Like a Drug
You can see everyone from up here.
Everyone.
Every body, every thing, every expression on every face.
You're elevated; above them... yet somehow, you need them.
Of course you do – what good is music without someone to hear it?
After a while, everything becomes a blur, and you reach a state of perfection.
A nirvana.
The music flows through you, your mind, your body, your soul –
And you become one with it.
It's a fantastic feeling.
It's like a drug. A drug you need, yet can never get enough of.
It's a rush.
Heightened senses do nothing to quell the feeling, of course – they make you need it even more.
That's what you get when you're a werewolf, I suppose.
A whole lot of heightened everything.
You can smell the emotion reeking off them.
You can smell that the girl in the black is cheating on her steady boyfriend. She smells… ashen.
You can smell that the manager of the club you're playing in is content with life, and that the bartender is taking money from the till.
It's enough to drive you insane, and yet…
You handle it.
You have to.
You can smell other things, too.
The sweat dripping off that group moshing next to the stage.
And, if you tried, you could probably even begin to smell the essence of those outside.
But you don't want to.
I don't want to.
Getting through each performance suddenly becomes a chore, and after an hour or two of playing, you need to get out of there.
It just becomes too much, too much for even you to handle.
Yet even during the day, when your guitar is safely in it's case…
It calls to you.
And you'll answer it.
Because you need to feel the rush again.
You need the drug.