33: Nightclub (drabble)

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33: Nightclub (drabble)

Half past one in the morning on Monday and I can’t seem to fall asleep. My brain is so active and all I can think of are fantasies intertwined with memories along with the incessant urge to string words together to make sentences which make posts. My mouth is dry, and I stop every few words to micro-manage my TTV (Tiny Tower Vegas).

But right now, I’m also listening to Crooked again on a loop. Part of me recognises, on a conscious level, that I am either still reminiscing about what could have been at formal, or trying to forget painful memories. A third option occurs to me too. On a subconscious level, I guess I could say that I’m relatively interested in being at a nightclub, dancing to shoddy rave music, being embraced by dark lighting and ugly brightly coloured pink and green spots of disco light.

Drabble time, I guess.

I don’t exactly sound enthusiastic given my current state of mental and physical wellbeing at this time of night, but

Loud music reverberating all around you. The bass shakes the floor, which in turn shakes you. Crooked comes on, the beginning notes freezing you to the spot. You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. It would almost be sacrilegious to not dance to this perfect rave song. Never mind that the lyrics do not speak to you on a spiritual level, because you cannot even understand the lyrics. The beat shakes you, and you shake with the beat. A sense of familiarity draws you in further. You close your eyes, but it’s no different. Disco lights dance on the edges of your closed eyelids, an imprint of a memory you don’t seem to be getting rid of for a while. Your feet ache with the pain that accompanies high heels, but your spiritual and emotional connection to this song makes the pain insignificant and undemanding. What is more commanding, demanding, however, is the beat. And the tone. No one “raves” as you do, swaying your body to and fro, the sound of your heels clacking against the hardwood floor drowned in the loudness of your surroundings. Pure exhilaration oozes from every pore in your body, adrenalin pumping through every nerve, your voice lost in the communal shouts and screams which fail to sound harmonious with the song. You feel invisible eyes upon your awkward and ungraceful “raving”, but when you open your eyes, you see nothing but people all around you, connecting to the song on their own level. The beats undulate, the bodies sweat and twist, and the lights flash irregularly. It feels like a high school dance rather than the dance floor of a nightclub you’ve never been to, but one look at the people around you, the strange coloured drinks in their hands and the less-than-appropriate clothing some people are wearing let you know where you really are. As the song approaches its teary and sombre coda (you feel that change in the lyrics as the artist’s tone of voice begins to sound tinged with well-hidden melancholia and nostalgia), your body slows down. Your fist withdraws itself from the air. The connection with the song breaks as it ends abruptly and you find yourself staggering backwards as the pain seemingly returns. No one is there to support you (physically) and no one watches you as you fall to the floor, arms splayed out behind, the soles of your feet turned outward. A delicate smile finds its way onto your lips and you close your eyes again. What you have given to feel young and naïve again has been worth the ache, the embarrassment and the soulful connection to the perfect raving song.


~ Serendipitous

P.S. Très tired as I wrote this and wasn’t thinking properly. I read over it several times and it’s like I wrote a masterpiece. But it’s fast approaching two o’clock in the morning and I will let you know if this was trash when I’m actually fully awake. It feels like a masterpiece though.

Update P.P.S. I guess it’s okay. 🙂


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