Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > PANiiC ATTACKS DON'T LAST FOREVER;;
We'll Pick Back Up On That On [ANOTHER] Page;;
2 reviewsA big performance by Panic! Oh, the usual. Bright lights. Stage outfits. Dancers. Dead people. Instrumental mu- Wait. WHAT?
0Unrated
“Panic! Panic! Panic!”
Dark makeup shaded the area of his eyes, the rest of his face powdered in white. There was a microscopic second of disbelief as he stared out at the crowd. You would’ve expected a band like Panic! At the Disco to be accustomed to the jeers and screams of the fans. But, no. You’ve got it all wrong. It was an awkward trip that Brendon had to mentally go through each time he stepped onto the stage. “Wow. All of these people? Just for four of us little Summerlin kids?” Yes, honey. Believe it and weep.
“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome!” Brendon’s velvety voice rang through the speakers, gracing the men and women in the audience. “You’ve entered a place where there is no turning back. A place where stilt walkers roam the earth. A place where contortionists bend and twist for the viewing pleasure of the human eye!” It was enough to have any thirteen-year-old girl’s mind wonder off to such a fantastic place. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gracefully glided over to Ryan, his golden long jacket’s tail fluttering behind him. “A place where boys in eyeliner write songs about,” He leaned into Ryan’s ear, microphone still in his hand, his smile still gracing his lips. “Sexual intercourse.”
Oh, the amount of girlish screams that one can get with that little ol’ line.
Brendon pulled away from Ryan, who had a smirk drawn on his features. He couldn‘t help but chuckle before carrying on with his display of entertainment. “Oh, but a wonderful place it is! There is nothing quite like the show biz. While the crowd lines up in their rows and rows, we’ve warned you about this spectacle of a show. Gathered beneath this tent of red and white, prepare yourself for an amazing sight. Because..” Brendon pulled up his gloves, as if he were fixing them. He looked up at the crowd, a cute look planting itself on his face. “Nothing quite rhymes with circus.”
The volume level from the audience ascended, the golden buttons of his long jacket glistening in the stage lights as he strode over to the center of the stage. The beat of “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage” began to play loudly. Just as rehearsed, Brendon came in with perfect timing, belting out the lyrics to the song. “Looks like this is gonna be another success.” The singer thought to himself joyfully.
“Raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses. It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains, and a few more of your least favorite things. Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy. Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy.” The beautiful instrumental played as dancers glided seductively across the stage, doing their own little performance. Burlesque girls and ringleaders in shimmering outfits danced across the stage, twirling parasols and red cloth. The pace quickened slightly, giving Brendon the opportunity to stride down into the section that barely divided him and the audience. “Raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses. It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains. And a few more of your least favorite things.” Brendon hopped back up onto the stage after having his legs and chest touch by show go-ers in the audience. After the billionth time of that happening, you got used to it.
“Raindrops on roses and the girls in white dresses. And sleeping with the roaches and the taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains. And a few more of your least favorite things!” Spencer was banging away at the drums, Ryan and Jon doing what they did best, while Brendon held the note, playing loud and powerful chords on the piano. And with the final note, everything came to an abrupt stop. Including the burlesque girls, who dropped “dead” on the floor. The jeers and shouts of the audience rose to a point beyond belief, which almost made it sound ghost-like. How scary. They gathered up onstage, band members, dancers, Roger-The-Pimpin’-Ringmaster and all, taking there bows.
It was one of those things that Brendon enjoyed. The overwhelming feeling of knowing that you’ve made someone’s night. And no, we’re not talking about sex. Brendon mentally laughed at the thought as they took a final bow. But as he rose up from the bending position of the bow, a familiar face showed up in the audience. Right in between a girl with a I WAS PANIC!ING AT THE DISCO BEFORE YOU GOT THERE T-shirt and a girl with pigtails was the same, pale face of the girl from his dreams. Droplets of blood trickled down the side of her face, wisps of hair plastered to head, due to the large amount of blood. Her lips were not curled in a smile, nor a frown. Just that blank expression, burning holes into him with her lifeless eyes.
Everyone calmly walked off the stage. But not him. He was already gone by the time the others turned began exiting the stage. “Brendon, what’s wrong?” Ryan questioned, the other three band members watching their singer shake tremendously. Beads of sweat drizzled down his forehead. “Didn’t you see her? She’s DEAD. She was here. Oh, fuck.” He grasped handfuls of hair with his hands, his brown eyes staring straight at the floor. No one, not a expert or a complete stranger, could explain why the hell he was seeing this girl. Hell, HE didn’t know why he was seeing her! “Brendon, calm down. You’re seeing things.” Jon tried to explain, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. But Brendon pulled away, looking at Jon in disbelief. “Can we just get the Hell out of here? I just want to go.”
After changing from stage outfits to comfortable clothing, the band quickly gathered their things and began their escape to the bus. But as soon as they opened the door, they were bombarded with fans wanting autographs and pictures. Brendon mentally groaned, having half a mind to simply say “No” and continue on his merry way. But no, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t disappoint them, just because of his psycho-paranormal-déjà vu. Making their way down the line, the four males began signing posters and CDs, even the occasional chest. “Just a few more, Brendon. Just a few more.” He assured himself. He even stopped to make little chit-chat with some of the people towards the end. A Panic! CD was outstretched in front of his face, Brendon smiling slightly before signing with his trusty Sharpie. “Would you mind writing ‘To Morgan, with love’ too?” The fan asked. Brendon stopped in his tracks. His heart pace increased by tenfold. “Oh. My. God.” was all he could think. Slowly, his brown eyes began making their way upwards, freezing when they landed on the face.
It was her. It was her. It was her. Instead of the usual blank look, something else replaced it. Something.. that looked like it crossed between a smirk and a smile. And for an instant, his heart just stopped. Brendon’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees gave in, and he collapsed, right then and there. Several screams and shouts could be heard, and he could see people rushing towards him. “Brendon! Brendon!” Spencer shouted, kneeling over him. It became cold. Dark. And then, there was nothing.
Dark makeup shaded the area of his eyes, the rest of his face powdered in white. There was a microscopic second of disbelief as he stared out at the crowd. You would’ve expected a band like Panic! At the Disco to be accustomed to the jeers and screams of the fans. But, no. You’ve got it all wrong. It was an awkward trip that Brendon had to mentally go through each time he stepped onto the stage. “Wow. All of these people? Just for four of us little Summerlin kids?” Yes, honey. Believe it and weep.
“Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome!” Brendon’s velvety voice rang through the speakers, gracing the men and women in the audience. “You’ve entered a place where there is no turning back. A place where stilt walkers roam the earth. A place where contortionists bend and twist for the viewing pleasure of the human eye!” It was enough to have any thirteen-year-old girl’s mind wonder off to such a fantastic place. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gracefully glided over to Ryan, his golden long jacket’s tail fluttering behind him. “A place where boys in eyeliner write songs about,” He leaned into Ryan’s ear, microphone still in his hand, his smile still gracing his lips. “Sexual intercourse.”
Oh, the amount of girlish screams that one can get with that little ol’ line.
Brendon pulled away from Ryan, who had a smirk drawn on his features. He couldn‘t help but chuckle before carrying on with his display of entertainment. “Oh, but a wonderful place it is! There is nothing quite like the show biz. While the crowd lines up in their rows and rows, we’ve warned you about this spectacle of a show. Gathered beneath this tent of red and white, prepare yourself for an amazing sight. Because..” Brendon pulled up his gloves, as if he were fixing them. He looked up at the crowd, a cute look planting itself on his face. “Nothing quite rhymes with circus.”
The volume level from the audience ascended, the golden buttons of his long jacket glistening in the stage lights as he strode over to the center of the stage. The beat of “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage” began to play loudly. Just as rehearsed, Brendon came in with perfect timing, belting out the lyrics to the song. “Looks like this is gonna be another success.” The singer thought to himself joyfully.
“Raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses. It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains, and a few more of your least favorite things. Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy. Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy.” The beautiful instrumental played as dancers glided seductively across the stage, doing their own little performance. Burlesque girls and ringleaders in shimmering outfits danced across the stage, twirling parasols and red cloth. The pace quickened slightly, giving Brendon the opportunity to stride down into the section that barely divided him and the audience. “Raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses. It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains. And a few more of your least favorite things.” Brendon hopped back up onto the stage after having his legs and chest touch by show go-ers in the audience. After the billionth time of that happening, you got used to it.
“Raindrops on roses and the girls in white dresses. And sleeping with the roaches and the taking best guesses. At the shade of the sheets and before all the stains. And a few more of your least favorite things!” Spencer was banging away at the drums, Ryan and Jon doing what they did best, while Brendon held the note, playing loud and powerful chords on the piano. And with the final note, everything came to an abrupt stop. Including the burlesque girls, who dropped “dead” on the floor. The jeers and shouts of the audience rose to a point beyond belief, which almost made it sound ghost-like. How scary. They gathered up onstage, band members, dancers, Roger-The-Pimpin’-Ringmaster and all, taking there bows.
It was one of those things that Brendon enjoyed. The overwhelming feeling of knowing that you’ve made someone’s night. And no, we’re not talking about sex. Brendon mentally laughed at the thought as they took a final bow. But as he rose up from the bending position of the bow, a familiar face showed up in the audience. Right in between a girl with a I WAS PANIC!ING AT THE DISCO BEFORE YOU GOT THERE T-shirt and a girl with pigtails was the same, pale face of the girl from his dreams. Droplets of blood trickled down the side of her face, wisps of hair plastered to head, due to the large amount of blood. Her lips were not curled in a smile, nor a frown. Just that blank expression, burning holes into him with her lifeless eyes.
Everyone calmly walked off the stage. But not him. He was already gone by the time the others turned began exiting the stage. “Brendon, what’s wrong?” Ryan questioned, the other three band members watching their singer shake tremendously. Beads of sweat drizzled down his forehead. “Didn’t you see her? She’s DEAD. She was here. Oh, fuck.” He grasped handfuls of hair with his hands, his brown eyes staring straight at the floor. No one, not a expert or a complete stranger, could explain why the hell he was seeing this girl. Hell, HE didn’t know why he was seeing her! “Brendon, calm down. You’re seeing things.” Jon tried to explain, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. But Brendon pulled away, looking at Jon in disbelief. “Can we just get the Hell out of here? I just want to go.”
After changing from stage outfits to comfortable clothing, the band quickly gathered their things and began their escape to the bus. But as soon as they opened the door, they were bombarded with fans wanting autographs and pictures. Brendon mentally groaned, having half a mind to simply say “No” and continue on his merry way. But no, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t disappoint them, just because of his psycho-paranormal-déjà vu. Making their way down the line, the four males began signing posters and CDs, even the occasional chest. “Just a few more, Brendon. Just a few more.” He assured himself. He even stopped to make little chit-chat with some of the people towards the end. A Panic! CD was outstretched in front of his face, Brendon smiling slightly before signing with his trusty Sharpie. “Would you mind writing ‘To Morgan, with love’ too?” The fan asked. Brendon stopped in his tracks. His heart pace increased by tenfold. “Oh. My. God.” was all he could think. Slowly, his brown eyes began making their way upwards, freezing when they landed on the face.
It was her. It was her. It was her. Instead of the usual blank look, something else replaced it. Something.. that looked like it crossed between a smirk and a smile. And for an instant, his heart just stopped. Brendon’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees gave in, and he collapsed, right then and there. Several screams and shouts could be heard, and he could see people rushing towards him. “Brendon! Brendon!” Spencer shouted, kneeling over him. It became cold. Dark. And then, there was nothing.
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