Page 91 of Pride
I swallowed, feeling sick as I read the title of the video, ‘S.K.A.M. Performance, Italy.’
I should’ve walked away and spoken to Alex about it when he got home. He’d told me this fucker was locked up. That he was in a secure unit and wouldn’t be let out for a long time.
So why was he in Italy performing like nothing had happened?
What the fuck was going on?
Morbid curiosity got the better of me, and with a shaky hand, I moved the mouse and clicked the play button to start the video. Then I sat forward, feeling tension in every inch of my body as I watched the performance play out.
At the beginning, I could hear the murmur of voices as the people waited for the show to start. It looked like it’d been recorded in an old warehouse, and on the back wall, at the rear of the building, were the words ‘Life in Reverse’ projected onto the brick with stark white lights.
Eventually, the murmur of voices died down, and the sound of a life support machine flatlining, with the familiar constant burrrrrr, sounded throughout the warehouse.
Two figures dressed all in black came running into shot from the bottom of the screen, pushing a gurney through the crowds with a body bag on it. When they reached the front, they moved to face the audience, their faces hidden behind black masks. One of them unzipped the body bag, and the other picked up two shock pads from a defibrillator.
A mechanical voice boomed, “Stand clear,” as he placed the pads onto the body in the bag and zapped it. The body jumped, he shocked it again, another jump, and then, the flatline turned to the sound of a pulsing heartbeat on a monitor.
They’d brought him back to life.
The heartbeat turned into thumping bass as the body in the bag sat up, swivelled to face the crowd, and then jumped off the gurney.
He stood in front of them in his signature blue boiler suit, but this time he had a black balaclava on and a blue LED mask to cover his face, with crosses for the eyes and a stitched-up mouth. As the crowd cheered, he tilted his head to make himself look more demonic. If that were at all possible.
The two men who’d wheeled him on faded into the background, standing against the wall as the spotlight focused on him. And then a deep voice spoke, and my stomach rolled.
“Life in reverse.
A story must be told.
When as a child he saw more crime.
From his crib that was filled with dirt and grime,
than any child should ever see.
It was such a fucking tragedy.
His life ended the day he came into theirs.
There was no point in wishes, hopes, or prayers.
The innocence of youth violently ripped away.
No one wants another mouth to feed when you can’t afford to pay,
for the drugs, the alcohol, the whores.
All is not as it seems.
Behind closed doors.
When happy smiles hide teeth and claws.
A life in reverse.
Listen as I talk.
About the boy whose life was over,
