War zone

It was a battlefield. It really was. It was a war zone. The pushing bodies, the loud screaming. It was a battle at first. Against each other. Subtly of course. The shoving did not escalate to punches. The queues did not disintergrate into a riot, and the screaming were not of those in pain. You were all waiting. Waiting to make your way in. Waiting to watch My Chemical Romance.

You were lost. You were sweaty. But it was worth it. The bodies pushing up against you, the screams right into your ear. Everyone wanted to be first. Including you. It was late. You were almost dead on your feet. But you held on. You waited. The doors opened. The crowd rushed in. You followed.

The dynamics changed. The waging battle wasn't against each other. The enemy became the band. They were late. You screamed for them. Loud sreams. You chanted. You stomped your feet. And maybe it worked. Because the lights went off. They came onstage and you screamed louder. Your chair became a stepping stool.

They spoke. You almost fainted. They sang. You sang along. They were loud and so were you. They sang, and they ordered and they possesed. And you obliged. Docile. You were enthralled by their beauty, by their presence. Time passed by so quickly.

The battle was over. Two hours later, they walked away. You hugged the one closest to you. You wiped away the tears. Slinging yiu bag over your shoulder, you walked out of the hall. Away from the stage. You walked to your car, exhilaration like a drug. Your heart thumping, your ears still ringing from the last banging of the drums. You slumped down spent.

A sigh of satisfaction. Your first ever concert. Your first ever My Chemical Romance concert. You smiled as you watched the whole thing all over again in your head. A dream is fufilled.