"That’s it! I’m done."
The drummer grabbed his bag, sticks clattering to the floor as he stormed out. The studio door slammed shut behind him with a final, echoing bang.
"Adam," David growled.
"What?" Adam shot back.
David’s stare could’ve melted steel.
"He was shit anyway," Adam muttered.
"That’s the tenth one, Adam," David snapped.
"David. He. Was. Shit. You want to build something real and settle for off-tempo garbage? What are we even doing this for?"
David let out a long, slow breath.
‘If you weren’t my brother…’
"It’s not about him being bad," he said, trying to stay calm. "We could’ve just told him it wasn’t gonna work out. You didn’t have to annihilate the guy."
Adam threw his hands up. "I was honest!"
"Oh yeah?" David deadpanned. "Let me jog your memory:
‘Do you even know what a metronome is, or did you just close your eyes and pray?’
‘My dead fucking uncle can blast better from his grave.’
And the classic:
‘Move over, let me show you how it’s supposed to be fucking done.’"
Adam rolled his eyes. "All of that was true."
David shook his head.
‘He has the social grace of a concrete block.’
"Maybe. But you don’t have to say it like you’re auditioning for ‘Biggest Dick in the Room.’ Nobody’s gonna stick around if you keep this up."
Adam’s shoulders dropped slightly, something unspoken flickering across his face. His voice lowered.
"Look, I just… I don’t have time for amateurs. We’re building something real. If someone can’t keep up, they’re out."
David heard the hitch in his brother’s breath. Softened.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if you scare off the next drummer, I might actually quit."
Adam didn’t respond. He just looked away.
Right then, David’s phone buzzed.
"Hey… yeah, Larisa, right? I remember. Tonight?"
He looked at Adam. Put the call on mute.
“Mind if uh… Marissa comes?”
Adam rolled his eyes. David took that as a yes.
"Yeah, sure. You can come over."
Adam groaned audibly.
"Which means you’re staying at Mom’s tonight," David said, trying not to smirk. "Me and uh... her… Need privacy."
"Why does this feel like punishment..." Adam muttered.
David ignored him, flipping through the schedule on his phone as they packed up.
Some band by the name “Aetherwake” had booked the studio for recordings next week. They seemed pretty serious.
Then a notification came up: a gig downtown tomorrow night.
He paused at the door.
"Hey, Ad. Want to hit this show tomorrow?"
"Who’s playing?"
"Horror Stuff, Blood Rain, Chizzled... and one called Somebody Forget My Coffin, if I read that right."
Adam’s eyes lit up, just a flicker.
"Yeah. Sounds decent."
"Great. We could both use the noise."
***
Chapter 1: Built from Bruises | 3rd Person POV
Adam was smoking outside the venue, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded beneath a curtain of hair.
David spotted him from across the street: still, silent, with that usual coil of tension in his shoulders.
David had a glow about him. The kind of glow that said “I had a good time last night.”
Adam took a drag and scowled.
“Hope you had fun.”
David sighed. “Tell me you didn’t punch Samuel.”
Adam exhaled, smoke curling up like steam off a burned fuse.
“Just so you know, I’d rather sleep in the street next time.”
David scratched the back of his neck, guilt creeping into his expression.
“Sorry, man.”
“Huh.” Adam flicked ash off his cigarette without looking at him.
Inside, the venue was big but run-down: peeling walls, sticky floors, busted neon over the bar. It had the bones of a place that used to be alive and loud every night, before rent hikes and half-hearted renovations.
Adam slipped David a crumpled bill.
“If you’re really sorry, go get me a beer.”
“Adam. You’re eighteen. You can get it yourself.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“C’mon.” Adam jerked his chin toward the bar. “The bartenders are all… you know.”
David followed his gaze. A couple of young women were pouring beers, laughing with customers, flipping their hair in slow motion. One of them was definitely sneaking glances at Adam.
David sighed. ‘He’s not shy around mosh pits or cops. But God forbid someone pretty makes eye contact.’
“Fine.”
He trudged off.
Adam lingered, scanning the venue. A sound tech was tuning drums. One band was still setting up gear. The crowd trickled in: mostly older punks, a few goths, some kids dressed in patchy black denim.
‘This might actually get crowded,’ Adam thought. ‘Decent turnout for a Thursday.’
Then something caught his eye.
‘No fucking way.’
Someone was checking out the merch table wearing an Excruciation shirt.
Adam froze. That band was sacred, vicious, obscure… maybe ten people in town even knew them.
He wanted to say something. Compliment the shirt. Start a conversation. Something.
But his brain short-circuited.
‘Do I really want to initiate social interaction?’
The window passed.
Too late.
A classmate, Natalie, was already beelining toward him.
“Adam! Heeey! I didn’t know you were coming!” She beamed.
Adam crossed his arms, stared somewhere near her shoes.
“It’s not like I put it out there for the world.”
A pause. Awkward. Natalie quickly thought of something else.
“I haven’t seen you at school lately…”
“I skipped.” He tried to sound casual, disinterested. But she didn’t take the hint.
“By the way, your hair looks perfect today!...”
She reached toward a strand, fingers raised like a question. Adam flinched. Took a step back, the move sharp and instinctual.
“Mmm. Yeah. See you around.”
He turned before she could say anything else.
She hesitated, smile fading.
“Yeah… See you around.”
“Omg, was that… HIM?”
“Nat! What did he say to you??”
“I can’t believe I just saw him from this close!”
Nat’s friends murmured as Adam got away from there.
Adam just scowled.
***
David eventually found Adam near the edge of the stage, hunched like he was trying to merge with the speakers.
He handed him the beer.
Adam took it with a muttered “Thanks.” Then, more animated:
“Hey!... Did you see the guy with the Excruciation shirt? Short, kind of scrappy?”
David shook his head.
“Surprised anybody even knows that band.”
***
The lights dimmed.
The first riff punched out like a war drum, bass rumbling through the concrete floor. Adam felt it in his chest: the aggression, the noise, the sheer force of it.
‘Good,’ he thought. ‘I need this.’
He cracked his knuckles.
‘Think about Samuel. Think about every time he got in my face.’
***
The night before
Adam’s stepfather, Samuel, had been on a roll. Adam couldn’t walk to the kitchen without triggering something.
“You think you’re some rockstar already? You’re a damn kid playing pretend!”
His voice filled the house: sharp, bloated, too loud for the room. Adam had just stood there, jaw tight.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t yell back.
He’d looked Samuel in the eye, calm but stone cold.
Fists clenched at his sides.
“Yeah,” Adam said. “But at least I’m not pretending you’re not the reason I sleep with the door locked.”
Silence.
Samuel opened his mouth, then closed it.
Didn’t say a word.
For once.
‘Just a couple years ago, that would’ve ended different,’ Adam thought.
That night, he didn’t sleep much. Head pounding. Mood like a pressure cooker.
Now
The pit opened like a mouth and Adam dove in.
Every shove, every elbow… Catharsis.
Bodies slammed together like wrecking balls, boots crashing, fists rising, sweat slick on black t-shirts. The floor pulsed. The sound made your ribs rattle.
Perfect.
Someone cannonballed into the center. Adam caught the brunt and staggered, adrenaline crackling under his skin.
Then… WHAM.
Someone hit his side hard. He stumbled, flailing. His right hand slammed into the stage edge… bad angle.
CRACK.
He bit back a shout. Finger bent wrong. Pain screamed through him.
Still attached. Still moving.
Another body knocked into him. He roared and shoved back… Hard.
Someone dropped to the floor with a thud.
Adam blinked, realizing what he’d done. The pit didn’t wait. Boots were already flying.
He grabbed their arm and hauled them up before they got trampled.
“You good?”
Bloody nose. Excruciation logo.
Wait…
It was a girl.
“Hey, you were the one with…”
“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” she yelled.
“THIS PIT’S INSANE!”
Then the breakdown dropped.
Crowd surfers.
Foam. Strobes. Mayhem.
And… she was gone.
Adam clutched his hand to his chest and staggered back, panting. Grinning like an idiot.
And then he heard David’s voice booming through the monitors:
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!”
***
Outside, minutes later
Adam sat on the sidewalk, hand wrapped in a cold beer can.
David stood over him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“What if you can’t play?”
Adam smirked.
“What difference does it make? We don’t even have a drummer.”
“Don’t make me start.”
Adam tilted the beer can up to his lips with his left hand, pinky on the other hand still swelling.
“Heh.”
David looked like he wanted to kill him.
Adam exhaled through his nose.
Tilted his head back, eyes on the late light slicing through the power lines.
“I didn’t hit him,” he said finally.
David knew who he meant. Samuel.
“Could’ve. Wanted to.”
David didn’t respond. Didn’t move.
Adam glanced over.
“I walked away. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Still silence.
Then Adam added, quieter:
“Didn’t break the guitar either.”
“Your hand’s fucked.”
“Still got the left one. Can fake my way through the set like a sad, one-handed prince.”
David stared.
Adam met his eyes this time.
Held it.
“I won’t blow this. I promise.”
David sighed and rubbed his face with both hands.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I learned from the best.”
That finally earned a twitch of David’s mouth.
Adam grinned. One-sided. Beer still cold in his hand.
Ok! Readers, listen up. This story is called REAPERAND. It’s about 3 stubborn idiots, A Doom\ Sludge\ Hardcore band, teenage drama, and questionable life choices. Expect chaos.
won’t have to worry about sudden vanishing acts.
