Cue beat. One, two, three.
Reverberation. Tell yourself the stage is empty. The sound encompassed him. The lights moved, and across the endless space they barely illuminated the ten thousand people with hands in the air, sweeping through time. His ears pulsed as the guitars came in full volume across the amplifiers. His guitar strap pulled forward off his shoulder as he leaned in. Follow, towards the music. The sweat on his neck bled into his shirt, and he breathed. Black around his eyelids was smoky against cream-colored skin. Breathe. All your demons on the floor now. And he opened his mouth:
This is the waltz. Close your eyes.
Author notes
This piece of prose is currently untitled. Some working titles are "Time," "The Timing"...The piece is composed using three separate voices.
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