When thunder clapped over the concert, he belted the high note of his greatest hit and collapsed. Maybe he had been reaching for the floor the entire show, knees shaking. Surely there had been more than one sign, an out-of-rhythm sway, a slurred lyric, because everyone watching, from the pit to the nosebleeds would later remember predicting it. As clouds sank heavy over their heads, promising rain, they knew, just knew. Not only was his collapse a certainty, they had it pictured in their minds: forceful, as if he were shoved aside and trampled. They were all looking right at him when the thunder echoed. The music continued to blast the outro through the speakers, heavy bass vibrating under their feet with the storm rumbling in their ears. No one moved. The fans who were sober and the ones who were drunk, the locals, the foreigners, everyone waited for permission to breathe again while suspicion grew that this was all their fault. They had loved him too hard, begged for him too long, driven him to exhaustion in exchange for their euphoria.
Photo by Sebastian Ervi on Unsplash
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