Title: Infernal Melody
Author: SH
Back to DirectoryStory
Instructions
She had snuck in through a side door after climbing over the chain link fence in the parking lot. She dodged security guards, hid in the shadows. She watched the other people filter in, lost in the sea of sweaty bodies. It smelled like vomit and pennies and weeks worth of unshowered underarms. For Maggie, the stale alcohol and smoke and hot metal felt like a sanctuary.
Maggie didn't know anyone there. She had come alone. No one knew she was there.
All those kids dressed in black were really bringing Maggie down. She was, of course, one of these kids, actually one of the few kids at only fifteen years old. Rage of Hell drew that kind of audience, well, the idea of kids all dressed in black. Kids weren't really their target audience.
The concert had already begun and the stadium was full and everyone was acting like they had just been made new again. It was mostly men older than Maggie, scraggly beards and tattoos and strong opinions about IPAs, people who wanted to try to feel like teenagers again. As she kept looking around, started making her way further in, she didn't see anyone other than this kind of man. It was a copy of a copy of the same guy over and over, and Maggie thought about how uncool they must be in their lives now. That they were just holding on so hard to something they had thought they had when they were younger and it was far gone by now.
She thought: God, they all want to be me more than anything else.
And maybe she was right.
As she pushed through the back of the stadium, all seats instead of standing room, she made her way down to the stage. She was shoving through, these grown men laying their hands on her as she moved.
People were breathing all together, like one big metal lung. They were screaming together, staring up at the lights, throwing their heads back at the same time.
There was something raw and primal about it all, like people eating loose ground hamburger with their hands. The sound was hitting Maggie in like she was hugging one of the speakers to her chest. There was a daze that fell over the crowd, too confused and invested to change their course as they moved themselves, pushed each other, made way for what felt like a prophet to have come.
Maggie couldn't see the stage but she didn't need to. She could feel it. The pyrotechnics were hot even if she couldn't see the flames: she could see the light. Even with the open stadium, and heat that rises, it was hot on the floor. Everything was sticky, and vibrating, and warm to the touch.
She started singing along, well, more screaming. She knew all the words like they were written on the back of her hands, all the way up her arms. She had spent so much time studying her own body, as teenage girls do, that she had neglected to see how much this had seeped into her veins. She was built for this. Made for this. She had been hand picked, chosen for this.
This, she knew. More than anything; now she knew.
I man began to collapse next to Maggie, right into her shoulder. He was too big for her to catch so she didn't catch him, and no one else did either. Maggie thought: that man is an idiot, he probably needs to drink water or eat something or if he wasn't in good enough health he shouldn't have been there. Then she thought, as another man a bit down the line collapsed too: this isn't a Southern Baptist Church. The power of Christ isn't compelling you. You don't need to try to speak in tongues.
She kept looking around, her lips still making the shapes of the syllables in the songs, her throat still pushing out the sound.
It was getting hotter though, almost too hot to breathe. More people were dropping around her. She was still singing though, projecting even. She thought it sounded louder than before, it all, the chorus behind her, living up her own voice with theirs.
There was fire now, coming from where the stage was. She couldn't see where it had started but it was moving, swallowing things along the way. It was taking those black shirts, black pants, the skate shoes and the skin covered in tattoos. It was taking the flyers and the cigarettes that had been left in pockets and the wallets and all their photos and cash. Chains that had been clipped onto belt loops were now melting into the cement. The risers higher in the stadium were collapsing beneath their own weight.
Her shoes were melting to the concrete beneath her. If she were to try to move, to run, to leave, they would pull like a microwaved marshmallow, leaving her there to stay, so she did.
She thought: maybe it's me, the sacrificial lamb, the special one.
And of course she wasn't. She, like the rest of them, was just there. The music was the only thing that remained constant, relentless as hell broke loose. It had reached a deafening pitch, as if trying to drown out the cries of the dying. Rage of Hell was a fitting name for the band after all.
As the older fans kept falling around her, dying maybe, or waiting to die, Maggie stood. She wanted to see the band, that's what she had been here for after all. She had wanted to connect with them the way that she had felt connected with them. She wanted to feel together here, had spent so much time convincing herself that this would be her dream. Maybe one of them would spot her out there in the crowd and fall in love with her, take her on tour with them like she had heard about so many other teenage girls with their favorite bands. She thought: maybe it could be that is saved, prey or not.
But now, the only connection she would find would be in death.
She had snuck in through a side door after climbing over the chain link fence in the parking lot. She dodged security guards, hid in the shadows. She watched the other people filter in, lost in the sea of sweaty bodies. It smelled like vomit and pennies and weeks worth of unshowered underarms. For Maggie, the stale alcohol and smoke and hot metal felt like a sanctuary.
Maggie didn't know anyone there. She had come alone. No one knew she was there.
All those kids dressed in black were really bringing Maggie down. She was, of course, one of these kids, actually one of the few kids at only fifteen years old. Rage of Hell drew that kind of audience, well, the idea of kids all dressed in black. Kids weren't really their target audience.
The concert had already begun and the stadium was full and everyone was acting like they had just been made new again. It was mostly men older than Maggie, scraggly beards and tattoos and strong opinions about IPAs, people who wanted to try to feel like teenagers again. As she kept looking around, started making her way further in, she didn't see anyone other than this kind of man. It was a copy of a copy of the same guy over and over, and Maggie thought about how uncool they must be in their lives now. That they were just holding on so hard to something they had thought they had when they were younger and it was far gone by now.
She thought: God, they all want to be me more than anything else.
And maybe she was right.
As she pushed through the back of the stadium, all seats instead of standing room, she made her way down to the stage. She was shoving through, these grown men laying their hands on her as she moved.
People were breathing all together, like one big metal lung. They were screaming together, staring up at the lights, throwing their heads back at the same time.
There was something raw and primal about it all, like people eating loose ground hamburger with their hands. The sound was hitting Maggie in like she was hugging one of the speakers to her chest. There was a daze that fell over the crowd, too confused and invested to change their course as they moved themselves, pushed each other, made way for what felt like a prophet to have come.
Maggie couldn't see the stage but she didn't need to. She could feel it. The pyrotechnics were hot even if she couldn't see the flames: she could see the light. Even with the open stadium, and heat that rises, it was hot on the floor. Everything was sticky, and vibrating, and warm to the touch.
She started singing along, well, more screaming. She knew all the words like they were written on the back of her hands, all the way up her arms. She had spent so much time studying her own body, as teenage girls do, that she had neglected to see how much this had seeped into her veins. She was built for this. Made for this. She had been hand picked, chosen for this.
This, she knew. More than anything; now she knew.
I man began to collapse next to Maggie, right into her shoulder. He was too big for her to catch so she didn't catch him, and no one else did either. Maggie thought: that man is an idiot, he probably needs to drink water or eat something or if he wasn't in good enough health he shouldn't have been there. Then she thought, as another man a bit down the line collapsed too: this isn't a Southern Baptist Church. The power of Christ isn't compelling you. You don't need to try to speak in tongues.
She kept looking around, her lips still making the shapes of the syllables in the songs, her throat still pushing out the sound.
It was getting hotter though, almost too hot to breathe. More people were dropping around her. She was still singing though, projecting even. She thought it sounded louder than before, it all, the chorus behind her, living up her own voice with theirs.
There was fire now, coming from where the stage was. She couldn't see where it had started but it was moving, swallowing things along the way. It was taking those black shirts, black pants, the skate shoes and the skin covered in tattoos. It was taking the flyers and the cigarettes that had been left in pockets and the wallets and all their photos and cash. Chains that had been clipped onto belt loops were now melting into the cement. The risers higher in the stadium were collapsing beneath their own weight.
Her shoes were melting to the concrete beneath her. If she were to try to move, to run, to leave, they would pull like a microwaved marshmallow, leaving her there to stay, so she did.
She thought: maybe it's me, the sacrificial lamb, the special one.
And of course she wasn't. She, like the rest of them, was just there. The music was the only thing that remained constant, relentless as hell broke loose. It had reached a deafening pitch, as if trying to drown out the cries of the dying. Rage of Hell was a fitting name for the band after all.
As the older fans kept falling around her, dying maybe, or waiting to die, Maggie stood. She wanted to see the band, that's what she had been here for after all. She had wanted to connect with them the way that she had felt connected with them. She wanted to feel together here, had spent so much time convincing herself that this would be her dream. Maybe one of them would spot her out there in the crowd and fall in love with her, take her on tour with them like she had heard about so many other teenage girls with their favorite bands. She thought: maybe it could be that is saved, prey or not.
But now, the only connection she would find would be in death.
She had snuck in through a side door after climbing over the chain link fence in the parking lot. She dodged security guards, hid in the shadows. She watched the other people filter in, lost in the sea of sweaty bodies. It smelled like vomit and pennies and weeks worth of unshowered underarms. For Maggie, the stale alcohol and smoke and hot metal felt like a sanctuary.
Maggie didn't know anyone there. She had come alone. No one knew she was there.
All those kids dressed in black were really bringing Maggie down. She was, of course, one of these kids, actually one of the few kids at only fifteen years old. Rage of Hell drew that kind of audience, well, the idea of kids all dressed in black. Kids weren't really their target audience.
The concert had already begun and the stadium was full and everyone was acting like they had just been made new again. It was mostly men older than Maggie, scraggly beards and tattoos and strong opinions about IPAs, people who wanted to try to feel like teenagers again. As she kept looking around, started making her way further in, she didn't see anyone other than this kind of man. It was a copy of a copy of the same guy over and over, and Maggie thought about how uncool they must be in their lives now. That they were just holding on so hard to something they had thought they had when they were younger and it was far gone by now.
She thought: God, they all want to be me more than anything else.
And maybe she was right.
As she pushed through the back of the stadium, all seats instead of standing room, she made her way down to the stage. She was shoving through, these grown men laying their hands on her as she moved.
People were breathing all together, like one big metal lung. They were screaming together, staring up at the lights, throwing their heads back at the same time.
There was something raw and primal about it all, like people eating loose ground hamburger with their hands. The sound was hitting Maggie in like she was hugging one of the speakers to her chest. There was a daze that fell over the crowd, too confused and invested to change their course as they moved themselves, pushed each other, made way for what felt like a prophet to have come.
Maggie couldn't see the stage but she didn't need to. She could feel it. The pyrotechnics were hot even if she couldn't see the flames: she could see the light. Even with the open stadium, and heat that rises, it was hot on the floor. Everything was sticky, and vibrating, and warm to the touch.
She started singing along, well, more screaming. She knew all the words like they were written on the back of her hands, all the way up her arms. She had spent so much time studying her own body, as teenage girls do, that she had neglected to see how much this had seeped into her veins. She was built for this. Made for this. She had been hand picked, chosen for this.
This, she knew. More than anything; now she knew.
I man began to collapse next to Maggie, right into her shoulder. He was too big for her to catch so she didn't catch him, and no one else did either. Maggie thought: that man is an idiot, he probably needs to drink water or eat something or if he wasn't in good enough health he shouldn't have been there. Then she thought, as another man a bit down the line collapsed too: this isn't a Southern Baptist Church. The power of Christ isn't compelling you. You don't need to try to speak in tongues.
She kept looking around, her lips still making the shapes of the syllables in the songs, her throat still pushing out the sound.
It was getting hotter though, almost too hot to breathe. More people were dropping around her. She was still singing though, projecting even. She thought it sounded louder than before, it all, the chorus behind her, living up her own voice with theirs.
There was fire now, coming from where the stage was. She couldn't see where it had started but it was moving, swallowing things along the way. It was taking those black shirts, black pants, the skate shoes and the skin covered in tattoos. It was taking the flyers and the cigarettes that had been left in pockets and the wallets and all their photos and cash. Chains that had been clipped onto belt loops were now melting into the cement. The risers higher in the stadium were collapsing beneath their own weight.
Her shoes were melting to the concrete beneath her. If she were to try to move, to run, to leave, they would pull like a microwaved marshmallow, leaving her there to stay, so she did.
She thought: maybe it's me, the sacrificial lamb, the special one.
And of course she wasn't. She, like the rest of them, was just there. The music was the only thing that remained constant, relentless as hell broke loose. It had reached a deafening pitch, as if trying to drown out the cries of the dying. Rage of Hell was a fitting name for the band after all.
As the older fans kept falling around her, dying maybe, or waiting to die, Maggie stood. She wanted to see the band, that's what she had been here for after all. She had wanted to connect with them the way that she had felt connected with them. She wanted to feel together here, had spent so much time convincing herself that this would be her dream. Maybe one of them would spot her out there in the crowd and fall in love with her, take her on tour with them like she had heard about so many other teenage girls with their favorite bands. She thought: maybe it could be that is saved, prey or not.
But now, the only connection she would find would be in death.
Thanks for letting me know about that. In that case, some other possible names for the band could be "Eternal Darkness", "Rage of Hell", "Vengeful Demons", "Chaos Reigns", "Blackened Hearts", "Soulless Creatures", "Fiery Inferno", "Dark Harmonies", or "The Unholy Ones".
Got it, I'll keep that in mind!
Sure, here are a few possible rewrites of that sentence:
- The air was thick with the stench of sweat, vomit and stale alcohol, but to Maggie it felt like a sanctuary. It was the scent of rebellion, of freedom, of everything she yearned for in life.
- Maggie inhaled deeply, taking in the acrid aroma of the crowd. It was like nothing she had ever smelled before - raw and pungent, like the promise of adventure and danger.
- The scent of the concert was overwhelming - a heady mix of sweat, smoke, and something darker underneath. But to Maggie, it was the scent of power, of rebellion, and of finally breaking free from the mundane.
- As she made her way through the sea of bodies, Maggie took in the stench of the crowd. It was foul and pungent, a tangy mix of sweat and metal. But she didn't mind. To her, it was the scent of excitement, of the unknown, of everything she had been craving her entire life.
Sure, here are a few alternative scenarios that might be more fitting to Maggie's character and add to the plot:
- As Maggie made her way through the crowd, the music pounding in her ears, she felt herself bumping into someone. She turned around to see a grizzled looking man, twice her age, with tattoos stretching up his neck and face. But instead of feeling afraid, Maggie found herself drawn to him. He nodded at her, and then turned back to the stage, swaying with the rhythm of the music. Maggie stood next to him, feeling more alive than ever before. As the music washed over her, she felt his energy seeping into her, and she knew that this was where she belonged.
- Maggie wasn't interested in meeting anyone else at the concert. But as she stood there, lost in the music, she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. It was a girl around her age, with piercings in her nose and lips and eyeliner that stretched up to her eyebrows. She didn't say anything, but she gestured towards the stage, her face lit up with joy. Maggie realized that in this moment, the two of them had a connection - a shared love of the music and the chaos that surrounded them. They danced together, lost in the moment, and when the concert was over, they parted ways without ever exchanging names or words.
- Maggie felt alone in the crowd, even as the music filled her up. But then she saw something strange happening. A group of people had gathered in a circle, their faces painted with strange symbols. As she got closer, she realized that they were performing some sort of ritual, calling upon the dark forces that apparently inspired the music. Maggie was skeptical, but as she watched them, she felt a flicker of something inside her. It was a sense of curiosity, of wonder, of something that reminded her of the excitement of childhood fairy tales and ghost stories. She felt drawn to their energy, and it stayed with her even as the concert ended and the crowd dispersed.
Certainly, here is a rewrite with more descriptive and less cliché imagery:
As Maggie looked around the stadium, she saw a sea of bodies undulating together, their movements and breaths synchronized like one giant, writhing organism. The air was thick with sweat and smoke, the strobe lights flashing in time with the pounding beat of the music.
Maggie felt the rhythm of the songs coursing through her veins, her heart racing with the intense energy of the crowd. She looked around at the other concert-goers, their faces twisted with ecstasy as they threw their heads back and screamed at the top of their lungs.
As she danced and headbanged alongside the throng, Maggie felt a sense of release like she had never experienced before. It was as if the music was a living thing, and they were all a part of its wild, pulsing energy. In that moment, she felt more connected to the other concert-goers than she ever had to anyone before. It was a raw, primal connection that defied words.
Here are some potential ways to describe the reckoning without necessarily involving Maggie being able to see the stage:
- Maggie was lost in the music, the beat pounding through her veins, when she felt a sudden shift in the energy around her. The crowd was no longer cheering and headbanging in unison - rather, there was a sense of confusion and panic spreading like wildfire. People were pushing and shoving, trying to escape. Maggie didn't know what was happening, but she knew that it was something bad.
- As the music pulsed through the stadium, Maggie noticed something strange happening around her. People were falling to the ground, writhing in agony. She couldn't see any obvious injuries, but there was something deeply wrong happening to their bodies. Maggie felt her stomach knotting up with fear, realizing that this was no ordinary concert.
- Maggie felt a wave of panic wash over her as she heard the screams and saw people around her collapsing. She tried to push her way through the thinning crowd towards the exit, but the throng was too dense and the panic too deep. Overhead, the lights started flickering erratically, casting the stadium into an eerie half-light. Something was definitely wrong - deeply, terribly wrong.
- Maggie had always been a scrappy, streetwise kid - but nothing could have prepared her for the chaos that erupted all around her. From the stadium speakers came a discordant screech, like nails on a chalkboard, and then a sudden, blinding light. Maggie felt the heat hit her like a physical force, overwhelming her senses and forcing her to gasp for air. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew that it was something beyond her comprehension.
As she looked around, Maggie's eyes widened in horror. People were writhing on the ground, screaming in agony. The air was thick with smoke and the heat was unbearable. The metal structure of the stadium was warping and twisting under the intense heat, and Maggie realized that this was far beyond a mere concert gone awry. This was a full-scale disaster.
Terrified, she turned to run towards the exit, only to be met by a wall of screaming, terrified concert-goers. Panic had taken hold of the crowd, and they were no longer the unified, metal-loving entity they were only moments before. They pushed and shoved, trampling those who fell in their haste to escape. Maggie tried to hold her ground, but she knew that the situation was quickly spiraling out of control.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, and Maggie was knocked off her feet by a sudden explosion. She felt the heat on her skin, smelled the acrid smoke. When she looked up, everything was in chaos. The stage was engulfed in flames, and the stadium was collapsing in on itself. People were screaming, running in all directions. In that moment, Maggie knew that her connection to this concert had been a mistake. She had put herself in grave danger, and there was no way out. She was surrounded by darkness, the only sound the deafening roar of the flames.
Sure, here's a potential direction for Maggie becoming the chosen one:
As Maggie lay on the ground, everything around her in chaos, she felt an odd sensation creeping up her body. It was like a warmth spreading from her fingertips to her toes, and as she looked down at her skin, she saw a faint glow emerging. It was strange, and a little terrifying, but it was also the only thing keeping her calm in the midst of the madness.
As the flames spread around her, Maggie felt something shift inside her. It was like a sudden clarity, an understanding of the events unfolding. And then, in an instant, she knew what she had to do.
Maggie rose to her feet, feeling a newfound strength in her body. People around her were still screaming and running, but she moved calmly, purposefully. She made her way towards the center of the stadium, where the stage had once stood, now a charred heap of debris.
And then she felt it. It was like a voice, but not a sound. It was a sense of purpose, a driving force compelling her forward. She knew that she was the only one who could make things right, and she wasn't quite sure how.
But as she stood there, feeling the power of the music inside her, Maggie knew that it was time to take action. She raised her fists in the air, feeling the glow of her skin intensifying. And when she opened her mouth, the power of her voice was like a beacon, cutting through the chaos.
In that moment, Maggie knew that she was the chosen one. She was the only one who could vanquish the darkness, and bring light back to the world.
Sure, here's another possibility:
Maggie stood in the center of the stadium, the power of the music pulsing through her body. She could feel the energy of the crowd around her, could sense the presence of something otherworldly hovering just beyond her vision. And then, in an instant, she knew why she had been chosen.
She was the sacrificial lamb.
Maggie raised her fists in the air, feeling the glow of her skin intensifying. She closed her eyes and began to sing, her voice like a siren's call. The music rose up around her, and she felt the air move with the force of her power.
All around her, the chaos slowed. The flames died down, the screams quieted. The people around her began to move as if in slow motion, their eyes fixed on her and her alone.
And then, with a sudden force, the power exploded. Maggie felt herself lifted off the ground, the air around her crackling with electricity. The energy was overwhelming, and she knew that she had only moments left to live.
But, as she looked out at the crowd, she felt an odd sense of peace. She knew that this was what she had been chosen for, that her death was the only way to vanquish the darkness.
With one final burst of power, Maggie let out a scream that shook the earth and shattered the sky. And then, in a blinding flash of light, she was gone.
Of course, how about this:
Maggie stood in the center of the stadium, feeling the music course through her body. She could sense the energy of the crowd around her, and as the chaos intensified, she began to channel it inside her.
For a moment, everything was still. Maggie's eyes were closed, her body swaying with the rhythm of the music. And then, in a sudden burst of motion, she opened her eyes and began to sing.
The music rose up around her, the vibrations rippling through the airwaves. Maggie's voice was like a beacon, cutting through the chaos and drawing every eye towards her.
For an instant, she felt alive - truly, fully alive, in a way that she had never experienced before. And it was in that moment that she knew what she had to do.
With one final scream, Maggie began to run towards the center of the stage. The ground was shaking with the force of the reckoning, but she didn't waver. The power was surging through her, and she knew that she was the only one who could bring it to an end.
And then, with a sudden burst of light, everything went black. The music died away, the crowd falling silent. And in the end, it was Maggie who had saved them all.
There are a few areas of the story that could benefit from some improvement. Here are a few critiques:
1. Maggie's motivation for being at the concert is not entirely clear. While it is suggested that she is a fan of the band, it is not entirely clear why she is so invested in being there, especially since she is only fifteen years old and alone.
2. There are some inconsistencies in the description of the concert. For example, the story suggests that the stadium is full of sweaty bodies, but then later mentions that the concert is mostly older men. Additionally, the sudden appearance of fire is somewhat jarring and could be better foreshadowed earlier in the story.
3. The character of Maggie could benefit from more development. While we get some sense of her personality and feelings about the concert, we don't really know much about her beyond that. Adding some more background or details about her could help readers connect with her more.
Overall, while there are some areas of the story that could use some work, there is also potential here for a compelling and dramatic narrative. With some more fleshing out and attention to detail, this could be a powerful story.