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Published by Alisa Zykova

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Categories:Types, School Work
Published by: Alisa Zykova on Jul 08, 2008
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved


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The smell of sweat intermingled with the sickening concotion of my overpoweringvanilla perfume. It was a pungent scent, hinting at enchantment and eroticism. It beset melike a thick cloud, conceiving a world of my own imagination, an intangible shell of violated joy.The clamour, the cacophonous music which diffused across the vast area like a phonic plague. Intoxicated beings, omnipresent, moved around like unconcious beasts. Clustersof drunk beings advanced towards the bar, like insane bees towards their nectareoushoney. The bar was somewhat discoid, it's marble counter bespeckled with fractionalcharcoal, ivory and cobalt particles. The preoccupied waiters were dressed for a particular theme that night. Vibrant floral shirts, golden straw hats. Streaks of nigrescentcamouflage on their flushed faces.Waiting for my turn, impatience ticking away inside of me, I stood beside a number of annoying people. My companion, a young male, had informed me that he had lost hismoney. As I absorbed the disturbing data, he stumbled to search for the pale, vomit greennote on the mirror-like maroon floor. Fruitless search.Clutching his arm with a forceful grip, I began to walk, or rather push, to reach theothers, the individuals awaiting us at the dancefloor. It felt as though I was floating,thrown violently against the current. As a multitude of grasping limbs made contact withmy warm, garbed flesh, gently bruising it with a nymphlike vigor, I felt nauseainfiltrating my entire soul.Desire to get out, to leave the filth-stained colours of each living day.It's not as though every one of us is alive, some of us (if not most of us) are merelyexisting. It is arduous to experience life, to feel the carnival of rupturous vitality, to beecstatic at the thought of being alive when all that surrounds you is another miserablereason for loathing this world.Things are either awful in nature, plainly disgusting, or veiled by superficial values or elements so that they appear to be as revolting as they really are. Who enjoys reality?Who enjoys the painful strings that our hearts are constrained to play just to smile? Whoenojys celebrating felicity when all that's inside is grief?I endured the heavy bodies crashing against me from all sides, claustrophobia flowingthrough my veins. As I struggled to get through the bulk of humans, something smashedagainst my perspiring back. Mistaken for rude character, a strike which had seemedinsignificant. And then, it occured again. Potent senations, as someone's head slammedinto my left shoulder blade. Cranium sending dynamic electrifying waves throughout my body, until they reached my head. Agitated, I turned around. Before I even saw anything,
I had begun to speak, "What the...", but halted. Frozen, emotions numbed for some lonemoments.A slender body lay on the floor, collapsed. Slender legs spread a short distance apart onthe dull carpet. Supersonic thoughts rushed through my mind, igniting a spark of panicwithin the crux of my guts. Invisible flames infested the somewhat tranquil area. Flamesnot of sensible reasoning, but of desolate fantasy. It was a realm of another dimension,another time.My companion, sober enough, held on to her delicate arm, raising her into an upright position. Tall, attractive. Pale cerulean denim clothed her legs. A light magenta topcovered her breasts and most of her belly. Her dark-coloured bag was glued to her hands.Hands which were rigidly pressed against her slim body. They seemed to reach out for someone, or something. Her wandering soul, seeking...He let her go. Dumbfounded, I watched as she lolled, hovered towards the stairs. Her long chestnut hair, like silk, like sensual snakes sliding down her back. It was ornamentedwith microscopic debris, sweat penetrating the skin bathing the roots. She fell, fell like afalling angel, beside a group of young women standing next to a wall. Somehow, she hadstood up...either on her own or with outside interference. She propelled herself towardsthe stairs, gliding like a zombie.Coordination was non-existent, her nerves deadened by whatever substance she hadconsumed. Expression of loneliness, dreary confusion and hidden agony. Eyes gentlyrolled up into their sockets; pointing towards the oblivious sky yet not focusing onanything in particular.A man wearing a white shirt with abstract drawings was walking up the stairs. He lookedlike a convict, a criminal who lived amongst the rats in the alleys and raped all that isinnocent. Repulsive features; scarred decapitated flesh that lacks any sensible details.Bloodthirsty appetite embedded like vile pearls in his horrifying face. She dropped intohis arms.Wryly, he spoke. Due to the heavily polluted atmosphere, his words weren't audible. Nevertheless, I could tell that they were not of a pleasant nature.I observed in disgust, too abashed to do anything.The ethereal hands of her morbid soul seemed to reach out for help, her lonelyquintessence crying out in the darkness.As she was shoved by the foul beast, I stood as inert as a tree stump. I had pondered,thought about why I wasn't the one to provide refuge, to embrace her spirit insympathetic affection, to soothe her wounded heart.As people advanced in both directions, blind barbarians, like groups of apes, the girl had

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