Deadly Metal Hatchet Fiction: Late Invite?

They’d been waiting for it, saving up the gas money. Driving from Phoenix to Riverview wasn’t going to be cheap. They’d tried lining up some gigs, but it was a bad time of year to do that on your own. People were spending money on presents, not on live shows. The right-sized clubs wanted bands who could draw, not unknowns.

“But we’re not unknown!” Scott had tried arguing. “We’re Deadly Metal Hatchet!” Even telling the club owners and promoters that they were friends with ShapeShifter hadn’t helped.

Still, they weren’t going to miss the annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration up in Riverview. They’d agreed to sleep in their van if they had to, unless they could find a nice girl who was willing to let them crash on her floor. They even agreed they wouldn’t fight for her and her bed.

The only thing they were missing, really, was the invitation.

“What are we gonna do?” Lido asked. “It’s Saturday. The gig’s in two days and we gotta leave like an hour ago if we’re gonna make it there on time.”

Scott shook his head and held his hands up. “There’s nothing we can do. If they didn’t invite us this year, they didn’t invite us.”

“I thought they liked us,” Fozzy said, shaking his head. “Fuckers.”

“They ran that cartoon of the Hatchet last year,” Lido said. “Maybe that’s why they didn’t invite us this year. They need to rotate through all their friends.”

“There are an awful lot of people who are better friends with them than we are,” Scott said.

Fozzy got up and stalked across the room.

Scott shook his head, knowing what was coming next. “Don’t do it, man. They’ll never forgive us.”

“I’m not doing shit,” Fozzy said, bending over the notebook on the table, a pen already in his hand. “The Hatchet is.”

“It may not be personal,” Scott warned. “This might change that.”

Fozzy didn’t answer. He just spread his legs farther apart, bringing his face and body closer to the notebook.

Scott bent over, forearms planted down the length of his thighs, face hidden in his hands. “Fozz…”

“Not me,” the guitarist said. “It’s all the Hatchet’s doing.”

“Dude,” Scott said, standing up and adjusting his glasses. This whole scene hurt, and the Hatchet was only going to make it worse. “They gotta raise money. How much money can we help them raise? If it weren’t for our t-shirts, we’d be broke. It’s all about money, and we can’t help them much. I don’t blame them if they blew us off.”

“Maybe the invite’s just late,” Lido said, glancing nervously at Fozzy’s ass.

“Maybe,” Scott said, giving Lido a grateful look.

“I say we go anyway,” Gecko said. He gave Scott and Lido a small smile. “Maybe we can get tickets or something.”

“With what money?” Scott asked. He shook his head and turned his back on everyone. They just didn’t get it. The band wasn’t bringing in a lot of money. They should be practicing now, not waiting for Fozzy to finish letting the Hatchet destroy them. Letting the Hatchet loose on ShapeShifter… this was suicide of the worst sort.

Fozzy threw the pen down and stalked away. Scott held his breath.

Gecko picked up the drawing.

There was the ShapeShifter logo, or something close enough to it. Just like Scott had expected.

But instead of the Hatchet tearing it apart, the Hatchet lay below it, almost as if it was bowing.

And a tear escaped from its head.

“Maybe our invite is just late,” Gecko said.

“Maybe,” Scott said.

I hope you’ve been following this year’s Musical Hanukkah Celebration posts. Join the fun by getting your hands on the official 2009 t-shirt at the Merchandise Table. Remember that a portion of all profits from the sales of the t-shirts and my own book, The Demo Tapes, will be donated to the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation so that kids can make music of their own. And hopefully be better than the guys in Deadly Metal Hatchet.