Music will be the death of you....
“Welcome to the jungle baby!” Those were the words which Michael said to Ron just before they got on stage. The big stage; a chance to get a foot in the door. Their manager, Brian, was sure they’d nail it. The important thing was that they believed in themselves. They weren’t just any band playing “run of the mill” music.
Life in this kind of business was tough. They had clung on by the skin of their teeth for over a year. Now they had waded out of troubled waters onto uncharted territory. Kind of like “getting out of the frying pan and into the fire”, but not quite. They were starting to take one thing at a time and live for the moment.
“Remember, only fools rush in”, Ron’s father had told him about his decision to drop out of school and join a band. “I have a gut feeling about this dad. I know I can make it. College is a lost cause anyway.” His dad had just shaken his head and said, “Your music will be the death of you….”
But it was more than he had bargained for, to say the least. They’d almost thrown in the towel. Record companies could be a real pain in the neck. Brian had stood by them through the ups and downs, hard as a rock. Now he’d got them their big break. It was time for some action.
Even though they were almost totally blinded by the bright stage lights, Ron could distinctly feel hundreds of eyes watching them. This was the moment he’d been waiting for all his life. However, they weren’t really greeted by a warm round of applause. The delay in setting up their instruments didn’t make things any better. On the contrary, to rub salt into their wounds, the crowd started booing and passing nasty comments.
Finally the wait was over. They were ready to begin, ready to embark on a wonderful journey which they knew would take them places. As the others launched into the song, Ron felt the confidence and energy surging through his veins. The time had come. This was it. The reckoning day. The moment of truth. Words at the tip of his tongue, Ron reached out to grab the microphone.
He was buried the next day. A technical snag had caused a short-circuit in the wiring of Ron’s microphone. He was electrocuted on the spot; no chance of survival. They say only the good die young. Ronald Evans. He had a heart of gold. Music was the death of him.
Note: This was an exercise we had in my Writing course which required the use of as many cliches as possible in writing an entirely fictional story. Could've been better I guess, but word limits can be a real pain in the ass. There you go again. Cliche! Hope you enjoyed the nonsense!
Life in this kind of business was tough. They had clung on by the skin of their teeth for over a year. Now they had waded out of troubled waters onto uncharted territory. Kind of like “getting out of the frying pan and into the fire”, but not quite. They were starting to take one thing at a time and live for the moment.
“Remember, only fools rush in”, Ron’s father had told him about his decision to drop out of school and join a band. “I have a gut feeling about this dad. I know I can make it. College is a lost cause anyway.” His dad had just shaken his head and said, “Your music will be the death of you….”
But it was more than he had bargained for, to say the least. They’d almost thrown in the towel. Record companies could be a real pain in the neck. Brian had stood by them through the ups and downs, hard as a rock. Now he’d got them their big break. It was time for some action.
Even though they were almost totally blinded by the bright stage lights, Ron could distinctly feel hundreds of eyes watching them. This was the moment he’d been waiting for all his life. However, they weren’t really greeted by a warm round of applause. The delay in setting up their instruments didn’t make things any better. On the contrary, to rub salt into their wounds, the crowd started booing and passing nasty comments.
Finally the wait was over. They were ready to begin, ready to embark on a wonderful journey which they knew would take them places. As the others launched into the song, Ron felt the confidence and energy surging through his veins. The time had come. This was it. The reckoning day. The moment of truth. Words at the tip of his tongue, Ron reached out to grab the microphone.
He was buried the next day. A technical snag had caused a short-circuit in the wiring of Ron’s microphone. He was electrocuted on the spot; no chance of survival. They say only the good die young. Ronald Evans. He had a heart of gold. Music was the death of him.
Note: This was an exercise we had in my Writing course which required the use of as many cliches as possible in writing an entirely fictional story. Could've been better I guess, but word limits can be a real pain in the ass. There you go again. Cliche! Hope you enjoyed the nonsense!
posted by Dibesh Saha at 2:58 AM
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