The Pit

April 5, 2014. The show was at my favorite venue, Altar Bar. A church that was transformed with a stage and bar, and it was just the right size for a show. Not too big that there wasn't any connection with the band, but not too small that it seemed sad and cramped. My favorite band was playing; destroying the stage as they always do and I'm covered in sweat and exhausted from moshing all night. I am the self proclaimed "King of The Pit" and I wear a shirt to every show challenging anyone to take my crown. I orchestrate circle pits, act as the always needed "pit police" by helping people up who fall and dealing with drunks or assholes, giving every ounce of whatever it is that drives me to feel this music. Naturally when I see someone fall down out of the corner of my eye, I start toward them. Fighting through fists, kicks, and body checks I make slow progress but just get a peek at whats transpiring. I see a young lady on the ground, ghost white hair, sleeve tattoos, skinny jeans, what you would expect. What I didn't expect was to see the man standing over top of her stomping her head. The man, at least twice her size, was wearing a bomber jacket and a pair of camouflage cargo shorts. After the second stomp her body went limp and he straddled her and began to rain blows down on her face. I'm still fighting my way towards them when I get slammed into at an awkward angle and stumble to the left, a bit further away then I was. I recover and have a straight shot at the girl on the ground that still has the guy on top of her. It seems all the people standing around are his friends because nobody is trying to help her. Just as a bass drop hits and the pit explodes into a frenzy, my fist crashes into the side of his head and he collapses immediately. My assumption that everyone around are friends of his is proven true when I feel them starting to close in on me. After catching a kick in the stomach and a fist in the back of the head I just let loose. Swinging for the fences with every blow, hitting anything coming at me. The venue security can't decipher between the fists flying by the slamdancers and the ones being thrown in this fight. The songs breakdown was a false one and now it crushes again, bringing the tempo lower and gruffer. I feel my knuckles crack on one head, feel my fingers break on a rib cage, but I feel like I'm fighting for my life and at the very least I AM fighting for hers...

At a certain point, I feel like the onslaught is over, and the attackers start backing away. I rush to the girl lying on the floor and try to check on her. She isn't moving. She isn't breathing. I grab what remains of her face in my two broken hands and feel tears build in my eyes. The song comes to an end and I hear someone screaming. The house lights come up and the band is silent, save some feedback. I set her head down gently and the moment I look up I get tackled to the ground by security. I hear someone shout, "HE FUCKING KILLED HER!" and look around for the guy who stomped her or any of his friends and not one of them remains. Both my hands are severely damaged from the fight and I have copious amounts of blood on me, a combination of mine, the people I was fighting, and the girls. Everyone seems to believe that I was the one that did this. I have no alibi. I have no proof I didn't do it. I have no way to convince anyone that it wasn't me.

And now I have no life. After being railroaded by a judge who made sure to point out that she "Did NOT like my tattoos and stretched earlobes", I was convicted of murder. There weren't any surveillance cameras at the venue and everyone who actually saw what happen is either not coming forward or a friend of the piece of shit who actually killed her. I still wonder why. And the only thing I want, even more than my innocence proven, is just ONE song in the pit alone with that asshole. I'LL make him feel the music. I'LL make him feel the heaviness of it all. I'LL make this right again. Somehow.