A true story.

I was at a gig with dad one day when a strange thing happened.

First of all, the room setup was very homely, which was odd when it was in a public place.

Second of all, the headliner insisted that two people there go along with the idea that he was dying (when he wasn’t and would need need them to take over throughout the night.

He said it would be “beautiful for the audience.”

Dad was extra up-for-the-crack that night so he eagerly agreed to take part in this as well as this strange old woman who seemed to have noticed me right from the start.

When it came time for the headliner to start acting out and clutching his chest, my dad stepped in and started reading one of the poems the headliner had prepared.

His reading was awful.

He kept spluttering and and reading everything too quickly and too loudly.

Everyone smiled at him absently, not even understanding anything that he was trying to say.

Fortunately the headliner, not even pretending to be on deaths door anymore, interrupted him part way and started reading the rest of the poem over the top of my dad.

Like a translator.

When dad was done, the headliner did a couple more songs until he mock fainted and had to be dragged off the stage again.

This was when the old woman stepped in.

She circled the room like a shark, affably asking people if they wanted to be poisoned as part of her act.

When she got to me, she started telling me how there was three different stages of poison as part of her act and that we would build up to stage three together, which can be fatal.

Of course I declined.

It mainly was because I was uncomfortable with how close she got to me.

It was almost intimate.

I felt pressured by the people around me, their watching eyes were all telling me to say yes.

So I said no.

The old man who was sat next next to me on the other hand agreed to be poisoned by “Granny Poison” which immediately made me feel like a pussy.

Granny Poison gave him some of “the lighter stuff” and he started to give a running commentary on the experience. He was sat in a wooden chair, microphone in hand.

“Its… its not too bad actually… its acidic… but kind of sweet…”

I felt jealous of him then. Everyone around me was hanging off of this guy’s every word.

“It’s definitely kicking in now.”

I ran out of there in disgust. Fear too. It was beginning to get a little cultish.

Once I got outside I remembered that the gig was taking place in a disused museum. I forgot we were in a museum. How did I forget that?

I watched people walk by. Soon enough I was really bored and decided to go back in again.

When I went back in though, the layout was completely different. There was a set of stairs in front of me that weren’t there before.

The lights were dimmer than I remembered too.

I could still hear the music and the audience ahead of me so I must have been in the right building still.

I carried on walking towards the music when I realised the ground below me wasn’t made of concrete anymore, it was dirt.

“This is odd in a corridor.” I thought. “Even a really avant-garde museum corridor is pushing it.”

Suddenly, a huge snake appeared to the right of me and tried to swing its huge body at me.

I dodged it just in time but felt the wind of it passing me by.

I started to run.

To the left of me were rats then. I still could hear the music, but I didn’t feel any closer than before. They were eating something half-alive and half-dead. They left me alone but I wanted to puke.

I saw increasingly grotesque wild-life appear down this dirt-corridor until I reached a point where I thought the end was in sight.

Then there was another appearance. A strange, cloaked figure behind me. As I turned, the corridor became a leave-filled forest.

The dark blue cloak covered their entire body and they walked very slowly with the aid of a walking stick, an old branch.

I sensed danger as they plodded towards me and I ran faster than I ever had done before.

But it was too late.

They already had too much power over me and I may as well have stood still. So I decided to turn back and face this person (or thing) head on.

I got closer and closer until I was level with what would be a face if there was one to be found.

The last thing I saw before the cloak took completely surrounded me was this text:

“Look at those you emulate.”

I guess I’ll never know the meaning of that.

If only I’d have stayed at that gig.

If only I’d have tasted Granny Poison’s Sweet Nectar.