Fatal love (Må)

Chapter 1

It is pitch black, the crowd cheering the young group on. A single light flashes behind the curtain, getting more frequent with every second. A red glow shines through the fabric and a dark silhouette of a guitarist appears, the sound of each strum echoeing through the arena holding 10 000 overly excited fans, waiting in anticipation.

The sound of drums helps form the instrumentals of their first song on tonight's setlist, the basslines following soon after and the white lights mixed with the red glow now flicking on and back off every second. 

Screams get louder as the first words are sang and the big curtain drops, revealing the four of them playing each their part, each so talented with it.

Thousands of fans trembling, hands shaking, built up excitement formed inside them wich isn't unleashed yet, even after the iconic nerve wrecking intro.

The magic sounds echoing through the venue as his fast fingers rapidly strum the snares, the bass lines and beats of the drums behind them. The ever so intriguing and unique vocals in the microphone. The cheering of the crowd late at night, jumping, flashing lights, phones in the air, smoke projected by fog machines lingers in the air leaving a strawberry scent. 

A pause, a drum, a snare, a new song getting started on the big stage in front. The ever so loud screams of euphoric adolescents relieved to see their idols perform, eager to capture every second on their mobile devices. Tiredness doesn't exist, realisation has fled them and somewhere within this crowd a young lady, just 20, struggles to catch her breath between words, sentences, screams and happiness.

Marlena.

Standing at the front of the podium, waving at Victoria who is on her knees, strumming the bass, playing the cords as if it's nothing, staring right into her eyes, licking her lips, grinding, throwing her head back, feeling the music, the vibe. Marlena doesn't brake eye contact, their gazes hold, unbroken, just the two of them. She is barely keeping herself up, her hands shaky from the built up excitement.

All instruments stop except hers, she continues to play, unfazed as she enters her solo. The oh so known bass lines of 'Zitti e buoni' that leave your ears craving for more, the gentle, low, beats of the drums played by Ethan ever so occasionally as she fades out of her solo. The deep, strong voice of Damiano, the passionate, electric, mind shocking strums by Thomas. 

She sings aloud, she sings untill her voice turns raspy, quickly fading after every sentence, every verse of all the songs. Another pause, Damiano speaks to the crowd who scream as soon as the first syllable leaves his tongue, tumbling down and into the crowd who, without hesitation, capture the sound with passion. 

The night goes on, the air getting hotter, sweatier after every jump, every sigarette lit by fans dressed in band merch, fishnet tighs or mini skirts, some with bikinis as tops, some with only nipple tape to look alike their favorite bass player.

They play, song after song, chord after chord. Damiano occassionally laughs, giggles, makes hand gestures with sexual meanings. He manages to make over eight thousand young concert attenders moan out the lyrics to MAMMAMIA.

The singer makes another pause after a song, speaks a few words to the audience that make the front rows jump up in excitement, some throwing their cardboard fan boards on stage as gifts.

He makes a sign at the men dressed in a fluo jackets, sleevles over their black shirts.

"Now, it is time to let the kool kids on stage."

He smiles, pulls the microphone away in a quick motion, taking it out its stand in the very same action, gesturing to the barriers holding fans back from entering the stage.