Categories > Celebrities > Slipknot > On tour with Black Veil Brides
Chapter 2
They practically leapt of the stage, leaving the audience slumped in their chairs at the disappointment of another show coming to another end, and slapping each other on the backs, mocking one another's "stage mishaps".
Most of their warpaint had just dissolved into their skin, and their faces were glowing with sweat that clung to their brow as a result of the liveliness of the shows.
Sighing contentedly, they all collapsed onto five chairs in unison. Slumped down and breathing deeply, the band inhaled for a few minutes in complete silence, trying to regain a normal breathing pace. These silences were never awkward, and no one felt the need to think up something, anything, to talk about. These few minutes of silence was how they caught up with themselves. Sometimes, they each secretly wished they were longer. They barely had time to have a conversation about anything other than work, let alone sit down and say nothing. It was good they loved what they do, and they never took for granted how lucky they each were to be here.
With the show ending at 12:30, Jake was the first to rise and clear his throat before saying, "Well, I'm, um, going to, uh, 'hit the hay.'"
Ashley peered at him. "Um. Me too, I guess."
"Yeah, me too," said CC and Jinxx in unison.
They all looked at Andy, expecting him to say, 'Yeah, me too.' But he didn't, because he never does. These moments were the moments he treasured more than the silence after a show, the eager preparation before the show, and sometimes, if a show goes particularly badly, during the show. These were the times he actually felt.. like himself. Which was a stupid thought, really, because making the music he loved, and poured his soul into, that was him 100%. But there was something do natural, so peaceful and comforting about those moments when there's only your mind for company, and that's when words, and art, flow so freely.
They waited for him to rise and agree with them about how exhausted he was, but he didn't. And they knew he wouldn't.
A chorus of "See ya, man," was mumbled amongst them as they limped tiredly toward the bus. Andy paused to shut his eyes, to see if any words would come in preparation. True, he was tired.. but he never missed out on these moments. These were the moments that created songs, followed by albums, albums that they would play on tour, to thousands of kids crying and smiling, the kids that gave him more inspiration than they would ever be aware of.
All the stories he heard, every day. Stories of suicide, substance abuse, bullying, domestic abuse.. there was so much strength in the world, yet so many so willing to give up without even pondering about what their future may have in store for them, how amazing their futures could be.. It was also sort of unnerving. He never expected to have such an impact of the kids who claim to have "been saved by them." It was a compliment, and as much pride it gave him, he found it hard to believe. He didn't feel like someone who'd been signed to a tiny label no one had probably heard of, and brought out an album that began to rise up the billboard rock charts almost immediately. He didn't feel like he'd done anything remotely special. He was still.. Andy. The kid who'd used his past experiences with bullying and harrassement to motivate him far enough to have a band with so much success.
Shaking off his thoughts, brushing off his thighs, Andy strode to the bus, prepared for what the next hour or so would bring.
*
Tapping his pen impatiently on the paper, his eyebrows furrowed, Andy groaned. There were no words that came to him tonight, probably due to the fact he was tired. Flinging his pad and pen off the table in frustration, he reached onto the chair where they kept the fanmail. This would surely give him some inspiration. Even if it were just for a bad song. Any song would do. Not even a full song. Just a chorus would do. Then he could work on it further in the morning, if it had promise.
Opening the first letter he picked up from the pile, which he found exceedingly hard to open as it was obviously taped together, he pulled out the small sheet of paper with the handwriting that looked more like scrawl almost looking as if it were dancing on the page, because the rows were literally all over. He smiled, because it reminded him so much of his own handwriting. Stange, really, what could make him smile.
'Dear Andy, CC, Ashley, Jake, Jinxx,' it read. 'I want to thank you for you great music. It makes me feel really positive and thankful for life.' He read a few more like this, thanking him and explaining to him what their music had done for them, before he found a large brown envelope, with several sheets of paper, all with beautiful twirly handwriting, perfect and intricate. The letter was at least 15 pages long, and deciding it was too late to even start to read it right at that moment in time, Andy pushed the letter back into the envelope, yawned and padded off to bed, leaving the envelope unsealed on the desk.
They practically leapt of the stage, leaving the audience slumped in their chairs at the disappointment of another show coming to another end, and slapping each other on the backs, mocking one another's "stage mishaps".
Most of their warpaint had just dissolved into their skin, and their faces were glowing with sweat that clung to their brow as a result of the liveliness of the shows.
Sighing contentedly, they all collapsed onto five chairs in unison. Slumped down and breathing deeply, the band inhaled for a few minutes in complete silence, trying to regain a normal breathing pace. These silences were never awkward, and no one felt the need to think up something, anything, to talk about. These few minutes of silence was how they caught up with themselves. Sometimes, they each secretly wished they were longer. They barely had time to have a conversation about anything other than work, let alone sit down and say nothing. It was good they loved what they do, and they never took for granted how lucky they each were to be here.
With the show ending at 12:30, Jake was the first to rise and clear his throat before saying, "Well, I'm, um, going to, uh, 'hit the hay.'"
Ashley peered at him. "Um. Me too, I guess."
"Yeah, me too," said CC and Jinxx in unison.
They all looked at Andy, expecting him to say, 'Yeah, me too.' But he didn't, because he never does. These moments were the moments he treasured more than the silence after a show, the eager preparation before the show, and sometimes, if a show goes particularly badly, during the show. These were the times he actually felt.. like himself. Which was a stupid thought, really, because making the music he loved, and poured his soul into, that was him 100%. But there was something do natural, so peaceful and comforting about those moments when there's only your mind for company, and that's when words, and art, flow so freely.
They waited for him to rise and agree with them about how exhausted he was, but he didn't. And they knew he wouldn't.
A chorus of "See ya, man," was mumbled amongst them as they limped tiredly toward the bus. Andy paused to shut his eyes, to see if any words would come in preparation. True, he was tired.. but he never missed out on these moments. These were the moments that created songs, followed by albums, albums that they would play on tour, to thousands of kids crying and smiling, the kids that gave him more inspiration than they would ever be aware of.
All the stories he heard, every day. Stories of suicide, substance abuse, bullying, domestic abuse.. there was so much strength in the world, yet so many so willing to give up without even pondering about what their future may have in store for them, how amazing their futures could be.. It was also sort of unnerving. He never expected to have such an impact of the kids who claim to have "been saved by them." It was a compliment, and as much pride it gave him, he found it hard to believe. He didn't feel like someone who'd been signed to a tiny label no one had probably heard of, and brought out an album that began to rise up the billboard rock charts almost immediately. He didn't feel like he'd done anything remotely special. He was still.. Andy. The kid who'd used his past experiences with bullying and harrassement to motivate him far enough to have a band with so much success.
Shaking off his thoughts, brushing off his thighs, Andy strode to the bus, prepared for what the next hour or so would bring.
*
Tapping his pen impatiently on the paper, his eyebrows furrowed, Andy groaned. There were no words that came to him tonight, probably due to the fact he was tired. Flinging his pad and pen off the table in frustration, he reached onto the chair where they kept the fanmail. This would surely give him some inspiration. Even if it were just for a bad song. Any song would do. Not even a full song. Just a chorus would do. Then he could work on it further in the morning, if it had promise.
Opening the first letter he picked up from the pile, which he found exceedingly hard to open as it was obviously taped together, he pulled out the small sheet of paper with the handwriting that looked more like scrawl almost looking as if it were dancing on the page, because the rows were literally all over. He smiled, because it reminded him so much of his own handwriting. Stange, really, what could make him smile.
'Dear Andy, CC, Ashley, Jake, Jinxx,' it read. 'I want to thank you for you great music. It makes me feel really positive and thankful for life.' He read a few more like this, thanking him and explaining to him what their music had done for them, before he found a large brown envelope, with several sheets of paper, all with beautiful twirly handwriting, perfect and intricate. The letter was at least 15 pages long, and deciding it was too late to even start to read it right at that moment in time, Andy pushed the letter back into the envelope, yawned and padded off to bed, leaving the envelope unsealed on the desk.
Sign up to rate and review this story