They climbed the stairs of the high school stage and Dominic went to the microphone. He blew in it. It caused instant feedback that hurt everyone’s ears. “Is this thing-” He was too close. The audience covered their ears. Too much feedback. He backed up. “-Is this thing on?”
“We’re hearing you loud and clear Dominic,” said Larry Lemay. Dominic pumped his head Larry’s way.
“Ravens and Pinecones,” Dominic said leaning into the microphone. He used a placid tone for the greeting to his piece. He cleared his throat. He stepped back from the microphone. He rolled his shoulders back with his hands held out. He stepped up to the microphone with a vacant expression. His hands hovered over the microphone in an action similar to that which the backside of a magnet has on the backside of another magnet. He then gripped the microphone in a fashion so intense it caused the veins in his arms to appear. “I scream at pinecones. Just to get a reaction. Just to feel something.” He released the microphone and backed away, as if the intensity of the moment overpowered him. He measured the crowd. He soaked in each set of eyes. He stepped forward:
“Death! Ravens sipping from a puddle of what remains of the worst storm between God and man,” these words were issued in Dominic’s best seething whisper. “Run Abner! Run! He would know. He would run. He would run through the snow of Armageddon’s winter as if it was buttered corn stuck to his face until the roaches and squirrels could lick it off his embittered corpse.” He stepped back. His face contorted to that of a funk groove delivered. There was no reaction. Eyes were wide in the audience, expressions were tightened with confusion, and others had expressions that could only be described as concern. Dominic held the expression for another beat:
