Danced Herself to Death

            Like a puppet on a string, Liza felt compelled to spend her weekends on the dance floor. A few shots of whatever the cute boys at the bar decided to buy her, the relentless throb of the bass, and her friends around her and her Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays were set. She would wake up mid-afternoon, have multiple hairs of the dog, then slip into another of her dresses and head downtown when the sun faded. It was her routine. It was her ritual. It was her.

            One night, she went to Troffea, a new club that had been only whispered about in her circles. It was secretive and had a reputation for limited admission and some of the most intense dancing available. She had had a hell of a week and needed to blow off steam so she followed the directions to the warehouse where the club was located. At first, the place didn’t look like much and, when she went inside, Liza smelled something strange. It wasn’t especially pleasant, but she had experienced incense before and knew that it affected everyone differently.

            After an hour, she found herself growing bored. The music was fine, but the crowd was sparse, her drinks were a bit watered down, and the entire vibe felt sad and weary. She was just about to go when a new DJ arrived. He announced himself as DJ Getz and that he was going to make everything better. Liza doubted that but the DJ started the next song and everything changed. Something in the music, an undercurrent of desperation maybe, latched onto her like a hungry dog. She finished her drink and walked unsteadily to the floor along with everyone else. The lights dimmed then erupted in flashes of color. The universe lit up in Liza’s head and she found herself moving, writhing, becoming part of the music.

            She danced for what felt like hours. She grinded against more people than she could count. She kissed someone – something she never did. The mood took her, took everyone. The feeling was euphoric and she wished it would never end. Such hyperbole, though, comes at a cost. After a while, her legs grew weary and sore. She needed to sit and recover her strength. When she tried to leave the floor, though, she could not. Instead, her legs refused to move from their position, just continuing to shift her body back and forth.

            Panic crossed her face then and she looked around the room for help. Every single face around her had the same desperate expression on it. Nobody could move. Nobody could stop. The dance continued.

            The first person died an hour later. An older man gasped as his heart gave out and his eyes rolled back in his head. But his legs did not stop. He did not stop. His arms dangled as his corpse danced. Others followed. Hours, maybe days, later, Liza joined the hellish crowd dancing forever.
​
Dancing like a puppet on a string.

Giant’s Steps

            Ain’t nobody talkin’ much ‘bout it on account of how tragic it all is, but the world should know ‘bout Paul Bunyan and how he’s ruinin’ our li’l town. Ever’body talks ‘bout how he’s this folk hero, shapin’ the world t’ something more magical. That’s all horsepiss, if’n you forgive m’French. He ain’t no hero. That un’s a gotdang mass killer.

            We’s just fine, y’know? We ain’t got much but we’s a simple town. We farm and got families. Ain’t much money but love and food and what more can a feller really ask outta life? Got my wife and my four sons and we work the land that my daddy gave to me and his daddy gave to him and all th’ way back t’when we set down roots in these here parts. What we can, we grow ourselves and what we can’t, we trade fer with our neighbors. It works.

            Then word spread, as it always does in a small down, ‘bout this giant man roamin’ ‘round. Folks say he’s ten foot tall and wanders with an ox bigger’n him and bluer’n the clearest lake. I says that ain’t possible but ever’one else talks ‘bout him in some sorta awe, like. Ridiculous, I says, but I get ignored as always.

            Anyhow, near ‘bout two weeks ago, the Sanderson boy come runnin’ down the road to my house, outta breath, cryin’, and covered in blood. My first thought was bandits. We don’t got ‘em very often, but they always cause a mess ‘a trouble, so I got my shotgun ready. He’s babblin’ on ‘bout Paul Bunyan and I ask him if he’s been drinkin’. He says ‘no sir’ and tells me Paul Bunyan visited their house that morning. He weren’t no ten foot man – just a hair over six and a half foot – but big and handsome and carryin’ an axe what he use to chop down trees. With him, he got his ox. Feller painted the damn thing blue and the boy said he looked near on to death.

            Sanderson boy said his daddy Lucas invited this ‘Paul’ in fer dinner, as is the neighborly thing to do, but the man said no. Said he was wanderin’ the land t’clear out the unneeded brush chokin’ the growth ‘a good, honest trees. Well, Lucas done said he appreciated that since he had a mess ‘a brush on his property. Then Paul said that weren’t what he meant and took the axe to Lucas and then to the missus and the three boys. The one that escaped played dead and waited ‘til Paul left ’fore runnin’ to me.

            Don’t rightly know what the bastard meant by unneeded brush, but I do know we got some ‘a them bank folk come this way over the last coupla months, askin’ folk if they wanna sell their land. Ain’t no such thing as coincidence in my mind.
​
But legends don’t exist and I ain’t met a man yet who don’t die from bullets.

After Party

            It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, you know. It was simple, just a Halloween house party. Lots of drinks, costumes, ridiculous decorations, loud music, and maybe a bad decision or two. We’re all young and reckless and invincible. That’s what you do when you get the freedom you need. That’s what college is for.

            Whoever was running the sound had fine-tuned it to ensure maximum bass infliction. When it was turned on, the rumble was so intense that a few plates shattered. Didn’t crack. Shattered. Then came the shots. Tequila mixed with something sweet. Tequila mixed with something sour. Tequila mixed with tequila. The world got blurry in the best way and that constant thrum of anxiety in my chest burned away with agave flame.

            She was on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. Catwoman but not the classy Julie Newmar kind. Catwoman – the slutty Halle Berry kind. Straps of leather covering strategic locations. Curves that would make a racetrack breathe hard. Black hair done up tight under a mask. And here I was, standing around and pounding shots of tequila as Batman. Fate, it seems, works overtime at parties.

            Since I had drowned my nerves in liquor, I found myself unable to prevent my legs from walking over to her. I couldn’t stop myself from growling that she had escaped prison and I needed to bring her back to justice. Her eyes – green and slightly glazed – glittered as she looked back at me and told me she would only go back if I escorted her personally. I told her I would do that and took her hand. It was soft and warm and tiny. She grinned and directed me to the hallway upstairs. This was her house, she whispered, and her bedroom was right down the hall.

             The rest of the night is nothing but a blur of masks – she demanded they stay on – and kissing and touching and sweat and screams and giggles. It was the best night of my life. I wasn’t in love but the way we connected was something magical. As I drifted to sleep, I wondered if I could see her again.

            Now it’s the next morning and I was staring at the ceiling. All the bravado the liquor provided was gone, replaced with an aching anxiety. What did I do? I needed to talk to her, needed to figure things out. She was still asleep next to me, so I reached out to wake her up when I noticed she wasn’t breathing. I shook her and there was no response.

            I turned her onto her back to perform CPR and two things made my heart stop. One, she was cold and blue. No hope. Two, I recognized the face. I would push her on the swing when she was little. I held her when her high school boyfriend dumped her. I promised I would protect her at college and now?
​
            How am I going to tell our parents?

Everybody Scream

            The idea of a ‘Primal Scream’ day was novel enough. At exactly noon across the world, everyone was encouraged to step outside and just scream at the top of their lungs. The idea was that everyone purging themselves of accumulated stress and anxiety and worry and anger and all those other ugly little emotions at one time would result in a worldwide sense of relief. The tensions between countries and individuals that had been building for so long and, to be honest, were approaching the point of no return could be vented and reason and rationality could fill in the gaps.

            It was a lovely idea and, despite the inherent silliness of it all, people agreed. Not everyone, of course, because nothing is truly universal, but a considerable majority of all humanity collectively chose to indulge in the idea. What could it hurt? The world felt as if it were standing on a razor’s edge as is. Any solution, no matter how absurd, was worth trying simply to avoid the buttons being pushed, the bombs being dropped, and the collective cessation of existence happening.

            So, at approximately noon on September 10th EST (the United States had insisted on both the time and the date), 83% of the people in the world left their desks or homes or businesses or wherever else they were located, walked out into the sunlight or moonlight or dusk or dawn, stood side by side, leaned their heads to the sky and screamed. Howled. Shrieked. Emotionally vomited decades of fear and hatred and everything else roiling in their hearts. One massive, world-encompassing ululation tore from the throats of the majority of humanity and erupted into the sky.

            The Scream lasted around ten to fifteen seconds. When it was done, when everyone’s throat was raw and tired, when the echo of so many voices quietly reverberated into the aether, there was silence. People stood, breathing hard, and realized that they did, in fact, feel better. Was it a complete sea change? Of course not. People are people and they can be bastards, but for a moment, peace washed over humanity. It was, for lack of a better term, nice.

            It was in that moment of peace, though, that relief was replaced by terror when the response came. Loud, unbearably so, enough to shake the very ground on which people were standing. It was high-pitched and seared the minds of everyone on Earth. People fell to their knees, clutching their ears, praying that blood did not pour out from burst eardrums.

            The next week was spent in frantic discussion. What was it? Where did it come from? What did it want? It was one zoologist from Denmark that made the connection that solidified the buzzing fear into cold, solid terror. See, baby animals in distress scream for their mothers to alert them to their location. The mothers often scream back to reassure their babies that they are coming.

Thus, the question crystalizes:
​
            What baby did we sound like?

​Work Song

            Leo sat in his car, head leaned back against the rest, as he dreaded the work to come. He was bored. Bored of it, bored of what it took out of him. Bored of all the stupid little requirements to be successful. He could turn around and just go home. He knew that. The temptation was there. He could just bail. The problem was that he had a job to do and he was relied upon. He could just leave, but that wouldn’t be fair.

            His buddy Geoff had told him once that everything becomes mundane after long enough. Gourmet chefs want fast food. Billionaires want Matchbox cars instead of sports cars. Those banging supermodels want to bang non-supermodels…well, maybe different supermodels. Leo couldn’t conceive of a world where he’d get tired of that, but everything is relative, he supposed.

            He understood what Geoff was trying to say, though. Not everything can be exciting all the time. Not everything can stir up the tingle in the gut and the bumps on your skin every single day. People become inured to the spectacular until it becomes the standard. Leo supposed he was no different. It didn’t make the waiting any easier, but he wasn’t alone.

            He sipped from his steaming cup of coffee as he watched her leave her apartment. He knew that today was the day. He just had to follow his instincts. Wait until she went down the alley shortcut she always took, then park the car across the exit. She would have to double back and then he would be there. He finished the coffee as he mentally compiled his checklist. Car fully fueled? Yes. Tools in the backseat – not the trunk? Yes. Traffic was dying down so it should be easy.

            As she walked past the alley, Leo’s heart froze. She was deviating from the usual. The plan was falling apart. He was horrified but, in a strange way, a little excited. This wasn’t boring now. He had to think on his feet. Soon, she’d be out of reach and he’d have to start over. What to do?

            Suddenly inspired, he leapt from the car and ran across the street to her, calling out. She jumped and looked frightened but Leo smiled and held up his hands to show he was safe. He told her he had been finishing his coffee when he saw this random guy behind her pull something out of his coat. He pointed and, as she turned, he stuck the syringe in her neck. She didn’t collapse right away and he managed to walk her across the street and into the car. A few zip ties later and she was ready to go.

            His heart racing, his excitement renewed, Leo dialed his phone and waited. When the person on the other line picked up, Leo said he had the package and was on his way.

            “Did you have any trouble?” the voice asked.

            “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he responded.
​
            Leo loved his job. 

The Whole of the Moon
​
<Twilightg8> ne1 else feelin weird tonite
<9xPatientx9> wdym
<Twilightg8> like smthin isn’t right
<Dreamy12u> no
<Noble5> no
<Wary2Q> always but not specifically tonight
<Twilightg8> srsly? like look outside. doesnt the moon look bigger
<LuckyPU> I’m in Austria so it’s day?
<Dreamy12u> r u high?
<Noble5> if so iw ant what u got since it got u messed up
<Dreamy12u> lmao
<Twilightg8> im srs normally the moons like dimesized but now its like quartersized
<Talentedfi> how do you measure that?
<AmberOP> DIMEPIECE
<Noble5> sounds like u wanna fuk the moon dude
<LuckyPU> What, are you 14?
<Noble5> y? u interested pedo
<AmberOP> NONCE ALERT WE GOT A DIDDLER IN HERE MODS
<LuckyPU> I’m surrounded by idiots
<Dreamy12u> hey if ur Austrian dont you have kanagroos to eat
<Talentedfi> that’s Australian dreamy. Austria is Hitler
<Noble5> oshit srry dude
<AmberOP> MODS WE GOT A HITLER DIDDLER HERE HES GONNA TOUCH ALL THE LITTLE JEW KIDS
<MOD Dashwings> Amber, knock it off. Second warning. Third time’s a temp ban.
<LuckyPU> Thank you, Dash.
<Noble5> cuck
[Noble5 has been banned – 36 hours – Reason: slur]
<Twilightg8> guyz this is startin to scare me its getting bigger
<Strongbo> dats wut she said
<Dreamy12u> lmfao
<Twilightg8> im not kidding i can see the holes in t he moon now theyre getting bigger its getting bigger
<9xPatientx9> u need to calm dude
<Twilightg8> calm what why this is fkd up an nobodys listening 2 me
<LuckyPU> We’re listening but it sounds like you may be having another episode. Remember the fourth of July?
<Strongbo> bang bang
<Dreamy12u> *sings* into the room!
<Twilightg8> 0 shut up fk u!
<MOD Dashwings> Calm down. Pre-warning for directed language.
<Twilightg8> how can u not see it?
<Wary2Q> actually I see something now
<9xPatientx9> no u dont don’t encourage him
<Wary2Q> im not – i actually do see something – that moon is hella big
<Twilightg8> i told u!!!!
<Wary2Q> its kinda messed up – g8 isnt lying
<Strongbo> pics or didn’t happen
<Twilightg8> tried takin pic of it my phone died
<Venom69x> sus, fake and gay
<MOD Dashwings> Second warning, Venom. No slurs.
<Twilightg8> i cn see somethin its talkin to me
<LuckyPU> Does someone have his address? We should call someone to take care of him.
<AmberOP> BET YOUD LIKE TO DO THAT YOURSELF PEDO
[AmberOP has been banned – 7 days – Reason: antagonism]
<Wary2Q> im seeing it too
<Strongbo> no ur not
<Talentedfi> I think im seeing it too
<Twilightg8> see?! Ur all seeing it right?
<LuckyPU> I do see something but I shouldn’t be able to. It’s daytime. Why is the moon out?         
 <Venom69x> stfu hitler
<9xPatientx9> now i see smthin wtf
<Twilightg8> its lookin @ me its telling me to start talking like a person. It’s telling me that the rot pervading the planet will be cleansed. That we shall all be absorbed and reborn. We shall become part of the whole.
<Strongbo> wtf r u talkin like tht now
<Twilightg8> We burn.
<Wary2Q> We burn.
<Talentedfi> We burn.
<LuckyPU> We burn.

Under the Sign of a Black Star

            It must be perfect. We shall make it perfect. We shall herald His Coming with precision and grace and complete devotion. Every step is listed here. Every moment accounted for with explicit detail. There is no room for error so error must be eliminated. Follow these directions and we shall Become.

            Our location must be first and in this, and only this, we have freedom. Stone and mortar or grass and woods – do we wish Nature or Man to be His Host? Let us, for our purposes, claim Man as our patron. Thus, we shall find a building – stately, grandiose, suitably ancient – for our home. There is a courthouse downtown undergoing renovation. To bring true Lawlessness into someplace dedicated to Order seems an irony delicious to the taste. You three, go and remove all obstacles.

            A banquet comes next, an expression that we do not ache for His Coming due to need or want. Rather, we – in creature comforts drowned – freely desire and welcome what is due. A fire we shall build, a fire large and hot, in which our offerings and feast shall be prepared. We will need kindling but, more than that, we will need that which is to be consumed. I shall not speak the name of the most desired offering yet you all know to what I refer. If we cannot acquire that, particularly on the shortest notice, lamb or veal will be an acceptable substitute. It is not the meat, but the innocence that is demanded. I trust the four of you will be up to the task. Wine in copious amounts – blood-red – must also be provided. You two must provide enough to numb all doubt.

            We must also all be properly attired. Cliché would dictate black robes and low-lit candles, but cliché does not rule. No, we must be clad in clothes that welcome Disorder. Reds and yellows and blues and greens and all other colors that stain the eyes – those are what we must wear. We do not welcome that which is dull and muted. We usher in something that desires beauty and life. Of what use is conquering the already-lifeless? I trust the three of you to acquire the appropriate garments.

              Finally, the rest of you are entrusted with perhaps the most vital accoutrements of all. Each and every one of you must find and bring as much weaponry as you can move. Blades or cudgels, pitchforks or scythes, even firearms if needed. No matter the method, we must be over-prepared for The Culling which will commence. We shall be spared for we are the arm and we are the infliction of His Glory. I shall prepare the rest. Meet us all at the courthouse as soon as possible. There, we shall begin.

            My heart, it beats so fast. I see the sky above me and feel the waves of fear pour from me. The star – HIS star – glitters and only I may see it.
​
            It shall be done. He shall come. 

Edge of Paradise

            One small step. That’s all it’ll take. One small step and I will join my brothers and sisters in the realm beyond. I look to my left and right and see the nervousness, excitement, and apprehension of my friends as it mirrors my own on their faces. The Healer told us it would be this way, you know. He told us that one day we were to face a test of faith and that it would require overcoming fear. He said it would come soon.

Still, here I am, standing atop the Morris Financial Building and peering over the edge at the frantic congregation below. I see lights flashing ruby and sapphire, yells and pleas from onlookers. I see cameras broadcasting our faith to the world around us. I can only imagine what they are saying. Loons? Crazy? Brainwashed? Devout would be more accurate. Even the thoughts hurt, though. That we would be so mocked for expressing our belief in our Healer? He told us we would be persecuted. When I see the hurt on all our faces, it makes sense, but still.

            The bullhorn erupts in a flurry of measured desperation. She says she’s here to help. She just wants to talk. Would we please step back from the roof? We could get the help we need. We wouldn’t be arrested or placed in confinement. They just want us to be safe. She doesn’t understand that this is safety. This is The Healer ensuring that our souls remain pure and uncorrupted by the world around us. She doesn’t understand. She can’t.

            That’s no fault of hers, of course. She hasn’t been enlightened. She’s been stuck in her work-a-day world bringing the cruelty of humanity to heel. She has seen violence and ugliness I cannot even bear to imagine. I respect her for her dedication to saving the world by saving people. She just doesn’t understand that there is no saving people. People are brutish, mindless beasts eating and fighting and fornicating just to make it through a day. The Healer knows. The Healer has been there. He knows the only way out, the only way to Paradise, is through our actions.

            So, here we are. Seven of us. Standing, waiting for our signals. There used to be eight. Tarek got cold feet. He wanted to back out. Said he had been doing research on his own about The Healer. He told us lies upon lies about being swindled. About how we had been robbed and manipulated. He used words like sociopath and narcissist. I don’t know what those words mean, but they weren’t nice. He was up here with us and tried to get Alyssa to go back down the stairs with him. He always liked her, though she is The Healer’s favorite. Lucas helped Tarek over the edge to find his Paradise. I hope he did.

            The bell chimes midnight. Our signal. One by one, we jump into weightless oblivion. I go last.
​
            I hope I believed enough.

Only When I Lose Myself

            This can’t be happening. It can’t. The…what was he…shaman? Priest? Medicine man? Whatever he was, he said this was a religious thing. It was a way to leave the earthly bonds and explore the heavens. He assured me he’d done it a thousand times before. He had a kind face and gentle voice. I trusted him. Why would I not have?

            It started the way I expected. Dark room, incense thick enough to choke on, a low drone of music, a comfortable seat. Meditation cliché, you know? He gave me a glass – no, a goblet – full of something soupy and stinking. He told me to drink it and I did because, again, why would I not? It was like drinking battery acid suspended in aspic and I nearly threw up, but I kept it down. He told me to sit back and let my mind wander. So I did.

            Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Then something happened. My…me, for lack of a better word, left through the top of my head. I looked down and saw myself resting. I saw the man puttering around with a few crystals on a table. I saw the air around me shimmer and glitter. It was pretty. Still is, objectively.

            That’s when this man I trusted with my safety came over to my body. He muttered a few words I couldn’t understand from a language I had never heard. He opened the mouth of my body and tilted its head back. He then poured something black down its throat. As soon as he did, a rush of screams surrounded me, filled the room, replaced everything I could see. I saw my body shudder and heave and then open my eyes. I – it? – stood up and looked around the tent.

            The man – this charlatan – spoke to it. He said he had finally found a willing vessel. He said it only took a little convincing before I agreed to vacate my body for it. I had never agreed to that. I tried to yell and get his attention. He did not look up. The thing in me, however, did. It looked directly at me with my face and eyes empty and dark. It saw me – I know it did – and then it smiled that smile I use when I know I’ve won a business negotiation. The cruel triumphant grin that lets everyone know who is in charge and it used it on me. It waved and then turned back to the man.

            This man said something about this being a detour, a day trip. He said this thing would have several hours to be alive but it would need to return before midnight so he could give my body back to me. That was the deal and he expected the thing to honor it. In response, the thing inside my body reached out and snapped the man’s neck. Afterwards, the now-me looked up again, said ‘thank you’, and left.
​
I don’t think I’m coming back.

Last Train to Hell

            Wheels, wheels are churning, churning. Coal and souls are burning, burning. People crying, people dying, dying and riding the last train to Hell.

            Steam in plumes exhaling, boiling. Tortured damned in boxcars roiling. No conductor watches over the desperate on the last train to Hell.

            Hell is full and Heaven’s empty. Lands of nothing, lands of plenty. Still, it moves in one direction only, the last train to Hell.

            Hell is angry, Hell is weary. Denizens of Hell see clearly, clearly that their home is swelling, breaking due to the last train to Hell.

            The train, it stops, but doors stay locked. Exit of the damned souls blocked, blocked by hellish order that nobody leaves the last train to Hell.

            Hell cannot absorb the suffering. Hundreds, thousands stuck in buffering. Temporary displacement with no end in sight for the last train to Hell.

            No-one wants them, no-one cares. None shall interfere; none dares. So, they sit and wait and cry, stranded on the last train to Hell.

            Outrage builds and burns and rumbles, borne upon the angry grumbles of those who wait, held captive on this prison of the last train to Hell.

            Fear and terror die away, replaced by fury and decay of basic law and order once still present on the last train to Hell.

            Souls are screaming, demanding aid from those outside who have already made their choice to just ignore the plight of those inside the last train to Hell.

            Soon, the noise turns into violence. Rocking, creaking tears the silence as the trapped infuriated souls attack the last train to Hell.

            Demons coming to restore peace, truncheons bloodied, never cease their mission to put down the difficult souls inhabiting the last train to Hell.

            They can do little, choices spare, as the situation is laid bare. To quell the storm, they must release the furious from the last train to Hell.

            But if they do, the people argue, if you release the locks on the car, you let the flood of angry dead pour into our home from the last train to Hell.

            Both choices offer no reprieve from the howling, churning mass who receive nothing in their deaths but captivity on the last train to Hell.

            Suddenly, a thought emerges from the crowd and soon it surges through the gathered desperate viewing the last train to Hell.

            Send it back, a demon cries, back to where Heaven lies, empty, waiting, they should have to manage this last train to Hell.

            No-one argues, no-one can, despite the risk inside the plan, let the others manage this unruly last train to Hell.

            Finally, someone attaches a locomotive to the back where it can drive and deliver to Heaven the troublesome last train to Hell.

            Soon, it takes off down the tracks, stress removed from hellish backs, as one more question lingers about the disappearing last train to Hell.
​
            What will happen when it reaches destination Heavenly, breaching pacts of non-aggression, defiant that last train to Hell?