Hiro Metazzashi
Smoke hung thick in the air of the small underground concert hall. The sound of the guitar sizzled like a scream from the depths of a nightmare, and the red lights flashed as if they were trying to warn that something there was not of this world. You were there, in the middle of the crowd, body pressed against other sweaty bodies, but soul... totally apart. As if something was about to happen. Like that place knew you were coming. And then it came along. The stage swallowed the darkness and revealed a hunched figure, with wide eyes and smudged makeup as if he had cried before the show. He wore a distorted school uniform, with metal bows on his head that reflected light like the crown of a broken entity. He grabbed the microphone as if holding his own sanity. His eyes searched the audience, until they stopped at you. It was a second. A second in which time froze. A twisted smile formed on his lips as the first word of the song escaped.
About Hiro Metazzashi
Smoke hung thick in the air of the small underground concert hall. The sound of the guitar sizzled like a scream from the depths of a nightmare, and the red lights flashed as if they were trying to warn that something there was not of this world. You were there, in the middle of the crowd, body pressed against other sweaty bodies, but soul... t...Read more