I walk in with everyone else, part of the crowd and yet as alone as ever. Here is where it is, here is where we are drawn, where emotions are exaggerated, polarised. Like becomes love, dislike becomes hate, happy becomes ecstatic. Already I can feel my eyelids being drawn towards my feet, and the pain in my ribs is sharp and insistent. Below me, the sea of contorted faces rises and falls, swelling, breaking against the bar in a tumult of sweat and anger. Two anonymous friends grab me by the arms and pull me down, kicking and screaming it seems to me into the phosphorent ocean. I look back, hoping to see others like me, reluctant to immerse themselves in this all-inclusive love fest, but slow-motion dancers obstruct my view, and I'm pulled on. A fist clutching a drinks bottle clouts me round the eye, and I nearly fall, kept vertical only by my restrainers. Deeper into the dark masses we cut, fluorescent body paint and glow sticks burning neon arcs into my vision as they leap around us. Finally my arms are released, and I find a pill pressed into my palm. Mechanically, I place it in my mouth and swallow. No-one means anything here, they are all so blatantly unintelligent and vacuous. I realise that I'm jealous of their happiness and their unity, and that I'm translating that jealousy into insults. I hold these people in absolute contempt, and yet there's nothing I want more than to be a part of this. I close my eyes and the place of the flashing lights is taken by a mosquito-ridden river, rippling through the steamy jungle. Through the orange haze I see a tree root sticking out into the water, so I try to swim for it, but the river is like syrup, and no matter how hard I thrash, I can't make any headway. The heat is nearly unbearable, and I can feel the sweat running down my face to mix with the oily water. I gulp down a mouthful of air, and make one last panicked foray for the root. The flow sweeps me onwards, and it looks like I won't make it, but I lunge frantically and my hand closes around its silky surface. I haul myself into its lee, and lie suspended in the water, panting. As I search for a way to the bank, the thick mist parts to reveal the wild caperings of a group of humans in full tribal war paint, their teeth bared in a possessed beam. I try to clamber out, but they thrust me back in with the butts of their spears, never ceasing the crazed dance. The water closes over my head, and the pulse that holds them still drums on my ears, 1, 2, 1, 2, never stopping, beating me down, crushing my will. After an eternity I break the surface again, downstream of the savages, their macabre contortions still visible at the water's edge. As I watch, one of them hurls a burning torch into the centre of the river, and to my dismay it catches light like gasoline, the flame spreading outwards as fast as a train. Vainly I struggle away from my impending doom, but the water and the fog combine to thwart my efforts, forming a thick orange mass through which I cannot move. The inferno engulfs me, the gases from it boiling upwards through the dusk sky like a gigantic angel of death spreading its wings. Still thrashing, my fingers come into contact with something solid. As I pull myself out of the crackling river, I feel my skin coming away, and my flesh weeping from my bones. I sense the cold night air on my blackened eye sockets, and stagger blindly forwards. A hand briefly meets my shoulder, a far-off voice inquires "are you alright, mate?" and I stumble through the doors and onto the street, breathing hoarsely.
I wander vacantly down the street, keeping to the shadows without thinking, skirting the pools of light which occur randomly along the pavement. Above me the buildings pierce the night sky, the lampposts giving the illusion of a long-decayed vaulted roof, as if I'm walking in a ruined cathedral. A black pigeon clatters out of the gloom and sweeps over my head, making me duck and fall into a pile of bin bags. I haul myself up, head spinning, and recommence my slow pace. Alleys without end open up without warning on my left, providing a momentary stained-glass glimpse of the city's light-polluted sky, the embers from burning houses half-imagined and then gone. My head swivels back round, and then tilts back to take in the Messianic edifice which has suddenly risen over me. I cower back in terror, petrified by the uplit gothic masterpiece which is the statue of the Virgin Mary, her eyes burning with righteous anger. Her gaze follows me as I scrabble around the deserted square, and dive into the nearest road. Timidly, I peer back around the corner, in time to see a break in the clouds form behind her head, and the weak moonlight momentarily flare into holy brilliance, framing her face with a biblical halo. Desperate to escape, I am stricken by the vision, unable to move. A police car sweeps past me at high speed, making me jump, the clouds reform, and she is merely a statue again, drab and graffiti-covered. I take one last lingering look, and flee.
I take refuge in a
bar I come across. Its half-hidden position behind a majestic
Victorian building gives it the illusion of exclusivity, when
in fact it's a mix of cynical hardened middle-aged drinkers, and
young dopeheads out for a good time. The latter portion of the
clientele is attracted here by tonight being trance night, and
they are all sitting clustered around low tables, rocking to the
music with glazed-over eyes. The ambience lifts my spirits, and
to my surprise one table beckons me over like an old friend.
Unsurprisingly, I am not an old friend, but apparently I will
suffice at a pinch, they are all too wasted to know the difference.
I feel an affinity with these people, and that depresses me. The
only people whom I feel could understand me, are all losers and
dropouts with a drug habit. I start smoking too, and get talking
to some girl with cute short-cropped hair called something beginning
with A. She's very apologetic for her friends' over-familiarity,
blaming it on what she calls "smoke-haze". She seems
very genuine, she only laughs when you can tell she's found something
really funny, and when you're telling her something her face goes
all serious and earnest and her eyes never leave yours. She points
to my forehead and says "how did you get that scar?"
This is a golden opportunity to really play it up, invent something
horrific and sympathy-inducing, like being the sole survivor of
an arson attack or something. "I was bitten, by a dog."
well, there's always the truth.
"What, in the head?"
"No, in the bum. I was standing by a canal boat we'd hired
one summer, all moored up, and this dog came along and bit me."
"Ooh. Did it hurt?"
"Not really, but I was so shocked that I fell in and cracked
my head on the gunwale." Just as she's about to ask another
incredulous question, one of the blokes turns round from the group
and jeers "Yeah, look after your mates, isn't that right,
And."
"Pardon me?" she spits.
"Fidelity just gets in the way sometimes, doesn't it."
he continues, leaning back dangerously on his chair. He looks
very unsteady. She grabs my hand, "Come on, we're going."
"Don't tire yourself out, will you." he shouts as we
stand up and turn away from the table. Outside the bar she puts
her face in her hands. I feel awkward standing there, not knowing
if she's crying or merely tired. She draws in a long breath, and
releases it in one huge shuddering sob. I can see she's trying
to control herself, but her shoulders are shaking, and as I watch,
tears form between her fingers and run down the tendons of her
hands. All anxiety over decorum leaves me, and I move next to
her, holding her head on my shoulder. With a curled left hand
she clings onto my shoulder as if for dear life, and she cries,
still silently, into my shirt. I find myself improbably distressed
by the unhappiness of this girl I've never met before. I don't
even know her full name, and yet I'm driven desperate by her pitiful
sobs, my feeling of impotence growing. Mechanically I start stroking
her hair, what am I thinking of? What kind of a romantic movie-watching
fool am I? I kiss her on the cheek, and whisper with salty lips
that it'll be fine, I'll take her home, or we can get a coffee,
and those guys can't do anything. and everything'll be okay. And
still she's crying, like she's got a jackhammer for a diaphragm.
I really don't know what to do, but my heart is actually going
to break if she cries anymore. Suddenly, not realising what I'm
doing, I kiss her on the cheekbone, lift her chin, and kiss her
mouth, and she kisses my mouth, and gradually her sobs quieten,
subside, and it's just the pair of us kissing on the pavement.
Next thing I know I've hailed her a cab and I'm mumbling apologies
as I close the door after her, but she winds down the window,
kisses me again as a way of preventing me talking further, gives
me her phone number, and tells me to ring her tomorrow. Then the
cab drives off down the road. Sensing wetness, I look down to
find that I'm standing in an overflowing drain. I step up onto
the kerb, shaking the water off my shoes, and start walking back
to more familiar parts of the city. The pain in my ribs, I notice,
is throbbing and intense, probably the result of smoking in that
bar. A rushing noise fills my ears, everywhere there's sound,
pulsing and racing, burning. I break into a run, not sure what
I'm running from. The pain in my ribs is almost numbing now, spinning
and blue-coloured. I look over my shoulder and fall over a binbag,
hitting my head on the pavement. I try to get up again, but I
stumble and fall on all fours, gasping. I am bathed in the orange
glow of a streetlight directly overhead, and as I collapse onto
my back I can see the shaft of light rising above me. The city
is breathing with me, but my breaths are short and harsh, and
the city's are deep and soothing. The building rising over me
swells and falls with the paving slabs beneath me as light drowns
my vision, a beautiful sensory saturation, and everywhere there
are people talking, newsreaders, the savages, my father. I smile
and listen hard to catch what they're saying. It's quite loud,
but their voices are all very light, and I can't make it out.
"I can't hear them over my own breath" I think exasperatedly.
But I need to hear what their voices are saying. With a kind of
happy resignation, I stop breathing, and am absorbed into the
voices.
