Hammer of the Gods | Led Zeppelin | Hiatus

Prolouge

Rain pounded against the limo windows, washing away the accumulating dust from the vacant highway. Streetlights flickered overheard, casting the constellations into a black abyss unheard of in the country. The windshield wipers jockeyed back and forth ferociously, syncing and unsyncing as they raced to wick away the blinding rain. Four dark and unconscious bodies slumbered easily in the back, heads resting on shoulders or doors. The driver fought to stay awake under the influence of illegal substances he had consumed earlier on in the day.

A body in the back stirred and a moan ricocheted off the shaded windows. Consciousness startled the man and he raised his groggy eyes to the window, trying hard to make sense of his whereabouts. A rain-sodden road illuminated in poor orange light, sometimes dimmed by overpasses as the limo rushed through the city, sunk his spirits and he regressed back into semi-unconsciousness. How hard was it, he wondered, to get to a hotel room for him to sleep properly?

In his mind, he battled dreams and reality. His senses became morphed and he wasn't sure if somebody had coughed in his subconscious our if one of the sleeping bodies in the limo had actually caught cold. He tried to open his eyes but he couldn't wake himself. His psychological state of mind was no longer rational and he ended his feeble attempt to stay awake, allowing the darkness of sleep to consume him. 

Maybe if he had just slept more the previous night instead of indulge in the perks of being in the show business, he might not have gone to sleep mad at himself. Maybe if he had just improved any of his habits, he wouldn't go to sleep angry. There was so much he had to improve in himself that he couldn't do it all; he was forced to forget all that was wrong with him for the betterment of his present condition. Surely the downpour and incessant sound of raindrops on the window weren't helping his logic. 

Adjusting his head on the door as he slept, the man's face was bathed in the lights on the highway and his true identity was discovered. The long, curly black hair that tickled his chest; the pointed and slightly upturned nose was pressed against the pane; the long eyebrows, dimpled chin, and thick lips were all warped into an exhausted grimace. He was Jimmy Page.