I stood in the town square on my way to band practise when a storm like none before witnessed by man descended. The clouds turned so dark I thought night had fallen, lightning crackled and pounded across the sky becoming louder and louder, more and more frequent. As I stared in disbelief, my mouth agape, a hole began to form in the clouds, the lightning coursing around it until it became a ring of pure energy.
I heard the beginnings of music fading in but where it came from I could not tell. A punishing drum beat with cataclysmic cymbals arose, guitars wailed and howled whilst others chugged a riff that made my head nod uncontrollably. When the music reached a crescendo the ring of lightning in the sky became a pillar of light that shot into the ground, detonating the quaint covered benches that sat on the stone plinth marking the centre of town.
I shielded my eyes from the otherworldly light and the flying shrapnel. Movement caught my eyes and I looked up to where the pillar originated. I saw a figure within the painfully bright light, it’s arms outstretched and a mane of hair billowing about it. As it began to descend I heard the most emotion-laden guitar solo to ever grace my ears. In that moment I felt unworthy to hear such divine musicianship. Where the music came from no longer mattered.
The figure neared the ground, its accompaniment wailed and cried, and as the silhouette touched down on this mortal soil the solo finished with an awe inspiringly long held note that reverberated around the square.
It walked out of the pillar and I saw that it was a man. Seven feet tall, surrounded by hair that could be darkness, topless and adorned in myriad tattoos. He walked to me with authority and power, each booted step shaking the ground. I did not fear and I did not run as he came to a stop in front of me. The final ringing note faded into a silence that blanketed the world. He looked up, straight into my eyes and spoke.
“Duuude, is that a Gibson flying V?