Chet Reads & Writes*

I wrote this back in high school. I found it on my hard drive while perusing my archived files. It’s something that I’ve always kept around for whenever I feel down about my ability to write. It references a lot of things from my life and love high school. Probably one of the best paragraphs I’ve ever penned, which I’d expect since I spent a couple days tweaking it. I won’t call it perfected, art shouldn’t be perfect.

Large scarlet fans circulate the rising heat. The air is polluted with the salty essence of sweat. Shadows fall and strobe lights beat with the bass line. As the crowd rushes the stage, a Zydijan crashes, a Gibson whines, Fender and Marshall boom filling the steel hall with noise. Portals of chaos open and close at random intervals. Bodies slam, energizing the heat-draft like uranium in an atom smasher. As the music wavers and falls away, Dasani begins to flow, rejuvenating the crowd like a burst of fresh air to a flame. The rumble of the bass and the stroke of Paul’s masterpiece overtake the room again, drowning the ambient scene away. The shadows coalesce at the apex of the noise, and portals swirl faster and faster. Limbs flail; eyes flash. Silence. The room reverberates as a .44 caliber love letter floods the night.