  the group stepped forward in the shadows, their arms at their sides and hands clenched tightly into fists. their faces hidden by the darkness, the four moved slowly, closer and closer to the light thrown by the flickering, humming streetlamp. from the left to right emerged first V, his head down and hand gripping the imaginary tool of the trade; his left hand gripping the neck, his right hand the pick, both held so convincingly that someone with poor vision might mistake it for the real thing.
Next emerged Drum. He did not walk into the light, but rather rolled in in a sitting position. His head was also down, his hands holding sticks high above, his right foot aimed at the pedal. Low-end came in next, the only one not poised to rock -- he didn't have to though, all those who knew him knew he rocked with stealth. Lastly, Scream emerged, the only one whose face was visible. His eye sockets were darkened, but you could see the snarl at the corner of his mouth. Both hands outstretched towards a mic and they were ready to go. they all stood still for nearly five minutes before a deep smoke rolled across the ground from the darkness and obscured the collective. The smoke then retreated and left behind instruments belonging to each of their masters. The gentle hum of a stack.
The whole place was suddenly bathed in a light so bright it was blinding, and I stumbled backwards, arms flailing, hoping to find something to brace myself, only to find that I was inches from the edge of a dark, seemingly bottomless pit, rimmed by rows of glistening teeth. The light kept getting brighter and I began to feel rather than hear a rumbling...And then a single thunderous chord rang out casting me backwards into the hole and all went dark.
i woke up in my living room next to a massive puddle of vomit, presumably my own. I came to a conclusion after that experience: never, under any circumstances, drink something on a dare after being forcibly bindfolded and goaded on by a roomful of strangers at a frat party. 
