Mason Henderson

The Tribe Mason Henderson

And then the drums began; slowly at first, deep resonant tones that had caught him by surprise with the ease with which they'd pierced his body and set his bowels to vibrating. Waves of sound blowing by and through and echoing back, mixing returning waves, rounded and softened by their journey, with fresh waves possessed of a sparkling crack. A great living wash of sound that grew stronger and more intimate ... more feverish as the tempo increased. Explosive points and counterpoints caused him to flinch in their powerful unanticipated expression. Rolling and rumbling, all around him, thick walls of sound struck him and startled him ... and then he began to sense their rhythm. He began to flow with the power and fury cascading all around him, until he was caught up in a welling of emotion. He was joining with the drums, his breathing patterns altered subtly, his nostrils began to flare, a clenching of muscles rippled across his body as a thin line of drool escaped from his lips. His body bent slightly at the waist as he began to raise one bare foot and drive it back to the ground in time with a particular percussive line that made him feel right ... that made him feel whole ... that explained, in an unexplainable way, and answered all his questions. Driven harder and higher he sank into the thunderous power of the beat and surrendered, and was carried away. Suddenly filling his lungs he bent low, then exploded upward. The hood, jerked free as he left the ground, allowed his mournful screams to mix with the merciless walls of sound crashing down on him from all sides. Freed from the powerful grip he'd continued to leap into the air screaming, eyes closed, tears pouring down his face. Screaming words he didn't know, in a language he didn't understand ... and then the drums had fallen silent leaving only his ragged rapturous emotion to fill the underground chamber. He was a man possessed, but more importantly, he was now a man.