The Narrator says...
A mess of a young thing approaches the stage. Red hair, everywhere --cropped at the neck and pointing every direction. They walk timidly to the center of a small, ragged stage as a single spot (could-be flashlight) lights a microphone stand. The microphone sitting atop is snatched with a noisy fumbling, as a pair of shaded eyes emerge from uneven, crimson hair. The voice that is projected is surprisingly clear and cheerful, and captures the crowd with a wild sense of mystery. A full band is slowly lit to life behind them, reverent and waiting. Anything is about to happen.
Myrtle says...
It's really rad of you all to be here. I got tired of those old bitties hiding me in the closet all the time, so you know, here I am. I figure I'll introduce myself with a quick little number we put together. It was sort of last minute, so please, don't take it out on the band! We are all just doing the damn thing.
One... Two.... A one two three YEAH...
Myrtle is…
15… or 16… 17, if you’re cute and stupid
Spit out your best line, killer
A classy punk
She writes his lyrics in cursive
RED HAIR!!!
EVERYWHERE!!!
RED HAIR!!!
EVERYWHERE!!!
Headbanging with his eyes closed
Her world spins like disco
He’ll look you in the eyes to tell you you’re trash
Her number one hero
Not wasting any time
You really must insist
She’s not the greatest that ever was
Or he who is to be
They are simply free
With no warranty
She comes as is!
He can't be returned
RED HAIR!
EVERYWHERE!!!
Fuck you
Myrtle is.
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