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Rated: · Other · Other · #1734682
A writing excercise describing a rock band.
The lights are bright, nearly blinding. Perhaps this is why the singer has not removed his sunglasses. He stands, his hands clutching the microphone, his body rigid. His black jacket hangs stiffly around his thin frame, and the the gloves on his hands are wrinkled. His ripped jeans do not fit him well, and they disappear into black combat boots. His light hair forms a halo around his head and his eyes are tightly closed behind the sunglasses, maybe to block out the sheer number of people before him. To his right, the guitarist has shed his jacket and his shirt clings to his chest and stomach. His hair is long and slightly shiny with sweat. It has fallen over his face as he bends over his guitar. If one looks closesly, he looks worried, stressed. His shorts are ripped and stained with unknown substances and his sneakers are tattered. The laces are yellow. He resembles a gargoyle with his posture. Two spaces to the left, the bassist has opened his shirt. His shorts are nearly short-shorts and his sneakers are shiny and new. He has tossed his sunglasses behind him-they lay shattered on the stage. His black, curly hair hangs in a curtain around his face and shoulders. He does not smile, nor look at the bass guitar. He is looking at the singer with a concerned expression. Behind them, the drummer has not bothered with a shirt and his skin is slick with sweat. A beer bottle sits beside him and his hair is frizzed. One of his drumsticks has a crack in it. His drumset has the name of the band written on it in sludgy letters. Behind him, a banner says the same. A small table sits beside him witha bottle of cold medicine, a box of picks and drumsticks and strings, and a spare microphone. He is scowling at his drums. The light reflects off of them. His shorts and shoes are not visible and his hands are clenched tightly around the sticks. Motion resumes-the song ends just as the drumstick snaps, the sound inaudiable under the singer's bloodcurdling scream. "Thank you." he says, his voice weak and clogged. He has given it his all tonight, and the audience knows it. They shriek their appreciation. One girl flashes him. Another screams something he doesn't hear. He foces a close-lipped smile and walks away.
© Copyright 2010 Rookh Squeglia (grungegirl7 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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