A Quiet Halloween

[lucara.livejournal.com]

Clicking the remote she relaxed back into her seat, the old video machine whirling and grinding as it turned the tape back to the beginning again and the screen flickered into life. The handheld camera footage played, the sound slightly distorted and the noise from the crowd almost as loud as the noise from the band but there they were playing away on a small stage with the “Farewell Class of ‘98” poster hanging lopsidedly above them. It was an instrumental piece, that’s why she always chose it; there was Chris on bass, Jason on lead and Amber on drums and they were having the time of their lives.

The tape played on, skipping into more film of live concerts, interspersed with random pieces people had filmed over the years now all compiled onto the one cassette for just these occasions. There she was with Jason at his birthday, then there was Amber talking into the camera in a mock film diary she did once, Chris and Jason trying to learn to skate as she did a voice over for them. There were bits she would have preferred to fast forward over but in the end they were still important, even if a bit on the melancholy side, so she compromised and simply held up a drink in toast to absent friends as she watched.

It was a quiet Halloween; just a night at home with old videos, a bit of music and a few drinks. Somewhere on a message board right now a certain fan would again be posting the conspiracy theory behind the band’s death, and she knew she’d wake up to emails from them, they always found a way to do that. But for now it was just an evening in to remember old times.

(Geist) This is Halloween!

[akonken.livejournal.com]

I spend Halloween alone.

I don't pretend I'm not in, like I know a lot of people do, but my apartment is on the second floor of the building, so I don't get many trick-or-treaters.

Even the dead don't tend to show up. But I light candles for them anyway. I say prayers for the ones who won't be easy to help - the one that's now just a pile of chains at the dock, the glowing fellow counting his coins, the weeping cowled one on the way to the bar where I work.

The Torch.

Tonight, as on every Halloween, I wonder if Geists can move on. They're just ghosts, aren't they? Just different ghosts. I wonder if we really did the right thing by binding them to us, by being bound to them.

I bet Dave would tell me I was being naive. I don't want to think about what the rest of the krewe would say. But that's part of why they're not here.

Tonight is to pay my respects, and my respects alone, to the ones slipping between the cracks. I feel sorry for all of them.

The Torch never likes it when I feel sorry for her, but I don't know what to do about that.

I light a candle for them all, every one I can think of.

Then I say a prayer for them, that they can find their rest someday.

Then I drink a lot of rum.

And then - only then - I rock out.