Big-Headed of Him?

This is an incredibly short piece of fiction that I literally wrote today. I was bored at lunch and had eaten maybe a little too much cheese. The result? A really random, very short first draft of flash fiction.

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Pete strummed the final chord of the song that he had been working on for months. For a moment he just stood there, letting the atmosphere disperse. With a nervous look on his face, he looked up to see the other four band members looking at him.

When Pete had learned that the band had lost its lead guitarist and was hoping for a new one, he had jumped at the chance. The group was a well-known one, and its schedule was completely booked: It was running multiple gigs and was even performing as the last act at the prom next month. As such, Pete had the jitters. Was he a good enough guitarist? Did he fit in with the others? And most importantly, did they think he could replace their friend?

Dan, the lead singer, opened his mouth and began talking.

"Pete, we really appreciate your attempt, but the facts stand for themselves. You're not a good enough guitarist, you don't fit in and you simply can't replace our good friend Steve. You have potential, but you aren't right for us. Go home."

Pete's brow furrowed in frustration; then his face turned bright red. Before Dan's eyes, Pete's face went as red as a beetroot and - "No," said Dan, "This can't be happening," - his head began to inflate. As Pete's head grew, his face turned redder and redder until Dan was sure that he couldn't look redder if he had had a tin of scarlet paint poured on him.

"AAARGGH!" cried Pete in anguish. He hated it when this happened. It was uncomfortable, plus he thought it made him look silly.

When Pete's head was approximately the same size and shape as the space-hopper that sat in the corner of the room, the swelling stopped. The band gaped in awe at the incredible spectacle before them. The drummer pinched himself. The bass guitarist looked into the glass he was holding. What the heck had been in that orange juice?

After a moment's amazed silence, Dan spoke up.

"Actually, Pete, this may work in our favour. Does this happen whenever you get extremely irritated?"

Pete nodded sheepishly. Needless to say, with a head the width of an elephant, this was a sight for sore eyes.

"Well, you see, we happen to get some trouble from hecklers..."

As Pete deflated, he broke into a smile. Maybe he wasn't all that skilled at guitar playing, but he had talents in other areas. And now, that had paid off. He was part of a band.

Unnoticed by Pete, his chest had begun to expand. With alarming speed, his torso became a big red balloon.

"Uh-oh," said Dan. "How's he going to get out the door?"