad and lonely day. Think of this one as a prayer.”

Everything seems broken

But everything is fine,

So take this small token

And hold the line.

Everyone is chokin’

On the sands of time

But the sea is soakin’

A new paradigm.

Rising from the deep,

A new form of life,

Where the demons creep

On the edge of a knife.

Now the time is comin’

For the end of strife,

This guitar keeps strummin’

The new chord of life

Where the angels weep

At the beauty of the light,

Consigning to the deep

The worst of the blight!

No way out but through

The vision of the night

For the contrast proves

The beauty of the light!

We don’t serve your masters

Or their disasters,

We only serve the beauty

And the meaning of the light!

We are weeping with the angels

At the beauty of the light…

After the final note cleared, the small crowd clapped and hooted and roared at first, but the clapping began to slow, and Doose watched, with the first tears seeping from his eyes, as his old friends shook their heads in confusion.

Their eyes, which were only just a moment ago filled with good cheer, opened wide, and their mouths twitched, and their bodies shook.

Looks of love slowly gave way to sneers of hate.

Doose, who liked to play sitting down, rose from his stool.

Openly weeping, he threw his bass behind him.

He heard it clatter to the floor as he stepped down from the stage and walked behind the bar.

Haley, the bartender, had been his high school girlfriend.

She didn’t even look at him as he reached into his inside flannel pocket and pulled out a small device to leave on the bar.

He walked into the midst of a crowd of just five, and took off the flannel, dropping it to the ground.

His favorite shirt, the one his mom gave him all those Christmases ago, was wrinkled, with ragged edges, little holes, and bleach stains.

The decal on the front was flaked and faded, but it was easy to make out the white horseshoe.

His friends started to growl, bark, and scream.

It wouldn’t be long before they took his life.

Doose, cheeks wet with tears, smiled and waved as the view backed away and out the door, revealing to the companions a sign that Sam and Ella recognized all too well.

It read: The Rusty Barrel.

Next Chapter: