Status: One Shot
Soundwaves
Soundwaves
The calm before the storm we waited, bundled together as strangers of different heights, ages, sex, beliefs, upbringing, ideals, Veterans and youth. We stood as strangers but brought together for a singular love, to catch a glimpse, and to hear the sound.
Behind me shuffle sensible black slip on shoes. She holds her red leather practical purse, looking around and smiling respectably. Age engraves her skin marking where crows had perched, but her eyes glow with an animation of warmth and anticipated thrill. Next to me a pair of boyish virginal eyes are wide in amazement of the empty stage before him. The band shirt that was a size too big contained his lanky underdeveloped frame; premature to the male growth spurt. His sneakers scuff the floor; unable to contain himself for the unknown that was going unfold before him.
The murmurs and buzzing of anticipation electrify the crowd. The sun is down, the lights shut off.
Bubbling eccentric butterflies caught alight and consumed my gut; the murmurs of the crowd fluttered into chants. We become one voice. Chants and movement flow together in the now dark murky waters. In one collided motion an inferno of lights, sound and colour crash against us as the soundwaves surge in and around us.
Rabid animalistic movements of the electrifying sounds push the waves high, leaping and bounding onto itself. Hands grip the air, ocean of bodies slam together all jammed, cramped and sweating. Hearts synchronise their beating with the booming blows thundering from the speakers.
The mob mentality punches adrenaline into my veins, numbing my body and tuning myself into nothing but the music around me. Stiches sew themselves into my ribs. I need to keep jumping but my body wants to regain its breath. Ignoring its pleas I push forward, bounding up and down with the people around me. Five tall men in front of me block my view of the stage. I manoeuvre my way to see over their shoulders and watch them preform. With every push and shove my view is obscured again. In the ocean of bodies, I have to force my way, battering through the bruising elbows against tender skin; swimming against the current just to reach the barricaded shore. I get painfully close to my goal only to be shoved away, dumped from the wave you tried to surf in on. I don’t want to drown so I force my way again, pushing, shoving, gripping to dear life on the metal bars that protect the seaboard from the deep. I just want a glimpse; I just want them to notice me, to pick me, to perform to me: and all those bruises and bloody noses will be worth it.
The waves begin to calm as the music that pulses it slows to a stop. A tangled mess of hair, sweat and confetti sticks to my skin. I scream with the people around me. Our hands in the air salute their sounds. The lights dim around us and the stage. From out of the shadows he stood; just a man and his guitar. Sweat stuck against him, slicking and glistening in the pale artificial moon light that glows from the rapture. With the ocean pacific before him he stood. We awaited his move. A single word, strum or sound could part the sea before him. A sole note echoed. Then another, and another, grabbing us with deep intimacy and expanding it to thousands. Every word could be to them. Every note was for their ears alone. He played a song of the century. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to let their music and his echoing acoustic float through my very soul. I wanted the music to engulf me and swallow me whole. I wanted to look at his silhouette that seems to dance along the chords.
His figure faded as the final note hung in the air that was soon lost in the sound of the audience roaring to life, crashing together in a wave of applause and cheers. They left as quickly as they seemed to have come.
Herded out by security I turn and look at the empty stage hoping for a final glimpse. My neck aches from looking up at an angle for a long period of time; my muscles were stretched and worn making my limping movements robotic. The ringing in my ears still echoed in my skull. My throat is dry from the screaming, singing, chanting and the fast pace movements. All I want is a drink. Sweaty and tired my smile won’t waver as I leave the arena. As the fresh air hits my face I shut my eyes and I see the images replay in front of me. I can still hear the songs, I can still see them, and I can still feel that indescribable excitement sparkling inside me. I will never forget that night. I will never forget that moment. And I will never forget that feeling.
Behind me shuffle sensible black slip on shoes. She holds her red leather practical purse, looking around and smiling respectably. Age engraves her skin marking where crows had perched, but her eyes glow with an animation of warmth and anticipated thrill. Next to me a pair of boyish virginal eyes are wide in amazement of the empty stage before him. The band shirt that was a size too big contained his lanky underdeveloped frame; premature to the male growth spurt. His sneakers scuff the floor; unable to contain himself for the unknown that was going unfold before him.
The murmurs and buzzing of anticipation electrify the crowd. The sun is down, the lights shut off.
Bubbling eccentric butterflies caught alight and consumed my gut; the murmurs of the crowd fluttered into chants. We become one voice. Chants and movement flow together in the now dark murky waters. In one collided motion an inferno of lights, sound and colour crash against us as the soundwaves surge in and around us.
Rabid animalistic movements of the electrifying sounds push the waves high, leaping and bounding onto itself. Hands grip the air, ocean of bodies slam together all jammed, cramped and sweating. Hearts synchronise their beating with the booming blows thundering from the speakers.
The mob mentality punches adrenaline into my veins, numbing my body and tuning myself into nothing but the music around me. Stiches sew themselves into my ribs. I need to keep jumping but my body wants to regain its breath. Ignoring its pleas I push forward, bounding up and down with the people around me. Five tall men in front of me block my view of the stage. I manoeuvre my way to see over their shoulders and watch them preform. With every push and shove my view is obscured again. In the ocean of bodies, I have to force my way, battering through the bruising elbows against tender skin; swimming against the current just to reach the barricaded shore. I get painfully close to my goal only to be shoved away, dumped from the wave you tried to surf in on. I don’t want to drown so I force my way again, pushing, shoving, gripping to dear life on the metal bars that protect the seaboard from the deep. I just want a glimpse; I just want them to notice me, to pick me, to perform to me: and all those bruises and bloody noses will be worth it.
The waves begin to calm as the music that pulses it slows to a stop. A tangled mess of hair, sweat and confetti sticks to my skin. I scream with the people around me. Our hands in the air salute their sounds. The lights dim around us and the stage. From out of the shadows he stood; just a man and his guitar. Sweat stuck against him, slicking and glistening in the pale artificial moon light that glows from the rapture. With the ocean pacific before him he stood. We awaited his move. A single word, strum or sound could part the sea before him. A sole note echoed. Then another, and another, grabbing us with deep intimacy and expanding it to thousands. Every word could be to them. Every note was for their ears alone. He played a song of the century. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to let their music and his echoing acoustic float through my very soul. I wanted the music to engulf me and swallow me whole. I wanted to look at his silhouette that seems to dance along the chords.
His figure faded as the final note hung in the air that was soon lost in the sound of the audience roaring to life, crashing together in a wave of applause and cheers. They left as quickly as they seemed to have come.
Herded out by security I turn and look at the empty stage hoping for a final glimpse. My neck aches from looking up at an angle for a long period of time; my muscles were stretched and worn making my limping movements robotic. The ringing in my ears still echoed in my skull. My throat is dry from the screaming, singing, chanting and the fast pace movements. All I want is a drink. Sweaty and tired my smile won’t waver as I leave the arena. As the fresh air hits my face I shut my eyes and I see the images replay in front of me. I can still hear the songs, I can still see them, and I can still feel that indescribable excitement sparkling inside me. I will never forget that night. I will never forget that moment. And I will never forget that feeling.
♠ ♠ ♠
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