My Drug

June 13, 2008
By Elisa Williams, Cottonwood, ID

I stand in front of the stage. Someone’s elbow in my side, all around me bodies shoving and jostling to move closer. The lights are green, now red, a checkered pattern of blue moving across the stage, never still. They are about to begin their last song.

The crowd is a rushing sea, an ebb and flow of noise. Now, as if on cue, a cheer rises; screams from raw throats, waving hands in the crush of bodies. If you fell over, the press of the crowd would hold you up.

The lead singer says something, his lips against the mic, familiar like poetry. His voice vibrates through me but I can’t hear what he says; my ears refuse to let go of the barrage of sound that’s engulfed me for the last two hours. It’s echoing inside my body, running over and over till it feels the melody came from my own throat. But I know this is the last song. It looks like the last song. It feels like the last song.

The first strains of guitar vibrate through my body. Raw, wild. I can almost taste it. The bass joins, moving through the floor. So clean and deep I forget I’m hearing it. The beauty is heavy in my chest.

The voice: deep, powerful, ragged at the edges. Perfect harmony. I can’t move and the lights hurt my eyes. The crowd is still loud, insulation all around those perfect notes; rising and breathing; naked and tearing. It’s the last song but if only it would never end. I almost wish I’d never heard it because of the ache it leaves when it is gone. I can’t stop listening. It’s in my head, twisting my heart. It builds, stealing breath, taking me away.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Swoon Reads

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!