Bastille Imagines

The Flaws With 'Flaws'

You've always had a story to tell people no matter the conversation. But there's no other story like quite like the one about how you got drunk with Bastille with a swollen face. You've probably told it about 8 or 9 times now, but still, it brings you joy to remember such a wild night. The story goes...

You're surrounded by psychotic girls, screaming their lungs out in an seemingly pointless attempt for whoever-it-is onstage to hear them. The chances of that happening are very slim, no individual voice could be heard no thanks to the mass amount of noise projecting from everyone in this arena. The violent pushing and shoving has you losing your balance and constantly stumbling here, there and everywhere. And you swear that it isn't water spilt down your top. Even when you try to keep track of your feet, they are lost within the cluster of feet below you, camouflaged discreetly within the darkness, so much that you cannot see your own feet. But it's okay, you don't mind at all.

Being minutes away from the beginning of the concert you find yourself pressed firmly against the barrier, almost falling over the top of it from the pressure that is causing pain at your waist. You've already lost your friend and there is no way that you'd risk whipping your phone out to find her, so you turn to your only option; wait until the end of the concert and hope for the best.

The lights go dim and a monologue from a film you recognise begins to play, you're attention is automatically dragged to the stage where you can just see the silhouettes of four men making their way onstage. Okay guys, make this quick. The lights beam brightly on a man singing effortlessly through the microphone. Okay, maybe you do see the attraction in him that your friends sees. He's a good looking man.

Surprisingly, by the end of the first song - which you admittedly enjoyed - you still find yourself right at the front pushed against the barrier. The high pitched screams still deafening your ears while you watch the man onstage zip up his grey hoodie, and swinging up his hood. You're unfamiliar with this band, so you don't really understand why everyone around you seems to go into some sort of craze, the volume is increasing and the psychotic girls beside you go into demonic spasms. You realise why after the singer dives off the stage and into the pool of girls which you drown in.

The rather dashing singer hops off stage and jumps over the barrier with the aid of a security man. He must be crazy, he's literally swimming in a sea of piranhas judging by the way the girls are all over him. You follow the crowd by following his movements keeping an eye on him. However your glued to that same spot, barely having enough room to breath never mind moving around, but with the reasonable amount of strength in your upper body you swing round and catch a glimpse of the singer.

And maybe elbow a girl in the face.

You realise your mistake and begin apologising immediately regretting for even trying, but the girl doesn't seem to acknowledge that it wasn't intentional. Her face is full of rage, her slightly redder-than-average cheek making an obvious appearance. Oh shit. You see your life flash before your eyes before a swift punch to your cheek is the only thing you can feel, the seething pain causing your muscles to tense and it takes every inch of willpower to hold in those cries of pain. You merely accept the punch, fighting back would cause for the worst of things to happen. You grip your cheek while slacking your jaw, making sure that the powerful punch hasn't got it dislocated. A few mumbles are heard around you in shock of the what has just happened, and suddenly you feel that the numerous amount of people swarming around you is the reason you're feeling slightly faint. The queasy feeling in stomach makes you uneasy at the sight of blood on your hand, guessing that it came from the punch you endured. No, don't pass out you say to yourself. You won't be able to deal with the embarrassment.

By the time you've regained your composure you realise that the music has come to a halt, the angelic voice no longer projecting from the speakers. Fully conscious, you feel soft hands gripping your arms in support. You realise exactly who it is standing right in front of you when you notice a microphone in the persons hand. He stands in your line of vision and despite it being so dark his blue eyes are hard to miss, not forgetting the slightly sweaty puff of hair on top.