Chapter 5

*SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKK*

“Ok, quiet down everybody, quiet down,” a short man with a receding gray hairline commands them through a loudspeaker. He stands atop the apex of the capital building, looking down on the sea of neon green that stretches for miles. His silver hair shines in the sunlight, his sideburns resting daintily below his now defunct headslot.

“My name is Bruce McCulloch. I am the director of E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. I want to thank you all for joining me on my final adventure. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and this will be my farewell project to the world. This film will be unique in that all aspects of its creation will be done by you, the youth of America. Growing up in Alberta, I always longed to be an American pop idol. Hopefully you can fulfill my dying dream and together we can create a magnificent film.

I chose Harrisburg as the location because of its beauty, mystery, and the emerging rock scene here. In fact tonight The Slitheads will be performing a private concert on City Island!”

The crowd cheers.

“State buildings have been rented out for lodging, cafeterias, jam rooms, whatever. As you’ve been told, we will provide you with all clothes, food, guitars, and anything else you could possibly need or want. Think of this as one big party.“

The crowd cheers again. He motions towards City Island.

“I’ve been drinking SoCo all day, watching that ladder sway back and forth. You fuckers really know how to rock and roll!”

More cheers.

“Anyways get drunk, do whatever you want, and we’ll see you at the show. Oh, and feel free to film the concert on whatever devices you have on you. If someone has a working headslot that would be fucking cool too.”

The crowd laughs.

“Well, alright, alright. Oh, I’m trying to start a band. I play a little guitar and sing. If there’s any drummers out there catch up with me during the concert. So whatever you guys can film on your phones and shit we’ll put in the movie. I want it to be real. This isn’t mine. This is yours. There’s beer in your dorms. Have a good day.”

With that Bruce throws himself from the capital building inciting gasps from the crowd. At the last instant he hovers just above the ground, then straightens himself out, lands, and walks towards them. The crowd parts and most stand silent, some give him a high five. From Tom’s view he seems to just disappear into thin air. Tom turns to Chris.

“The Slitheads kinda suck.”

“Agreed. Dorm party?”

“Hell yeah! We gotta start this thing out right.”