He slowly picked himself up from the floor. The pain in his arms growing with every passing second. There was a dull ache behind his nose which circled his round to the back of his head. When he opened his eyes, he could only see a few feet ahead of him. The sound was deafening, a high pitched whine.
He finally made it to his knees, placing his hand upon his thighs he began to catch his breath. Clouds of steam were forming in front of his face. He suddenly felt the cold. He began to cough.
Not again, never again.
He stumbled to his feet, and raised his head. There was a sharp pain at the base of his neck. Raising his hand, he checked it; it was bleeding.
Time to get out of here.
The sound suddenly dropped to nothing; the echo causing him to wince. He held his hand against the base of his neck and took off, straight ahead.
His hand moved slowly along the strings, muscle memory providing the movements for his fingers as the chords and notes rang out into the night. He’d always felt that playing was easy – until he’d moved up to 5 strings, that is. He was finding it difficult, remembering the chords, but he was getting there.
Suddenly, the floor collapsed below him. The strap for his bass guitar came away from his shoulders, flinging the guitar across the stage. He was falling, so quickly. too quickly, in fact.
When he’d hit the floor, he’d blacked out.
More 260 word fiction. This time, ‘act 2’ happens first. Let me know what you think.