Party

The haze of the room distorted the lights. The energy in the room encompassed the fleshy matter that was confined in the small space of the basement dwelling. Sweat added to the humid environment of the enclosed area. The sexual, sensual, intellectual, and physical tension was heavy and felt heavier than air, as it hung like smog over a sinful city. Eyes locked in every direction, as hands rested in ideal places. The movement of people was in perfect unison with the reverb soaked music that glistened in the dense air. The tickling sensation of vibrations caused shivers as each resounding beat of a bass note broke through the treble. Hearts came into sync, as feet shuffled, slide, glided, and rose in army synchronization. Hands delved deeply into thick and young hair, as nostrils flared, capturing hormonic desires. 

Youth has always found a way to express itself. Suppression of unbridled desires, energy, and excitement has been meet with dangerous consequences. The war rampages of the past have shown history that only the death of youth can keep the outflow of vitality from consuming everything indefinitely. Each juxtaposition of movement holds a dissonant beauty as youthful bodies graze, and lights bring to light thinly veiled thoughts. As skin continues to glisten so does the floor and the air that remains interwoven with the vibrations within the tight compact space of the basement. Rebellion can be felt. It caresses indulgent souls into fiery ideals. 

Hesitation of the masses is the start. 

Within an instant a pause. The flow of interchangeable and overflowed limbs stop. The crackle of speakers and panted breaths act as the only sounds in the room. White masked faces hold tragic, comical, and fractured expressions. The timeless quality of emotion etched and moulded into the abysmal masks are laughable in their lack of creativity. Youth, in its very essence, is striving for creativity and uniqueness when faced with the harsh reality of a past life already lived.

The crackle is broken by a snare crack. With each beat the figures move a limb in perfect unison. What adds an odd sensation to the sight is that each figure does not move the same limb. Some move a leg, though which, does not matter. Others move their arms, heads, hands, fingers, or hips. Some simply blink. Sporadic but fitting, each snare hit inches towards a pattern. First it revolves around an 8/7 pattern. Than a 3/4 waltz. The snare hit than warps to a 4/5 pattern before settling on a 4/4 beat. The strain of remaining in the same place is evident on the bodies of all participating within the event of the party.

A drum roll begins. One falls. Than another. As people fall to the ground the drum roll begins to crescendo, each body hitting the ground accenting certain beats, which fall on the third of every beat. After 33 beats, the snare roll tempo increased. Than again, and again, Until at last 333 bodies laid upon the ground, in a perfect circle around one lone individual, who stood without a mask. His hands resting at his side, and his hair in his eyes.