I’m still working on the novel I started back in November, but progress is slow. Below is an unedited segment of said novel with the working title of ‘Other Half’.
The bass hits so hard and my ears are ringing so much I’m dizzy from it. I close my eyes and hope I keep my balance.
I land, both feet on the floor, the stage floorboards bowing beneath my feet, vibrating with everything that is going on stage.
jump with the music
I’ve lost the in-ear monitor to my left ear. Its dangling from its wire and sways with me as I dance and jump around. Most of my hearing is gone in my right ear, and so the remaining moniter is little help. A lock of hair is plastered to my forehead. I throw my head forward with music, and still it stays. My tank top clings to my body, the bright lights making it see though.
I dance and jump on the stage, letting my body move however it wants to the music, forgetting there are thousands of eyes on me at the moment.
I hear my cue come again and lurch towards the mic. I grab it with my right hand, ripping it from its stand, and continue my dancing, throwing my head forward to the point of decapitation and sing as hard as I can.
“She says she laughs at fear. She says she fears happiness.”
I can’t hear myself over the band and the crowd. I have no idea if I’m even on the right verse. Jamming the monitor back into my left ear, I take a few steps back from the edge of the stage, and stand closer to my lead guitarist. I search his face for any inidication that I may have fucked up, and seeing none, I dance on, sing on, and give everything I have to our last song of the night. There will be no encoure tonight.
The final song ends, and I stagger back to the mic stand, replacing the mic, and leaning on it at the same time for support.
“Thank you everyone for sticking around! I am Char, and we are Near Mirror! Good night everyone!” I am breathless, and stumble towards the wings. The crowd chants. I don’t have any more to give them tonight.
I walk to the stage exit, past the bassist who is still holding his bass as though he’s about to play another song. I avoid eye contact with him and continue to leave the stage.
Reaching the wings, the back stage fans, mostly woman too old to be groupies, pat me on the back and tell me how great we sounded. One tries to hug me. I recoil from not only the hug, but from the sickly sweet stench of her perfume. They arent here for me. They hear for the band mates. My fans are further back, a bit more cool.
The chanting from the fans demanding an encoure, starts to turn to anger when they clue in the I am not returning to the stage.
“Char, are we going back out?” my guitarist yells. He standing just off the stage floor, guitar gripped in his left hand, strap still around his back. The bassist has turned slightly to see the conversation, but still he stands, ready to play.
I stop at the edge of the stairs that will lead to out side of the park area. “No, I’m done for the night.”
“Bit short isn’t it? We were late going on. We should do at least one more.”