A singer is killed in a car accident, but he and his band are so famous that the secret police sets up a plot to hide this fact from public opinion, dragging the rest of «The Sorcerers» into this conspiracy the dead man does not agree at all.
So he starts telling them what to do and what not to do.
This short story is
based on an internet legend, never proven, about a similar story
involving an important rock-and-roll band.
I hope you like the story.
I'll present you a short fragment right at the beginning of this short story:
Hey, boys!, tell him to go to bloody hell! Come on! He’s a bastard, he only wants to get a medal from his bosses, a badge to prove he’s the best bastard in his class room of bastards. Tell him you are not in for that! Do it now! And fast!
Well, I could see that was to no avail. It was useless my shouting at you, twits. Shame on you, Paul. It was not because I paid attention to your shit that night that I fled: it was your lack of sensitivity which hurt me, friends. But it hurts no more. My accident had nothing to do with you, Paul, Ricky, Gordon. I just had to leave the place, so I left. And then I met that idiot, Lindsay, who thought I was that famous singer, Pete Mackenzie, and she thought you can fall on me while I’m driving and not have an accident. She should have walked on the rain for the rest of her life, she idiot.
And then, you scum, you think you can’t do without me. Of course you can, you cunts! You needn’t be four to keep on business. Just think what I’d do. We were a band of four, all right, but think a band of three is part of a band of four; the biggest part, in fact, the most important part. I could still inspire you. But you just thought of your own feelings, you were just conscious of your own grief. And that made you miss the train to liberty and your own goals. You allowed that serpent, Manuel, expel you out of Paradise. Aren’t you ashamed of that?
He
told you many youngsters would commit suicide if they learnt I had been
killed in an accident. So what? What has that to do with you? It is
none of your business. It is their own decision. It is the Queen’s, the
police’s, their own fathers or mothers’ problem, but not your
business. Ha, but you were mean there… You thought «The Sorcerers» was
something greater than a pop music band. You believed all that rubbish
about a social phenomenon, you three boys who had just come out of the
gutter. I should have never died and let you play the fool. And yet, it
is not my business…; after all you are all grown-ups, you idiots.
Do you know what I’d have done if I had been in your place and
any of you in mine? Call the police, I mean the real police, and
the media. And tell Manuel to fuck off. I’d also have asked fans for
responsibility and question themselves what their idol would want them
to do. And underline that life is the greatest path to follow at all
times.