Bliss (Matthew Bellamy)

Chapter 1

You take only seconds to draw me in

"The Purple Wave..." - I mumbled as I eyed the place.

Underneath the upper two floors of the brick building, stood the eponymous mauve facade of the club. Though its exterior was indistinguishable from any other restaurant or pub in Britain, the inside of the club was home to a music venue, one which managed to draw young alternative music lovers from all around, and today me.

The muffled music coming from the inside grew louder, as the club's door opened to my left. Two boys quickly hurried inside, a dim light fell on their faces, both clearly underage...

I chuckled, shaking my head, and discarded my cigarette on the wet rocky pavement. Wrapping my jacket around myself tightly, I headed towards the door. Though the warm August weather still persisted into the first days of September, evenings were getting all the more chilly. A cool breeze that followed me into the club was soon extinguished by the warmth radiating from the crowd inside, and though it wasn't completely packed, the amount of people still sent my mind in a little spin.

I headed in the direction of the bar, finding my way between different groups of people. The wall behind the bar was plastered in posters, all from different gigs, so much so that some of them covered the chalkboard menu hung at the centre. On the smooth warm wood of the bar, there lay a crumpled flyer. It's white writing read "Muse, Showbiz", with a list of dates stacked underneath the title, one of which read "Purple Wave Night Club". And though I thought the place was brave to title itself a 'Night Club', it was a club, and, well, I was there as night was blooming above Exeter...

"A pint of Foster's please."

The man behind the bar looked at me, as if sizing me up, and smiled- "Have you got an ID on you love?"

I nodded, pulling the card out of my wallet. Though I was nearing 19, my face still maintained the same shapes it had since I was 12. Or at least that's how every bartender in Britain saw it...

"That'll be two pound."

I turned my attention back to the barman, laying the two coins in his hand, then took my glass and turned my back on the bar. The stage stood right in front of me now, barely lit by two yellow lights, and crowned by a blue drum kit. Amidst a sea of wires and cables I spotted a guitar stand. On it, lay three instruments: a black and a yellow guitar, and a bass.

I nervously took a sip of my beer. It was with tremendous difficulty that I had forced myself out of the apartment today. Though I would usually enjoy going out for a drink or to lose my mind to some live music, today I was doing it without Sophie to accompany me. Yet I felt it was a positive change, as my home was starting to feel like a fish tank with a broken filter.

I took another sip, trying to pass my time without looking like a lonely creep, yet my plans were rendered unsuccessful when I choked, as I saw a figure enter the stage. This earned me a dirty look from the aforementioned underage pair of boys, who now stood at the bar as well. They must've been lucky not to get ID'ed...

I surveyed the individual who had startled me, as he crossed the stage. The person was tall, with a muscular build, his curly hair hung over his face as he reached for his instrument - the bass.

I took another sip now, not startled again when I saw two more people appear on the stage.

They were both shorter, and skinnier than the bassist. The one in the front was a  short haired blonde, he drew his eyes over the crowd who had now assembled in front of the podium before heading towards the drum kit.

Unlike his friend, the other man did not look towards the room, but stood fumbling with one of the guitars. He stood shortest, and slimmest of the trio, and his hair was an elegant brown mess. He turned to face the mass of people before him, and adjusted the microphone, to finally greet the audience that had gathered in front of him.

"Uh... Good Evening everyone!" His voice was quiet, but he did not sound shy. "My name is Matt, I'm here with Dom and Chris" - He pointed at his band mates, who have now taken their places on the stage - "And we are Muse!"

The crowd gave a weak applause as the band exchanged glances. Finally, the man, who had now clarified he was a Matt, continued:

"Thank you to The Purple Wave for having us tonight! We'll be playing a few songs from our upcoming album, um... this first one is 'Muscle Museum'."

Babble around me had now descended to a murmur, as the song had opened with a bass line. Realising that I haven't moved for the past few minutes, I adjusted my position against the counter, still holding my drink. The song's melody filled the room now, melancholic and slightly tense, sending gooseflesh crawling up my arms and legs. I was always especially sensitive to music, I couldn't focus on anything else while listening to something I enjoyed, and I was quite the cryer when in an encounter with the right song. Regardless, I was still surprised when just the intro of the performance elicited such an acute reaction in me.

I took my time observe the musicians, so consumed in their actions and the music that they were creating. The drummer was head banging, putting all the strength stored in his arms directly into the drums, testing the limits of force the instruments' membranes can take. The bassist on the other hand, looked somehow more composed, besides his head, which was swinging like a delirious pendulum, far more violent than his bandmate's...

The guitarist stood stage right. His movements were sharp, slightly aggressive yet nonetheless alluring. He was pulling hard on the guitar's strings, his other hand travelling over the neck of the instrument in smooth, precise motion. Watching him was entrancing, the passion in his voice and the way he made his guitar sing so effortlessly could captivate even the most indifferent of minds. As the song ended and the strum of the last chord trailed off into thin air, I still watched at the man who had produced the sound, watching his hand travel up to hug the neck of the guitar.

The band was greeted by a loud applause, cheers and even a few whistles. The song had clearly roused the crowd

Allowing my eyes to skim the crowd, I hadn't noticed who was now observing me. Only when my eyes travelled back to the stage, back to the black guitar and finally back to the singer's face, did my eyes meet his.

I didn't know whether it was my heart or time in general that had stopped. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps it was a side effect of the meds they'd put me on. Regardless, the moment seemed to last forever, yet I could now feel it slipping, as if someone had oiled the cogs and time was now ready to resume its movement.

Driven by a force yet undiscovered, I winked at the man, allowing a small smile to grace my lips. And just before he turned away to look at the crowd again, I saw my smile reflected on his face.