Sirenstories Day 2

Allow me to introduce The Legendary Barney Miller . . .

I Got Blood.

I almost want to stop here, because in the circles I’ve been running in lately (hmm, that was an interesting double entendre) the title of this tune would be enough to bring listeners flocking. Yeah, anything with blood in it seems to be big these days, blood and fangs.

But The Legendary Barney Miller’s description of what I Got Blood is about is definitely worth including here.

“This song is about the nightmarish anxiety that many people have about being wrongly accused of something. But it’s actually hopeful. “I’ve Got Blood”, if nothing else. They can’t take that away. (Well, maybe they can, but you get the idea.)”

I’m loving this song, I’ve got to hear it again—right now. It’s got such a cool shuffling groove, and TLBM (yes, that’s The Legendary Barney Miller) says, “I write Rock Roll music. Not unlike the Beatles. Not unlike Elvis Costello. Not unlike Wilco. But not really like any of them either. Whatevs. I just write songs.” Yes, TLBM, you do write songs, very good songs.

Unfortunately I don’t have a URL for The Legendary Barney Miller, but he says I can pass out his email addy.

We’ll see if I hear from him later about that, I may have to take his address down when his inbox crashes his laptop ;)
If I do you all can just post your accolades here on my blog and I’ll let him know his fans have tracked his down.
Because I’m sure that besides blood, TLBM has fans. How can I be sure? I am one. In fact, I’m such a big fan of TLBM that if he uploaded his song, Mouth of Truth to Sirenstories—even though I said 1 song per artist please—I’d have to post it.

Breaking the rules on Day 2 of Sirenstories . . . well . . . that’s just what The Legendary Barney Miller’s music makes you do.

The Legendary Barney Miller. Wanted.

I Got Blood inspired this short scene. My YA characters making another appearance.

Blood. Everywhere.

Yes, I knew what he was, he’d told me. He’d told me, but I hadn’t believed him. How could I? Even now the idea of him hurting anyone seemed impossible.

“I could be a killer.” He’d said. No. I wouldn’t believe it, I couldn’t. His eyes were the color of the sea . . .. The image of his face swam in front of me. I shook my head as if to clear it, and he was gone. He was gone, and all that was left was the blood.

I stood frozen in the doorway of my room staring at the trail of red drops and deep rose-colored smudges on the smooth white cement floor. The trail led to a small crimson pool beneath the window. I tried to imagine what happened, then closed my eyes as if I could escape the pictures that my mind presented me with. I looked into the darkness behind my closed lids. Infinity. A a field of possibility. I willed the blood to disappear, wished that I could disappear, wished for anything other than what I was beginning to believe had happened.

“I don’t hate Jack,” He’d said this morning as we lay in my bed. Not that we’d, we’d never—and that was part of the problem. Maybe.

“Well, that’s a relief.” I’d thrown the covers off. “Jackson is only my best friend.”

He reached for me but I’d laughed, and headed for the bathroom.

“Wait. Aren’t I your best friend?” His voice had been playful, so I’d laughed again and grabbed my toothbrush, turned the shower on.

The crash of the waves on the breakwater below broke through to me. How long had I been standing here? Or rather, leaning. I was leaning against the wall, hanging onto the old wooden doorframe as if I couldn’t hold myself up for one more minute, as if part of me wanted to swing around the doorframe and out of my room. I bit my lip, trying to keep the nausea from moving up from my stomach. I looked at the slick trail that led towards the window. I blinked. And there it was. A movement, like a shadow, outside my window in the sky.

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