Twelve

Ronald was not having a good time. He’d agreed to go to the gig for his son’s birthday, but was struggling to understand how anyone could enjoy this kind of music.

His son had always had questionable taste, but this was too much. It was essentially 12 drummers drumming on the same kettle drum. At the same time.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

For the first minute or two Ronald thought it was a theatrical gimmick and expected some dancers or guitarists or singers to start making their way out to join in.

After 45 minutes, he realised that this was the show.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

To make matters worse, he hadn’t even managed to find his son. Ronald was alone, stuck in the crowd. A room full of 20-somethings who were too cool to even dance. They all just stared at the front, motionless.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

It was terrible.

So terrible in fact, that when his son was carried on stage by four cloaked men to be sacrificed, he was kind of pleased just to see a little bit of something new.

© Carl Burkitt 2018

Drum

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