Time To Dance

The tight satin squeezed her middle and the obtrusive object in her boot stabbed her leg maliciously. The cold winter air blew up her skirt and caused her pale, bony legs to erupt in goose bumps. She noticed none of this, she was in a trance. The looming doors of the ballroom taunted her, beckoning her to come inside and feed the chaos. She saw lights flashing and could feel the music pulsing from outside.

Time to Dance.

Once inside, she observed the pulsing mass of people with fascinated disgust. Girls in ripped up, skimpy dresses and caked-on makeup grinded against hungry, sweaty boys.

So testosterone boys and harlequin girls…

Her leg throbbed, but she ignored it. Not yet… she thought. And she plunged in, slipping on the malicious high school mask. It smirked at the sweaty bodies and the satin dress tried to claim her breath as she was swallowed by the pulsing masses.

Will you dance to this beat and hold that lover close?

Ears bleeding.
Throat closing.
Eyes blinded.
Hips grinding.
Reveling in the pain, racing to keep up. She lifted her arms in search of fresh air, but she could find none in the haze. Her bony, scarred arms whipped around above her, like a flag of weakness being flown over her head. The ugly masks turned to her with scorn.

Come on, this is screaming ‘Photo Op!’

Before humiliation could pounce, something clicked in her head. Snapped. A pair of strong hands gripped her hips and she whipped around and smashed her lips against theirs. No faces, just masks, grinding hips and hungry lips.

What a wonderful caricature of intimacy.

Sweat mingled with tears but she didn’t care who they belonged to. She tasted it in the kiss. She couldn’t breathe and the other begged for air, but she refused to pull away.

Have some composure, where is your posture?

Her boot was burning and she reached into it, dragging the lover down with her. The cool metal of the gun in her burning fingers sent shivers down her spine and she caressed the trigger…

You’re pulling the trigger, pulling the trigger…

A sound like the popping of a bubble filled her ears.

…all wrong

They had to hear it, but they kept pulsing to the deafening beat, unaware of the two bodies they were about to trample. Her lover had slacked, and sprawled out on the floor. She caressed his chest and the mask smiled when her fingers met warm liquid. She pressed her lips to his once again, and she could taste it.

But they believe it from the tears and the teeth, right down to the blood at her feet

The bodies above her bent over one by one as she caressed the trigger over and over, in time to the beat. One, Two, Three, Four, Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop…

You’ll dance to anything.

She squeezed the gun so hard the burning metal scorched her fingers.

Have some composure!

The bodies sweated blood and she was drowning…

Where is your posture?

Once again succumbing to conformity, she turned the hot-bellied killer to face herself…

You’re pulling the trigger, pulling the trigger…

Caressing the trigger one more time…

…all wrong

Her eyes clouded red then black…

Dance to this beat
Dance to this beat
Time to Dance.