The October Music, Stanza 2 - Day 21

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.
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Dancing like a puppet on a string.