The heat of the moment was upon us. Everything was dependent in this one performance. My heart crashed rapidly against my rib cage, threatening to burst out of my chest. My palms were covered in sweat, and my breath quickened. Time felt like it was in slow motion. The noise of the crowd was deafening and my guitar weighed heavily on my shoulder strap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our drummer, Charlie, send a prayer to up above. His hands shook, and his knuckles were pale white, but the grip on his drumsticks never faltered.
“Please welcome, Ryan Kent!” called the announcer; and then, the curtain rose. For a moment I stood there, frozen in place, gaping in awe. There were thousands of people screaming – my name. The crowd was lit up like the night sky during a meteor shower, and they smelled of sweat and youth. The air tasted of fried food and burnt out cigarettes. But the audience looked infinite, like I could reach out and be enveloped in their vitality. As my finger’s grazed the metal strings, the screams turned into roars, and the moment seemed almost illusionary. I had never felt more alive. My hands had a mind of their own as they danced across the strings, and the words I sang reached the microphone effortlessly. Energy surged through the crowd, and the strobe lights turned the arena into wild masses packed with bodies. The last note echoed through the building and back across the stage. I grinned, astonished at the insanity of it all.