I'll Be All Right Without You
I hate being the new kid in school. Steve Perry sat in a corner and watched the band set up. He'd offer to help, but he had absolutely no idea where anything went, not really. So instead he sat there and waited for them to call him to the mic.
"Hey Pretty Boy! Get your ass up here!" The small one with a halo of hair was glaring at him. "You just gonna sit around all day?"
He's probably not even twenty yet. Steve pushed down the urge to shut the loudmouthed kid up and got to his feet. He noted that no one else in the band seemed to care one way or the other that the kid just bit his head off for no reason. Steve picked up the mic and put it in the center of the stage, right where he wanted it. Who gives a shit where it's supposed to be? If Steve was going to be the frontman for this band, he might as well start acting like it. Tossing his hair over his shoulder, Steve looked behind him at the other four men setting up. They shot him dirty looks, not appreciating his "I'm the singer" attitude.
Steve turned back to the microphone and looked out at the empty concert hall. He began some vocal exercises, imagining a full house. He could hear somebody making snide comments behind him, but he ignored it for a moment. He would not take advantage of these people, no matter how they behaved. Still, the commentary continued, developing into outright jeering. The others snickered and even egged the heckler on. When Steve looked behind him, he could see the same smart-ass kid mimicking Steve's mannerisms.
"You like my voice." Steve said it loud and clear, as if there were someone sitting in the very last row of the hall and the mic had gone out. Not a shout, but a firm declaration. A statement of fact. Steve waited expectantly.
"Of course I do. It's beautiful. Like an angel." Everyone else looked as if they wanted to laugh, but the boy was serious. "That's why you are in the band." The smiling faces froze. Steve was there to audition. Certainly, they were auditioning him because of the tape, but until that moment, Steve's future with the band was anything but certain.
Steve just smiled, hoping no one would notice he was a little dizzy. "Yeah. I know." He thought about saying something to the others, but he figured he'd let them find out on their own what an angelic voice he had. But, after a moment's thought, he flash-forwarded himself to his future, observing through an inviso-shield. He could see that though he enjoyed great success with the band and some without, eventually, they would fuck him over, unless he nipped that shit in the bud right then and there. He returned to himself and set the stupid kid on fire with a thought. He turned to the bass player and said "Get a day job. Pay your taxes. Stay alive." He turned to the drummer and said "Go back to England." He turned to the keyboardist and said "You could have said a decent goodbye," and set him on fire for the hell of it. He then teleported himself to some other drummer somewhere and told him to stick to jazz, because he was good, and set his vehicle on fire (though the drummer wasn't in it at the time.) Finally, he found the stupid whelp that made the phone call that screwed up all is good work about thirty years down the line, raped him, skinned him and left his carcass hanging in the San Franciscan City Hall. Steve then teleported back to his own bedroom, where he went to sleep and had wonderful dreams about destroying the idiots that could have been Journey.