Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
There’s a roaring in my ears. The whole floor vibrates. I can feel my heart racing. The energy in the room is electric. The lights go off for only a second, and then an explosion of light emerges from the stage. Everyone goes wild. A stadium full of thousands of people scream together, making the most of this moment. My eardrums already feel like they’re going to pop. The first chord of the song plays, and everyone’s moving. Dancing to the beat of the drum, the adrenaline of the crowd reaching higher and higher.
I sing as loud as my voice will allow, belting out the lyrics I know and even the ones that I don’t. I can’t stop myself from moving; it’s as if my arms, my legs, my body, all have a mind of its own. It isn’t my brain that is controlling my actions; it’s the music flowing through my veins.
As the audience closes their eyes, swaying to the soulful voice of Dan Smith, I look up. I see a familiar face when everything goes awry.
The overhead lights crash on to the stage.
Metal parts detach from their bodies, sailing into the sea of people.
I hear someone screaming in the distance.
Everyone runs towards the exit, like his or her life depends on it.
And it does.
Ahead of me, I see a familiar face. He gets shoved to the ground, but no one stops to help him. His arms cover his head, acting as a shield. I think I see him praying. Praying to God. Praying for survival. Praying for his family and friends.
A burst of energy shoots through me.
I come to a stop when I reach him. He looks up at me, panic smothering his eyes and then relief. My hand reaches out for him, and he takes it. Sirens sound in the distance, getting louder as the trucks get closer. We finally get pushed outside. The crowd’s still moving, but more people have reached freedom.
He turns to look at me, his eyes glassy from the tears, “Thank you… for saving my life.”
I shrug, “It’s what anyone would’ve done.”
“But it was you who stopped to help me up,” he rubs his hands against his jeans. “If you hadn’t been there, I probably would’ve been crushed.”
I notice a cut above his right eyebrow, and I can see a few bruises beginning to form on his arms. There are medics everywhere, tending to the ones who were close to the stage and the ones who got pushed aside and stepped on.
“You should go get checked out,” I tell him.
He stares at his arms, feels the cuts on his face, and then he smiles. The corners of his mouth tug upward, his eyebrows raise slightly, and he nods. He slowly turns his back away from me and walks away. Just as I’m about to go in the opposite direction, I yell out to him, “Hey! What’s your name?”
He looks back at me, speaking one last syllable, "Jack."
hurts me too
if i could, i would find every
pack of cigarettes in the world,
and i’d light them all up in flames.
i’d make sure they’d never be sold again,
i’d rid of them completely,
i’d make them go extinct.
i should be the only one
to take your breath away.
don’t give them the power,
they’re hurting you on the inside,
your poor lungs can’t breathe as well
as they used to.and what hurts you, hurts me too.