The dimly lit warehouse was filled with the smoke of a thick silence
All eyes on the stage – waiting, eagerly anticipating
She could hear only her heart beat, setting the tempo
For what was to come.
Her drum sticks lifted above her head in synch with the rising intensity of the blue-white spotlight
When the light level was right she paused before bringing them down hard on her snare
Then straight into the roll as Mickey got the bass locked in and
Pete’s Strat began to cry.
The audience came to life
They replaced the oppressive quiet, that had been, with
Raucous cheering, clapping, and dancing – a
And hallucinogenic abetted good time for all.
A Tuesday morning response to another Monday Writing Prompt generously provided by The Secret Keeper.