Image courtesy of CEAYR
This is where Jackson moonwalked. Jagger strutted. Dave closes his eyes. T-shirt clings to his damp skin, and guitar strings slice into his fingertips. He rocks a solo that would make Hendrix weep. Tilting his face towards the spotlight, long hair cascading down his back, he is Dave Pearce – Rock God. He breathes in body odour and adoration. Hard work and success.
‘Oi.’ A voice thunders. ‘Don’t touch the instruments.’
Dave’s face flames as he slides the guitar back onto its stand and picks up his broom again. One day. He carries on sweeping the stage. One day.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Hop over to host Rochelle’s blog and read the other entries here.