Wednesday, February 27, 2013


The girl in the black fishnets is crying. She is swatting her hands around her body as if she has been caught in a swarm of bees, not a swarm of mind. You try not to look at her. Her was just a second, but they saw. You know she knows. You know you can't help her.

The guy with the glow-sticks is such a canker-sore of a fucking cliche, you want to hit him. But you are too busy watching the glow. You wish you had something that looked so pretty.

You close your eyes tight and realize that the world inside is even more terrifying. Blood drips off sodden statues, monuments to the moments you repressed, saving them for just the right moment. I guess this is the right moment.

You rub your jaw and your skin feels slick and cold. You can't tell where the sensation leaves your face and transfers to your fingers. In a second, you become aware that you are in a roomful of people and they all look like fucking lunatics. They are in clusters giggling, staring stupefied into the lights, clutching something tight to their chests. They hate you, but you can't figure out why. You wrack your brain to find something. It has to be. They know. Somehow, in this warehouse, the truth was plucked without your knowing.

A girl grabs your hand and you snatch it away from her like she is fire. She smiles at you gently. She passes you the joint she's smoking and says something, grinning. You can't fucking hear and you don't trust the girl, but she grabs your arm and resistance proves too confusing.

Outside, the black sky morning is falling over the dreams of the civilian masses. Outside, the strobe light can't hurt you. Outside, you can hear the girl, and she has a lovely voice that speaks in emotion, words lost to the drone of reassurance. You lean your head on her shoulder and let the voice wash over you.

The cigarette is your connection to everything. You can't explain it, you just know. It is an anchor, a talisman, it is your life's breath painted white for your amusement. In a few hours, your lower back will ache. You will try to remember where you got the little locket in your pocket. You open it and there is a small square of paper inside. There is a picture of a flower on the paper. Alice never questioned it and you don't either.


  1. This reality is so painful and so real in its un-reality, if you know what I mean. Scary how the world bobs and weaves - I can feel the motion and the emotion as I read this. Another amazing flash, Dan.


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