A Thousand Suns

The Radiance: Chapter One

I smiled to myself, blissfully ignorant of what those around me might make of the silly expression I sported. Eyes clouded, pupils wide, cheekbones jutting upwards as I revelled in the moment, bearing all twenty-eight teeth (my wisdom teeth had yet to grow out). Time seemingly stood still, though I could feel those around me moving as if only I stood still in time.

Our eyes locked for what felt like an eternity, my sweaty palms grasping to my chest at the slippery drumstick that had flown my way. It had flown over the multitude of fingers reaching skywards in anticipation, all of them obstacles it easily overcame in order to land in my sole outstretched hand. I wondered fleetingly whether he had done it on purpose, but could not harbour a single thought in my head with those hazel eyes locked on me. My heart threatened to leap out of my chest; I could feel it through the thin fabric of my shirt, pounding away at the curve of my wrist as I pressed the drumstick to sternum, hoping the pressure would slow its frantic pace.

I caught my breath as soon as he looked away, and the moment was gone. I felt my heart plummet to my stomach, in its place an uncomfortable and ever-growing sadness swelling. I knew I should be happy to have made eye contact with him, though now that I could muster thoughts, I mustered doubts. What if he had been looking beyond me? What if he had been looking to the girl besides me, who in this fleeting moment of panic I deemed a thousand times my superior in beauty? I mourned the moment, all the while chastising myself for not treasuring it. I should not be greedy, not when I held in my hand one of his drumsticks. Few of us in the concert hall were graced with such things, and whilst I should feel honoured, I could only think of all the other people at other concerts who had gotten their hands on one of Shannon Leto’s drumsticks.

I returned my attention to the stage, clutching the wood to my chest as though my life depended on it; I didn’t know whether I would ever let go. I searched the stage for some confirmation, a fleeting glance, a mouthed word, something. There was nothing to see but the three of them interacting with themselves, exhilarated by the concert as much as we were. I panicked, feeling like one in a million, which I knew I was—a realization that did not ease my anguish. Glancing away from the stage I looked down at the drumstick as a dozen people around me moved in every direction, some already headed to the door, difficultly pushing through the dense crowd we had formed. I don’t know how long I had been staring at the drumstick when my friend, Ava, finally shoved me with sufficient force that I started to rise from the enchantment I’d thoughtlessly fallen into.

There were shrieks of disbelief, laughter, and congratulatory words falling from her lips, but they echoed in the distance, behind the buzz of conversation rising all around us. I glanced at the stage, letting out a whimper when I saw no one. Turning my attention to her, I said nothing, and Ava infinitely amused by my stupefied state, dragged me by the arm through the crowds until we broke free into the night. I did not feel any comfort from being able to stretch my limbs, the loss of pressure on every side of my body making me feel vulnerable. The cold didn’t help. Ava inquired about my jacket, to which I shook my head, steadily breaking out of my trance as I realized I had lost it. When? Where?

A chill coursed up my spine as I instinctively wrapped my arms around my body, hairs on my bared arms sticking up further than I thought imaginable. The drumstick prodded my side and I hissed, not yet suffering from the worse effects of hours of moshpitting. Tomorrow there would be hell to pay.

But I didn’t want to think about tomorrow. The thought demoralized me. I would usually turn to words of wisdom spoken by Jared, or listen to a song to get my spirits high, but now those few things would be tainted. I would automatically think of tonight and this puzzling emptiness would haunt me. Oh, how I dreaded the morning. I dreaded the thought of going home and thinking. I looked at Ava desperately, finally breaking free of my trance as the last tendrils released me.

“Let’s go out. Drinking! Dancing! I don’t care!” I told her, not recognizing my own voice. I was frantic, but what to me seemed to be panic, Ava merely saw as uncharacteristic excitement. I wondered whether she herself was blinded by the excitement or whether she had yet to fully understand how I functioned. I wondered if anyone in the world would be able to read me right now, to relate. I hoped so, though I did not want to think of it lest the emptiness found reason to expand. I felt disconnected, and it disturbed me. I had never been thrown so far off my game. I was the rational one, the one who knew better, and yet I flustered over a short-lived moment which I surely placed far too much significance in than he ever would.

Off we were, rushing excitedly towards the car, though I could not claim I was excited about the possibilities that would follow, just about the escape they would provide. I never drunk or smoked and had always avoided doing things I might regret later. I looked at the clock in the car’s dashboard, realizing I had to get up for work tomorrow and be in shape. I know I attempted to rationalize my fear and command myself to go home, but whatever reason remained was a voice lost to the wind. I didn’t care. I just wanted to rid myself of this ill feeling that had settled within, and uncertain how to rationalize it away, I decided to do what others did, I’d numb myself. It wasn’t a solution, but perhaps this was merely a fleeting moment which I had to escape and would never face again. I doubted it, but Ava’s optimism rubbed off on me and I chose to believe it would. In the driver’s seat, she acted as crazed as ever, my desire to step into her world of excess and rebellion a first.

“If you keep gripping it like that, you’ll break it, you know?”

She teased me, but the thought lingered in my head as I willed myself to set the drumstick in the side of the door. I felt lighter without it, and whilst I continued to glance at it as we drove towards the nightclub, I knew that the further away I got from it, the better I’d feel. I needed to put distance between myself and Shannon Leto. He was like the sun, radiant and lethal, and it was best to stay away.  I was eager to leave the car, and the cold chased me across the street to the entrance, where I immediately was captivated by the cacophony of voices and beats as we entered the club. This was exactly what I had hoped for: chaos to match my inner turmoil.