knox
Refugee
So I'm in a creative writing class this semester, and I've been writing some stuff for it, and I've decided to share it. Looking for any comments and suggestions. Most of the stuff, stories included, has to be pretty short so I can read it for critiques in class. Anyway, don't be too harsh. =)
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Smoke filled the room – that was the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the nondescript door from the street. It was smaller than I had expected. Harsh-colored lights shone throughout the space, illuminating dancing couples. To my right was the “bar”, which appeared to be a chest of drawers with beverages on top.
The band on stage was nothing special. Just another group of kids who liked turning the volume on their amps to eleven and playing power chords. There was a singer, but nobody could hear him over the distortion coming from his feet. I don’t think anyone else there really cared. They were having fun.
The drummer was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on.
For half an hour, I looked left and right, but my gaze always came back to her, the angel who had two drumsticks instead of wings. She was wearing a black-and-white striped shirt, and she had golden hair that swished side to side as she went from the snare drum to the cymbal. She was the only one that made the band worth anything. She supplied a perfect backbeat. What was she doing with them, I found myself wondering. She was better than they were.
The noise came to an abrupt stop. She stood up, gazed out over the audience, and stepped backstage. My eyes anxiously followed her. Somebody put on a stereo. Nobody else appeared to have noticed that the music was over; their heads kept bouncing around.
I waited. It must have been an hour. My friend kept asking me to go. “Just a few more minutes,” I told him every time he asked. He talked to the girl in blue he had been dancing with while I stood alone, leaning against the wall, watching the stage door.
It opened, and she was in it, still clutching her drumsticks. My heart leapt. And they stepped out, arm in arm, that terrible drummer and the inaudible singer. What an awful show. What a waste of a night.
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Smoke filled the room – that was the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the nondescript door from the street. It was smaller than I had expected. Harsh-colored lights shone throughout the space, illuminating dancing couples. To my right was the “bar”, which appeared to be a chest of drawers with beverages on top.
The band on stage was nothing special. Just another group of kids who liked turning the volume on their amps to eleven and playing power chords. There was a singer, but nobody could hear him over the distortion coming from his feet. I don’t think anyone else there really cared. They were having fun.
The drummer was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on.
For half an hour, I looked left and right, but my gaze always came back to her, the angel who had two drumsticks instead of wings. She was wearing a black-and-white striped shirt, and she had golden hair that swished side to side as she went from the snare drum to the cymbal. She was the only one that made the band worth anything. She supplied a perfect backbeat. What was she doing with them, I found myself wondering. She was better than they were.
The noise came to an abrupt stop. She stood up, gazed out over the audience, and stepped backstage. My eyes anxiously followed her. Somebody put on a stereo. Nobody else appeared to have noticed that the music was over; their heads kept bouncing around.
I waited. It must have been an hour. My friend kept asking me to go. “Just a few more minutes,” I told him every time he asked. He talked to the girl in blue he had been dancing with while I stood alone, leaning against the wall, watching the stage door.
It opened, and she was in it, still clutching her drumsticks. My heart leapt. And they stepped out, arm in arm, that terrible drummer and the inaudible singer. What an awful show. What a waste of a night.
