Glorified Version of A Stranger

The air reeked of body odor, the floor littered with cigarette butts and crumpled beer cans. In the semi-darkness of the corners in the place, lovers were talking, kissing, groping each other, oblivious to the masses of the stinking, sweaty crowd uncontrollably banging their heads to the incessant beat of the dark, Goth song “Lost Souls in the Hallway.�

In the far end of the room, to his left, a discernible queue of teenagers were slowly moving towards a small bathroom. Their faces held the look of delusion, while some had the look of contempt, and then some had the look of apathy. The faint yellow light coming from the bathroom cast an eerie glow on the faces of the people. From where he was standing, the whole scene looked like a shtick from George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. It gave him goose bumps just thinking about it.

He glanced to his right and saw a series of booths selling band merchandise, studded bracelets, cigarettes, and beer. The people gathered were hankering over most of the items there were for sale. They had the same look as those who were lined up for the bathroom: contempt, delusion, glee.

Behind him, a throng of eager kids were trying to push their way inside the stadium, while an army of bouncers and bodyguards were effortlessly pushing them back.

He fixed his gaze at the band fronting the main act. They were a group of skinny brats trying to cover a Goth band, but obviously doing a good job at it.

Two more acts before the main shit, he thought. He still had time to look for Elena in the crowd.
Elena was his childhood friend. They had been best buds for the longest time ; in fact, she was his first real friend. Someone he could talk to whenever he felt like ranting. They shared a lot of likes and dislikes. They both hated the same group of people, they both liked the same teachers, they both liked video games, and they both liked staring into space, doing nothing.

He lit a cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply as he made for the smelly, thrashing, sweaty mob. Elena told him earlier that she would definitely be in front of the stage. He instantly regretted letting her go ahead of him.

Their original plan was to go to the concert together, get drunk, and then slam-dance in the moshpit as their all-time favorite band played. They deserved to spend time together after he had been gone for more than three months. Unfortunately, fate intervened. His mom had last minute errands for him and Elena couldn’t wait. Because of this, he now had to squeeze himself into the grinding mass of enthused bodies jumping to the rhythm of the song, “Cradle my Heart.â€?

He felt the entire brutality of the song as he made his way to the stage. He was shoved and pushed, stepped on, shouted at, but he didn’t react violently. He felt the yearning that he was not supposed to feel. He completely understood that he was in the moshpit and these actions were to be expected. But this burning feeling inside him had to be tamed. It took all his effort to do this until finally he kept it at bay.

After about 10 minutes of bodily torture he finally saw Elena. She was dancing in tune with the beats of the song, head swaying from side to side, hair flying in all directions, shirt soaked in sweat, jeans and shoes stained with mud. He quickly made his way to her. His heart was thumping, his hands cold and clammy, his shirt was sticking to his back. He felt nervous and stupid. He beheld Elena in his eyes as if he was seeing an apparition, as if in a delirium, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

To him, she was at her prettiest when possessed by this music. To him, she was a goddess worth giving up one’s life to. Oh, how he worshipped her especially in this state: the state of rapture and madness, giving way to ecstasy, only to fall into the same cycle all over again. He felt himself being led to the same state at once. He held her hand, as he felt its softness, as the sweat in both their hands mingled, he too wanted to sway to the beat that was enslaving everyone. He was about to lose it when he felt her lips on his. The whole world came to a stop. Everything else was a blur. He saw them in the moshpit, holding hands, their lips locked into each other. The burning feeling resurfaced and threatened to break free. He summoned an invisible strength to hold it down.

It was a struggle for him, but eventually he was able to overcome it. But what was this kissing about? Had this been brought about by the allure of the melody of the songs? Was she intoxicated? Was it the pills? He did not know the answer. All he knew was that he was thrilled by their lip locking. He could not believe what was happening. In fact, he never entertained the thought of them being an item. Well, at least he vainly attempted once, but got discouraged when she changed the topic to something else. He simply assumed that he would never get anything other than friendship.

After what seemed like eternity, the kissing stopped. He felt himself dragged outside the moshpit, into a dark corner of the venue. He expected more kissing but got none. Instead, she looked at him with a look seriousness that threatened to freeze his passion cold. He was confused but he still continued to stare at her beauty intently. Beads of sweat were on her forehead, her hair tangled beyond belief, her chest heaving due to the strain of pushing people out of their way, her jeans were muddy down to her pink Chuck Taylors. Her eyes still had the look of intensity but in a split of a second, delight slowly crept in her eyes, making her all the more beautiful despite the mascara running along her cheeks. Her lips formed a small smile, almost a smirk.

Maybe she’s in love with me, he told himself; but he might just be assuming things, as usual.

He wanted to ask her what the kiss was for when his eyes fell to their interlocked hands. She followed his gaze and yet she too was unmoved then looked straight into his eyes. Her small sneer gave way to a larger, more captivating smile that made his heart beat faster, He fought the urge to take her in his arms again.

They talked about nothing. They just stared at each other, savoring their brief kiss, the softness of her hand, oblivious to the incessant beat of the dark, gothic song, the mindless swaying of the crowd, the lovers groping each other all around them, the beer-guzzlers in the far end of the venue, the kids pushing at the bouncers, the sluggish movement of the line to the toilet. These were all unimportant to him. Deep inside of him, he feared that this was the effect of something she had taken. He feared that everything will be as it was the following day. But his mind argued that there never was anything troublesome with what they had. In fact, what they had was beyond words. Why let one kiss, destroy a friendship of a lifetime? Why risk this friendship?

He wanted to let go of her hand but didn’t have the strength to do it. With each passing moment his strong resolve to let go of her hand went softer and softer. Every passing minute mutated his platonic feeling into a romantic one. Was his dormant passion for her suddenly awakening? Were the sleeping romantic feelings that he had for her finally being roused?

His nervousness and excitement were eating him alive. He was quickly becoming tense and uptight. Suddenly, he felt like leaving the place. Never mind that their favorite band was going to play in a few more minutes! He wanted to be with her. Alone. He wanted to talk. A lot of questions were burning in his mind. He was startled as she leaned heavily towards him. It was as if her strength was eaten by the intensity of the moment. He quickly caught her and put both his arms around her. In this uncanny display of emotions the fire of their passion blazed even brighter. In a daze she whispered to him to take her out of the place, to take her to the top of the hill so they could watch the moon together.

With swift movements he quickly positioned her so that he could carry her out of the stadium. He could still see the sparkle of glee in her eyes. How happy she looked! She put her arms around him as he carried her to their favorite hill, where they could both lie down on the grass and gaze at the moon and the stars. He felt elation and excitement as he trudged uphill to their destination. Finally, they made it to the top of the hill. He gently helped her to her feet as her gaze turned to the direction of the moon. She pulled him down to the grass so that they could both lie down and gawk at the beauty of the night, the moon full in its entirety, the stars, as if diamonds scattered in the blackness of the night.

He let his gaze drift to her face. His hand instinctively reached for hers. He gently squeezed her hand as his eyes focused on the moon, specifically the Mare Tranquillitatis. They felt peace and a yearning for each other as they lay in the grass, hand in hand, watching the moon and its various craters.

Her eyes were moist with tears as she turned and faced him. He did the same.

She was about to say something but he cut her off and spoke first.

“Cig?� he asked

She passed him a pack of Marlboro’s.

“What the heck did you take this time Elena?� he said to her.

She giggled then took out a small bottle, half-full of little white pills.

“X,� she said. “Found it in Mom’s drawer.�

She smiled and tightened her grip on his hand.

Only now did he notice how warm her hand was.

“Elena!� he firmly mouthed refusing to be distracted.

She knew his weakness. “What?� she asked. �I took them because we promised each other we would party tonight, didn’t we?�

He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“I expected you to be sane, not intoxicated like some bumbling fool! Look at you!� he exclaimed, smoke coming out of his mouth.

She giggled. “So what are you going to do about it?

He felt his blood rushing to his head. He knew that he shouldn’t be angry at her. Instead, he took another drag at his cigarette and focused on how the moon was making his Elena all the more beautiful.

My Elena, he heard a voice say. I like the sound of that.

He frowned. Shut up and let me take care of this, he silently said to the voice. He had been racking his brain on how to tell her about this thing inside him.

“Oy,� Elena shouted. “Wassup with that look on your face?

“Huh? Nothing. Just random thoughts.�

Random thoughts my ass, the voice said.

“I’ve got a random thought myself, Elena said.

She suddenly was on top of him, her hands intertwined with his. Their faces were only a few inches apart. He saw that her eyes were still dreamy and moist, her pink lips slightly parted, her tangled, lustrous hair, fell beautifully on his face.

He felt the softness of her mounds just beneath her shirt. He felt the hotness of her breath. He felt the burning passion in her, straining to be released as their lips made contact again. He closed his eyes as she kissed him, gently sucking his lower lip, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

Oh but he was enjoying this too much! He felt his arousal with every second that passed.

The burning feeling in him returned. He felt the blood surging through his veins. He wanted to stop it but he couldn’t control it. As the voice took over he slowly saw the darkness lift.

Tags: goodbye Goth Night of the Living Dead parting party passion short story

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