Venezuela is Realised

Here's a short extract from the novel I'm currently writing. It's mainly description so it doesn't give too much of the plot away. Don't want no one stealing my ideas or nothink. I'll keep you updated on how it's going. Just give me a couple of years to finish it, yeah?

It was now time for the band to play. They stepped out on to the stage to a cheering crowd, clapping enthusiastically and greeting them with whistles and shouts; the air was already filled with excitement. A feeling of anticipation, a feeling of almost importance added to the atmosphere- the stench of beer. The hushed shouts of friends into each other’s ears, the sound dampened by the sound technicians insistence on playing inappropriately loud music between each bands set. Finally, he faded the music out, giving way to a brief moment of nothing, of serenity, the crowd silent in obedience. The silence penetrated them all; it only lasted a second, but stayed with them forever. When the first strings were plucked and the first notes tapped, when the first chords were played, the first time the pedal hit the bass drum, the first time the mic exploded with a sudden flurry of words, the crowd didn’t go wild, mosh pits didn’t erupt in the middle of the room, the walls didn’t collapse out of sheer energy, the floor didn’t give way from strain. They merely rocked their bodies back and forth, mostly in time with the music, although a few people couldn’t manage it. They changed the pace and style of their movements with the music, allowed it to flow through them. The whole room was focussed entirely on the sounds resonating from the speakers and subs that adorned the sides of the stage, facing out towards their subjects, who now lived by the sweet harmony being generated from them and would continue to do so until the band had finished playing.

They moved through their set list with such energy, the music literally flowing forwards, washing over the crowd, cleansing them from the worries and woes of their week. This was a reason to live. This was the meaning of life- to see art before your eyes, to hear it, to be part of it. This wasn’t like the nightclub; this wasn’t girls breaking guys hearts, guys breaking girls hearts. This was completely different. There weren’t different groups of people here. This was one movement. A collective of people who were not only out to have a good night, but wanted to experience a feeling. A feeling better than anything alcohol, or any other drug, could provide. The music was a drug in itself. The crush of the bass on the ribs was brutal but addictive; the crescendo of the guitars and the vocals, climaxing together in harmony. The drums laid down the beat to the music and to everyone’s mood, as the tempo sped up so did their hearts, until they almost exploded. Lungs were intoxicated by the atmosphere, drowning in exhilaration. And after they had finished playing, the crowd stood still, lying down on the air behind them. Muscles weakened, adrenaline flowing, pure ecstasy filling the creative parts of their minds and brains. The band exited stage left, gleeful smiles across their faces. Smiling not because they were pleased with their performances, not because it was “a job well done” as they were told backstage, but because they had felt what the audience had felt- perhaps more so. The whole room had been banded together; even Leo and Theresa were one and the same during the twenty minutes or so of musical heaven, of creative bliss.