A/N: yea i wrote this for a contest for school, needed to share it with people who will understand and apreciate it.

'V'v'V' is a break,


Some feelings can't be replicated, like the synchronization of many hearts as the beat, wood on metal, wood on skin, echoes in the auditory nerves of the many.

Tap, tap, roll. The hands falling into the pockets of the beat, feet hitting the ground in unison, senses are sharp, adrenaline is pumping through my veins, fast heart, fast mind.

The 5 become one, head and heart in the beat, tap, tap roll, one hand, one heart, one line, the snare line.

We weren't always the tightly packed group, but five individuals, the Center, Oakey, the silent Chris, the outcast Jon, loud mouth Andy, and me, the insecure. We were all from opposite sides, opposite beats, opposite worlds, we all became one.

The rolls turn into eight single taps, each a symbol of the rapidly approaching show.

Stillness, Silence.

"You may take the field for competition," words barely heard, arms ascend, the whistle blows, the body moves, speaks a single C note, a single step. The feeling rises in my chest and the battle begins.

'V'v'V'

The yell of "Cut!" echoes in the chest of the band. The heat of the acrid air glancing off metal and skin.

"It may be hot, it may be sunny," the words echoed from the loud speaker, "but the feeling has to be in your movement." Waves of exhaustion from the field.

"I guarantee this will be worth it when you are standing on that field, put your heart in the music, play, perform."

'V'v'V'

We stand in our line, no movement save for our hands and the sweat running down our faces. A wave and a stop.

"You need to relax. Your hands I can fix, but I can't feel the energy," The small man paces, shakes his head.

"Set them down, come here."

Drums are set on the ground, a scramble toward the shade.

The small instructor looks to his pupils, "What is music? What is your definition of music?"

Various murmurs of answer follow; it's life, notes, hands, feet.

He shakes his head, "No, music is not you hands, if it was your hands I'd have that fixed, that's the easy part. What is music?"

Silence follows, nothing but the scattered breathing and racing hearts.

The instructor sighs, "Music isn't made with your right and left hands," a pause, he looks around, "Music is made with your head and your heart; without those, it's just noise."

'V'v'V'

The first hit comes, strong and loud, heads and hearts and hands in unison.

The hit ends as quickly as it begins, tempo slowly ebbing away to the end of part one.

'V'v'V'

The general crescendo of the subtle notes rises into my chest as it turns to a booming universal C, the basses begin their run and the quads begin their roll.

The hearts beat in one, the feet fall in, the body is one.

Everything stops and the smiles spread around; the loudspeaker announces a break and the spread of bodies relaxes into the shade.

'V'v'V'

The trumpets pass in front as we back into the line, horns fall down, feet face forward and movement stops with a deep breath.

Nothing moves, nothing breathes.

Dut.

The body is back in motion, close quarters move in unison, past mistakes are forgotten as pride swells. The wood hits the metal.

'V'v'V'

The first step is sometimes a stumble, sometimes a leap, and sometimes a fall.

The ground drops out from under my feet and reappears with a sickening crunch. Metal hits metal, metal hits skin. Seconds feel of hours as the snare digs into flesh and trumpet into skull in a tangle of limbs.

Hands grab me and pull softly, banter already beginning to echo.

A few moments of rest, a moment of healing, and then a first step, the leap.

The crabbed steps pass behind the lethal line of fire, wood is on metal, wood on head, pride swelling. The landing shocks, stillness, then celebration.

'V'v'V'

The usual banter and conversation bounced around the bus; some were relaxed, some hopping wildly among the plastic covered seats.

The snare line sat in the back, somewhere between relaxation and antics, sticks in motion on the gum rubber pad.

Oakey, with his usual toothpick between his lips, turns his hands into a flurry of sloppy taps, drawing chuckles from the others as he dragged fun from another.

We are close, trusting, never doubting another snare. Hearts beating as on, or as the many different parts we are.

'V'v'V'

Sticks fall to the sides, feet back into unison as the slowness of the third section of music dawns upon the entranced crowd. Applause explodes from the crowd and deep breaths are taken in as the hit draws near.

The body stops, wood is pulled in, then expelled and slammed against the head. The wall of sound resounds in many chests, and the booming bass line rattles conscious thought. Hearts explode in the moment, a new note hit, a rest remembered. Pride swells as horns face the box. The tempo slows as the mallets sing.

Horns fall and wood falls to the sides; air is gulped in and the beat slows to a stop.

'V'v'V'

The final day of band camp dawns hot and sticky. The hot sun beating down on the sweating bodies creates fatigue on the field.

A few stand at the sidelines as the formations spread around the field. The cut and the sag of posture spread around the line.

"Take five." The voice over the loud speaker from the scaffolding sends a scramble toward the shade.

Some gulp down some water, few a sport drink, while others just lie in the shade and enjoy the feeling.

Talk of the upcoming celebration at the local pool goes around with the usual conversation. It will be a welcome break from the scalding sun, the nice cool water, most say, but some aren't even going.

The break ends with a groan and small amounts of laughter. A few jokes are exchanged between the instructors. The ever popular "irking me off" sends a chuckle down the bass line. The sections are close, tight circles of trust.

There is an hour more of practice, then two more hours until the celebration and universal bonding.

'V'v'V'

Stillness spreads around the field in an instant. The drum Major begins the count, "One, Two, Three."

The Center Snare yells and duts the last three counts, and motion explodes in the flurry of rolls in the percussion, then to the tubas; the bass line again rattling conscious thought.

Different parts move as one, creating the breathtaking curving forms and square corners.

Autopilot is disabled, thought is shown in the eyes and in the movements.

We are one, one Heart, one head, one sound, one band.

'V'v'V'

The usual military-like crispness is dissolved as the cool water sits on the lounging bodies.

Small multi-section groups laugh among themselves, tying sections together into a larger knot, instead of the single sections of the body.

The celebration of "survival" continues into the night, laughter fading away into the darkness.

'V'v'V'

Time stumbles, the end is drawing near. The decrescendo of the percussion fades away.

The mallets roll in groups of three, timpani in groups of two, the cymbals swell and fade away.

There are slow deep breaths, fluid movements and then the final stop.

There is silence, and then the crowd explodes in applause and cheering.

Hearts soar and adrenaline pushes the pain away. The crowd stands in cheering and pride in my fellow snares swells as I fight to not grin like a jester in a king's court.

My heart is thumping in my chest and echoing in my ears as I let my tired arms hang loosely at my sides as we march. Yells of praise are dissolved in the tapping of Oakey as we leave the field, heads held high, sweat running down our faces in the cold air.

The moving body of the band stops in front of our director. His face is emotionless, rigid, as it always is. Then the ends of his lips curl into a smile, he spreads his arms and opens his mouth, and silence follows.

"My friends, you did an amazing job." Smiles all around, some sags in posture follow. He continues, "That was the best show you have done, I only saw one person's feet off, only for a brief moment. Congratulations, we'll talk later. Now go and get changed, be back here in 20 minutes to watch the last few bands."

And with that he walked away.

'V'v'V'

Oakey looked at us, standing together. He stood up to his full height, a grim look upon his face.

"Well guys, we've made it this far, through falls and cheerleading sessions, through football games, and through this season. It's my senior year. I just wanted to let you know, you're the best section I can ask for. Now put your hands in." He looked at all of us, all of our hearts in the single beating heart.

Our hands fell on each other, fingers together, and hearts heavy with the strange sadness of final shows.

"On Three. One, two, three. Who are we?"

Our voices answer as one, many different sounds.

"We are the drumline!"

Oakey wiped a tear, "You are my drumline."

'V'v'V'

The anticipation is mounting, heart rates race. The band sits together in the stands, silently hoping, praying, that their efforts are to be repaid.

Our class arrives, 5th, hearts beat faster, 4th, hearts even faster, 3rd, fastest.

"Finishing second with 85.4 points," Our section of the stands explodes in celebration as our school is called.

The best score in our band's history, hearts burst through chest and screaming continues. No one cares about the ones who finished ahead of us, tears stream down Oakey's cheeks as he accepts the trophy.

The mistakes of the last year are erased, the triumph is greater than words describe.

A new feeling is shown, it too cannot be replicated, as the hearts synchronize, the large knot of friendship, the sort that lasts forever, is felt in the single beating. Heads and hearts are one, nothing can change it, nothing ever will.

We are the Drumline.