A Micro Fiction: Mosh

Dear Reader,

I have been at CMC Rocks the past two days. I love country music. It speaks to me on a deeper level than other music (though I love many genres and bands).

So for this week’s Micro Fiction, I decided to write about my experiences in the Pit, which I normally avoid.

So here it is. I hope you enjoy Mosh.


The Jade Writer Girl


There is a moment of silence – brief and overshadowed – a hush that falls just before the rumble of noise begins.

A feeling grows in the momentary quiet (which is not quite silence but rather anticipation). There is a noise to anticipation. A hum. A buzz that starts in your feet and builds to your chest, igniting in your soul.

Lights go up, the sound check crackles and a voice cat calls. A single, solitary call. But not for long.

Voice upon voice, fire upon smoke, elation upon joy. The crowd erupts. You close your eyes and scream, right from the bottom of your heart, dragging it up from your toes until your throat is raw and you still can’t help but grin and all the while – you can’t hear your own cry amongst the call of the crowd.

Bodies press in. Heat erupts. Summer is over, but not in the crowd. Hearts thud in time with your feet in time with the beat.

This moment lasts forever, and yet also no more than a single, ephemeral, nanosecond.

They arrive on stage and the noise, impossibly and beautifully and euphorically, becomes an eruption upon an eruption.

Still, it is not yet the peak of noise, which comes as the words spill forth from speakers bulging past their limits. The ground pounds, boots thump, ears pop from the sheer volume of voices screaming the lyrics – half wrong and half right and all the while elbows poke into backs and feet stomp on feet and reaching hands bump heads in an attempt to catch that one perfect picture and a smell of sweat and heat and musk pervades the air that in any other circumstance would not be acceptable.

But we don’t care. YOU don’t care. You flow with a crowd you wouldn’t otherwise delve into. You scream words you cannot hear. You ignore the elbows you cannot feel. Because you are lost in the moment, in the pure, unadulterated sound of it all.

The intensity is almost overwhelming…and yet…it is not nearly enough.

Too soon, though it feels like forever, the lights dim, and the soundboard dies. Spotlights flare. Boots trudge down on crushed empties scattered across the ground.

Your muscles ache, your calves burn, you can’t feel your toes and your voice is making rasping noises it shouldn’t.

Yet you grin. You dance. You hum words to songs you heard hours ago.

Your world is at it’s highest height and nothing can bring you down.

Nothing… except perhaps the morning after.

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