The pounding music masked the sound of his footsteps. Veils of fantasy had been lifted from his eyes, and for the first time, he saw his life for what it truly was. Disenchanted, numb and detached, he wanted to feel something again. He wanted emotion to seize him the way it once had. He wanted reassurance, the knowledge that he wasn’t just another robot in a computerized, pixelated world long overrun by puppets.
Beneath the flashing strobe lights, he seamlessly entered a sea of gyrating, sweaty bodies. Disillusioned and angry teenagers danced to the blasting of trance, each consumed by their own wretchedness. They made up a desperate, hungry and frenzied entity, throwing itself so completely and wholly into the heat of the moment, living the vicarious life that elevated them into the euphoria of flight to the thumping sound of bass beats against the warble of the next untalented, naïve wannabe.
In his jaundiced state, he wanted to feel the silken touch of bare skin upon his, to taste the bitterness upon his lips, and to lose his soul in the vibrating throb of the staccato music. It was a dance drawing him into a trance that beckoned so seductively, away from the sepulchral grime and impersonal one-two rhythm of daily life.
Upon the ravenous crowd, the music came to a crescendo; the strobe lights flashed once, twice, and darkness fell upon the soulless, throbbing creature, as the crashing music shattered into an eternal silence.
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