By Syrus Rayne

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The sound of an excited crowd echoed through the room. Two men sat in silence, the excitement of the crowd they couldn’t yet see hammering home the magnitude of what they were about to do. Neither spoke, for both knew that there was nothing left to say. One of the men, Johnathon, stared at the clock on the wall; it was one of those calico cat clocks, with the moving eyes. The clock had long since stopped, but Johnathon felt as if the still eyes were watching him, that they were judging the purity of his very soul. The eyes were so large, so all consuming. There was no way to escape their righteous gaze. Johnathon sighed and shut his eyes tightly, resting his head in his hands.

The other man, Daniel, let his eyes wander the room, examining the scant furnishings that adorned it. He had already done this a dozen times, but at this point, it was more to take his mind off of what was coming. There were several faded posters decorating the walls, most illegible with age. A more recent poster seemed to have been put up, and Daniel could make out the letters “AC/DC” from where he sat, on the other side of the room. He glanced toward the floor, his eyes focusing on his boots. They were leather boots, with thick-soles. He’d bought them a week before, in preparation for today. He tried not to notice the two large black cases resting near his feet, but his gaze always found it’s way there. He shook his head, trying to clear the doubt from his mind. He knew there was no backing down, not anymore. But still, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good idea.

They were down two men after all, as he had pointed out to Johnathon earlier that day. How could they possibly hope to pull this off with just the two of them? There were three thousand people out there. There was no way-

The men snapped from their reveries, listening. They could hear a pair of feet coming running down the hall. They tensed, reaching out for the cases- just in case. Johnathon checked his watch; It was too soon, much too soon. It couldn’t be. Just as they were preparing to snap open the black cases, the feet passed by the door, and the men relaxed and sank back in their chairs as the sound was drowned out by that of the crowd.

After what seemed like an eternity, Johnathon spoke.

“Hey, Daniel?” He said.

“Yeah?” Came the reply.

“Are you sure you want to do this? There’s still plenty of time to back down.”

“What’s the matter, Johnny? Getting cold feet?” The reply was typical of Daniel, but his eyes belied the fear he too felt. It was an effort just to keep his voice from wavering.

“No! I just think we need to think about this before we-” Suddenly, the door swung open. The men almost fell out of their chairs. How could they not hear the footsteps approaching? They glanced at each other, and then to the door. A man wearing a black T-shirt was silhouetted in the door frame. Johnathon and Daniel reached for their cases, snapping them open.

“It’s time.” The man in the door called, over the roaring of the crowd.

Johnathon grinned nervously, and nodded. The door swung shut, and they could hear the footsteps retreating back down the hall. He reached down toward his case, and retrieved his Fender Stratocaster guitar, glancing at Daniel.

“Are you sure about this?”

Daniel reached down into his own case, and removed his Gibson SG bass. He nodded to Johnathon, and patted him on the shoulder.

“The show must go on.”