West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

The movie ended. The band and Kerri sat, unmoving, staring at the tiny screen as the credits rolled into black.

"Wow," Daniel said at last.

"No shit." Mitchell dropped the handful of Kerri's hair he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "That was … some intense shit."

"So," Eric said from his spot down by Mitchell and Kerri's feet, "if you could travel through time, where would you go?" He stood up and fiddled with the TV suspended over Trevor.

"I'd go be the famous Daniel. Daniel in the Lion's Den."

Mitchell tipped his head backwards, trying to see the drummer. The only thing in view was the roof of the bus. "Didn't he die or something?"

"Eventually, yeah, but who cares? The story's immortal," Daniel said before Eric could jump in and correct things. Or, worse, preach.

"So's ShapeShifter."

Eric cocked his head like he had to consider that. "But Daniel's story was worthy of immortality because he was pious. Why are we worthy of immortality?"

"Because we're ShapeShifter," Mitchell said. Like they needed to ask?

"Time travel, M," Kerri said. "Where would you go?"

He didn't need to think about it. "I'd go work with Les Paul in the early days. I'd be a guitar master."

"Some say you already are," she said.

"Yeah, but I'd be more of one. I'd be more than just a player."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes.

"Me, I'd go back and meet Jesus," Eric said.

Mitchell hoped no one would ask the guitarist to elaborate. Every now and then, the guy went on these religious tears; clearly, the movie had awoken a new one in him. He'd have to make sure their copy of the flick disappeared somewhere. Maybe some fan would want it.

"What about you, Rusty?" the supposedly-sleeping Trevor asked. "Want to go back and be the hot, passionate woman who made Van Gogh cut his ear off? Want to inspire someone to do something even dumber?"

"Do you have any idea," Kerri started, vibrating with a sudden passion that Mitchell hadn't expected, "how women artists were treated back then? If -- and that's a huge if -- they were allowed to paint, they were outcasts. Usually, they were told to forget about any ambitions they had for themselves. Go be a wife, they were told. Have babies. Run a house. Be invisible."

Mitchell grabbed at her as she stood. He wasn't sure which was worse, a religious sermon from Eric or a rant from his wife.

"So what the fuck do you think I'd gain from going back in time?" Kerri shrugged off Mitchell's hands and stepped away, closer to Trevor. Who still hadn't opened his eyes or moved. "Do you really think I'm dumb enough to think that this isn't the best time in world history to be a woman? Do you really think I'd trade in everything I've got for that?"

"For a day?" Eric said. "Just one day, Kerri, and then you could come back."

"I'm not going to work with Les Paul for just one day!"

"Mitchell, please. And no, Eric, I wouldn't, and don't start in on that bit about how I'll better appreciate the here and now. I appreciate it plenty, believe me."

"Funny," Trevor said. "I thought you only appreciated Mitchell."

Kerri left the front lounge at about the same instant that Mitchell lunged for Trevor. There'd be no sleeping for the bass player for awhile yet. Which was, of course, why Trevor had put on the whole sleep show in the first place.

But it didn't change the outcome.



How many prompts can one piece of fiction cover? We've got Sunday Scribblings, Writer's Island and, of course, Rhian's Poetry Train. No Weekend Wordsmith this week; the prompt wasn't for me.

Labels: creative writing, Daniel, Eric, fiction, Kerri, Mitchell, outtake, Poetry Train, ShapeShifter, touring, Trevor