“Chants”

The DJ was gone but the music played on—how was this possible? It didn’t seem to be coming from the speakers at all. That’s when it hit me: the music was coming from the people. It wasn’t a recognizable song or even any sort of steady beat. It was eerie, dissonant.

They were chanting.

I couldn’t make out the words but it was clear they were chanting—how could this be? They had no faces and therefore had no mouths. But the chants were growing louder, emanating from them as if they were coming up from their very souls. Did these creatures even have souls?

That was when something caught my eye: I wasn’t alone.

Obviously, I was surrounded by these other-worldly beings, but there appeared to be another person just across the floor, another human, also surrounded. Unlike me, they were swallowing her whole—moving in closer and closer and grabbing her. Her body went limp and as she fell to the floor I made my move.

I lept past the surrounders, almost as if I were leaping through them, and made a beeline to the nearly lifeless body on the floor. The chanting continued but they did nothing to stop me. I held her body in my hands and tried my hardest to wake her up. I gently lifted her head back so it wouldn’t slouch forward and, in doing so, it seemed as though they all took a giant step back, the two groups forming into one large circle.

I could finally make out the chanting, they just kept repeating the words “not enough, not enough, not enough,” over and over again.

And then, for the first time, I got a good look at her face.

It’s a chilling experience to stare into another’s eyes and see your own.

It wasn’t a reflection, it wasn’t a mirage, it wasn’t an out-of-body experience. She and I were one.

I held her close and whispered in her ear,

“Bodies in a circle. Dark hoods. An empty DJ booth. Broken speakers. A dusty floor.”

She started to move.

“Chills through the sweat. This cold, dusty floor under our feet. This hair tie loosening in our hair. Our socks getting damp.”

She sat upright.

“Their chanting getting lower. The rumbles of our tummies. The squeak of their shoes.”

She looked at me. For the first time, she really looked away.

“The smell of asphalt. The smell of sweat.”

She cracked a wary smile.

“The chalky taste of a dry mouth.”

She stood up.

And just like that, we were one, and they were all gone.

I looked around at my surroundings—the dance-club was gone almost as if it were never really there. I was in my bathroom, and I was alone.

I was far from okay, but, once again, I survived.