Young Writers Society

Boys and girls hop on the streets under the nine o’clock moon in the warm city night, howling and whooping into the drafty venue with LED lights and a disco ball in a shadowy hall half-filled with boys and girls jumping and waving, mixing their arms with air already humid with crystal laughter and rich sighs. We race to the middle of it all. Look at the stage, the speakers, the keyboard, the drum set, the microphones, the guitars, the violin, the wires, all listening intently to the minuet we are performing with our laughter and sighs as we await our turn to listen intently to their sonata. There’s nothing left to perform.

The oak doors shut and the dim lights dim to darkness to welcome three men and two ladies onto the stage, to station themselves behind the keyboard, the drum set, the microphones, and sling the guitar straps over, and rest the violin upon, their shoulders. The LED lights flash and blind the weary kids. We hush and huddle at the base of the stage as one of the women with a guitar leans towards a microphone until her full lips barely kiss the mike, from which the richest, most beautiful sound resonate from the speakers at the edges of the stage to flood our bodies, hearts, and souls with love, longing, and nostalgia. We want to set ourselves on fire but there’s nothing left to burn.

The keyboard plays a chord as the drums set a beat while the guitars start strumming to the melody of the red violin over the voices ringing through the speakers roaring hot passion over heads of boys and girls in the grungy music hall filled with hot breaths and cigarette smoke. All senses are stimulated here. A boy in front of you with his hands dangling from his sides and shoulders swaying to the beat raging from the stage because he feels it as the girl to your left with eyes shut and lips whispering the words with the voice pounding from the speakers is feeling it. You then raise your arms in the air since there’s nothing left to fear.

Sweat mingle and mix with smoke overhead vibrating to the beat that stir the air and tumble from the speakers to spill upon the floor and quake our feet to propel our passion and desires into a frenzy that forces the lonely throbbing of the five hundred hearts in this room to merge into one unified engine to drive the thousand arms to wave in the air as a single ocean of open hands. We’re all one and now there’s nothing left to hide. It gets a little bit softer now as we slow the tapping of our feet as it gets a little bit softer now as we ease the rocking of our hips as it gets a little bit softer now as we lean over to gently kiss our lovers as it gets a little bit softer now as we sway out into the moonlit streets of the nippy city night as it gets a little bit softer now as we light our cigarettes to warm our freezing souls. We want to set ourselves on fire but there’s nothing left to burn.