Baby, I Make the Corner Cry
Light my fire
The sounds of humanity nearly smothers the sounds of cheap underground rave music. Bodies damp with sweat find comfort in the closeness of others like rolling waves twisted in the anger of the sea. It is disgusting. The air is humid and sticky, filled with the scents of bodies, cheap perfumes and things still a mystery, both foreign and organic. The room is dim and clouded with the lingering dance patterns of smoke, the only light coming from a few stray lava lamps, small electronics and the flickering of lighters in the distance. The cups, lined up along the table like items sprawled out across a production line, ripple with the vibrations of sound and movement.
I am not one for crowds. The oxygen is choking itself from my lungs again, the presence of nausea hiding in my throat. I can hear the voices of the girls out in the crowd; I have been abandoned once again. But then a small skeletal hand touches my arm, and for a moment I’m afraid I have died of fright. I look down at the quiet, insignificant red head whose grey eyes stare back, empty and afraid before diverting towards the dirty, stained carpet. Sam.
“I am always left alone,” she says. I find I can’t do anything but nod. I sense an unmentioned understanding. We are both alone.
From the crowd emerges the white head of hair like a halo around the hollow face of the blonde. Molly is smiling charismatically, but the corners of my lips cannot seem to budge. She approaches with a number of small plastic cups, offering them out to us. Sam smiles shyly, taking the cup too large for her frail hands. I take it in my shaky hands and find I can’t do anything but stare.
“Well- Drink it, silly,” she commands over the music.
I bring it to my lips, but smell it first. The scent burns my nostrils. Everyone else has already taken a swig of the fiery liquid. I bring it to by lips, already feeling the traces of fire on my throat before I let it flood my airways.
For a moment, everything is gone. My eyes lose focus and my thoughts are burnt away. Even the thoughts of you are dead for a moment. A loud coughing fills the room, and I realize it’s me. Molly laughs lightly, looking in wonder before she hands me a second cup.
I debate not taking it. If I drink it, as I already have the first one, I will be no better than him. I will be everything that I hate, everything that stands for what I am desperately trying to escape. But then I remember this is what I want. I wanted the numbing. I wanted the fire. I wanted it all to leave me alone. The nausea and the feeling of choking have sufficed to silence and because of this I bring the liquid fire to my lips once more.
I am not one for crowds. The oxygen is choking itself from my lungs again, the presence of nausea hiding in my throat. I can hear the voices of the girls out in the crowd; I have been abandoned once again. But then a small skeletal hand touches my arm, and for a moment I’m afraid I have died of fright. I look down at the quiet, insignificant red head whose grey eyes stare back, empty and afraid before diverting towards the dirty, stained carpet. Sam.
“I am always left alone,” she says. I find I can’t do anything but nod. I sense an unmentioned understanding. We are both alone.
From the crowd emerges the white head of hair like a halo around the hollow face of the blonde. Molly is smiling charismatically, but the corners of my lips cannot seem to budge. She approaches with a number of small plastic cups, offering them out to us. Sam smiles shyly, taking the cup too large for her frail hands. I take it in my shaky hands and find I can’t do anything but stare.
“Well- Drink it, silly,” she commands over the music.
I bring it to my lips, but smell it first. The scent burns my nostrils. Everyone else has already taken a swig of the fiery liquid. I bring it to by lips, already feeling the traces of fire on my throat before I let it flood my airways.
For a moment, everything is gone. My eyes lose focus and my thoughts are burnt away. Even the thoughts of you are dead for a moment. A loud coughing fills the room, and I realize it’s me. Molly laughs lightly, looking in wonder before she hands me a second cup.
I debate not taking it. If I drink it, as I already have the first one, I will be no better than him. I will be everything that I hate, everything that stands for what I am desperately trying to escape. But then I remember this is what I want. I wanted the numbing. I wanted the fire. I wanted it all to leave me alone. The nausea and the feeling of choking have sufficed to silence and because of this I bring the liquid fire to my lips once more.