Romeo and Juliet will never be together. The screen goes dark. A soft click in the darkness.

And now the question remains, so what?

So what?

You are a being of the dawning century. You are what you have chosen to be; an embodiment of the time – made of the past, shaping the future, right now.

 Romanticism died some time ago, all its remnants having been captured into the moment, then caste aside as trash in the form of those old books we all harbor with loathing till finally cast off into a flaming end. A more fitting demise could not have been achieved, as Romanticism died following its own philosophy

 It’s better to burn out, than fade away.

 This is the new century, bursting out of its little bud, still unsure of what it looks like, always questioning its own existence. The very flower of which you are a drop of dew collected in its center.

 All this does not strike you deeply though. You are busy constructing a story to please yourself:

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A PRINCE

Let me first introduce myself as I feel I look. I know I am at a sensitive age; where all the world seems to revolve around my actions, yet conflicting with my thoughts. Perhaps I am sixteen; a youth pretending to act non-chalant while he stands in line, waiting for his ticket.

     The hot sun shines down on my outstretched palms. I see I am thin to the point of disappearing altogether. The length of the arm suggests a good height, and though I cannot see it, I can feel the gentle breeze rustle my long hair before passing by my deep brown eyes.

     My nose itches but I cant reach it. The mundane actions of life seem irrelevant at this moment in time. Infact, time itself seems irrelevant – lost somewhere, all alone with someone else controlling it; bending it to his will.

     I recognize the creator in myself, as I recognize the fact that this is a love story. Infact, that is the sole reason I include myself in this slow-moving line of strangers. I do it for love, though I don’t know it yet, just feel it.

     My parents call out. I see their silent lips form words, so I approach them to take my ticket.

We enter through the gates and join the general throng. A second line appears, this one leading into a gargantuan, mammoth-sized house made entirely of glass. Already the few people inside turn to stare out at me in mute amazement and awe.

     A man in military costume (one of the workers?) hands me some pamphlets; all blank and useless except for a map, which starts to form as I look down upon it.

 THE PRINCE’S CASTLE

I enter and arch my neck upwards, feeling weightless and dizzy. Child-like sensations of exhilaration stream through my senses as I take in the vast see-through cavern in which I stand.

     There are multiple stories rising from the center of the outer perimeter, all captured in a golden haze of false lighting and sunshine.

     There are shops. Thousands of them lined up along the bottom layers, attracting stray wanderers with bold colors and shocking displays of material goods.

     There is an amusement park on second level, with its distinctive bright-red carousel, which tears its way through all the floors, almost touching the ceiling through which the sun shines down steadily.

     I was happy. I am happy, and I was warm, as I am warm now. I could feel it like it was unfolding before me, this very minute. I see my parents head for the giant escalator between the connecting floors.

“Meet us on level three for lunch!”

That was my mother, I think. My little sister follows them.

Alone at last among a sea of similar happy faces. This was the moment to create something special. So I walk over to the ice-cream man and ask for a flavor which is best described as a soft sensation on my tongue. It is delicious. Incredible!

     I see my translucent reflection dancing for joy in the walls around me. In the domed ceiling above, I walk upon my head as just another happy person, eating ice cream amongst other happy strangers, when quite suddenly, the strangers divide into two. The nameless faces take on names. These are people I know!

I’ve seen that gap-toothed boy before (was he in my school?). I get smiles from acquaintances and respond likewise. A friend pats me on the back and climbs onto the escalator heading for level two: The Realm of Chaos – odd name for an amusement park, but no matter. At the moment, the sun still shines and my love is yet to be found.

     I follow my friend into Chaos, and instantly lose him and myself in a fantasyland of many conflicting themes.

     There is a morbid sense of humor in everything around me. Here I see a Mickey-Go-Die ride (a mouse cart ride, which avoids mousetraps till the last one, which snaps the cart in half). I ignore that one for the moment.

     I see a Jedi-Knight-Saber-Fight arena (everyone is dressed up as Darth Vader because he is strongest). I puzzle at the pointlessness of making Luke Skywalker Sabers. They all lie in an abandoned heap on the ground. The flashing, jousting, blocking, stabbing, dancing red glow makes me walk away as I search for a happier place to be. I see no sense in the rides and games. Infact, I am deeply disturbed; but let me ignore that fact, it is too early and this is an easy way of passing time.

     I know where I have to go. Level three for lunch, but still I spend some time on the floor below, delaying the inevitable. You see, I see where my story is heading, and yet, I don’t want it to get there too fast. I want to recognize the inevitable first. Accept it before I reach it.

     Time passes as I stand, doing nothing, watching something running in circles of a very large diameter. That was a fun exercise, but the gentle tugging in my mind has increased to near-blows.

     I climb onto the escalator once more and get off on Level Three. The map changes as I drop to my knees, in the clutches of vertigo.

IN THE COURT...

I stand up and face the giant food court before me. Hundreds of tables line its surface. Happy families are chatting in a general hum of goodwill. The air is warmer here as the sun glares down through the glass ceiling. The false lighting of solid gold draws back, allowing real colors to surge forth into the surrounding vision.

     My family waves to me, and I run up to them, grinning from ear to ear at the sheer splendor of this place. We talk and laugh, discussing unimportant matters as I focus my mind to look down upon us from the ceiling above.

     It was at this very moment of familiar joy that I find my gaze drifting towards one sitting a few tables to my left.

     It is She.

Everything melts away into a milky haze of gold as I force her image to turn to look at me.

     She does.

We fall for a very long distance, in love with each other.

I stumble as I get up, feeling the world come back into focus. I sense time speeding up but I cannot help that change, as my heart races at the chance finding of my one, true love.

     I see my hand beckoning to her, asking her to come with me; drawing her forward (I know of a private place). Her eyes gaze into mine and then look downward at the table before her – unsure and slightly afraid to answer this known stranger’s calling.

     Let me describe her as she was, reflected in my eyes. The first thing is always the eyes. I wrote a poem once. It went like so:

I saw it as in a dream.
Great pools of limpid water,
amidst the blood red streams.

 Entranced and enraptured,
I dove forth into her eyes.
A chilling wave overcame me,
I was lost in shining light.

Upon opening my eyes,
a numbing fear arose,
for I was looking deep within her,
into a heaven of solid gold.

Such wonders had I never seen
as surrounded me, within my reach.
Yet this was all illusion
I escaped, swam away to the distant beach.

Gasping for breath, I emerged.
I turned away, yet sighed,
for I knew there was to be no escape
from those soul-tormenting eyes

This time I will not swim away. She is a part of me. A creature of fine beauty and grace and all things good.

And she comforts me. And she loves me.

She loves me! I can feel the incessant throbbing of her heart in my own as she excuses herself from her table and joins me on the escalator heading downstairs.

     She speaks to me and I reply. We exchange words, which do not matter, for she is smiling at me, her eyes shining. I feel my eyes smiling back at her as we both emerge on the ground floor, enveloped in a silken hue of two lovers, newly met.

     I find an exit infront of us, a last-minute addition to the original design.

     We are in a Control Room where numerous men in military uniform seem to be monitoring and controlling the environment in the Glasshouse.

“You there! Halt!”

I take her hand (the single bead of sweat in her palm strangely enticing) and we run the length of the room and burst out into the shining light, reflecting off the little brook running between the trees of a most beautiful Japanese garden.

     As often is the case, the naughty children lose the angry adult as we run across the crystal clear water, giggling as we dodge between the winding trees and come to hide behind an ancient moss-covered wall, quite forgotten by the engineers of the Glass wonder which lies behind us. Once more, the map changes before the story progresses.

 THE GARDEN OF EDEN

  We lie down in the soft, shaded grass that grew around us, spreading itself to make a comfortable bed. She does not speak, but waits with bated breath. This I cannot endure.

     I caress her form, and with a sigh of gentle protest and silent desire, she melts into my frame, returning my caress with moist lips and trembling hands.

We made love there, for perhaps an hour.

 The sun sank into the clouds, which greeted it with a splash of color; Pink and Blue and Gold, each string of color fighting the other for its chance to make our ecstasy more complete than the last.

 She sleeps, cradled in my arms. She smiles in her dream, while I think deeply, in mine.

     A tear escapes my eye, lying there in the shade of the wall, gazing out at the setting sun. I know this has been done before – and as I gently stroke my lover’s back, I whisper to the wind,

 “Come what may...it was worth it”

A SUTTLE CHANGE...

I shudder. Cold before the chilly evening breeze comes upon us. I take her by the hand. I kiss her brow, and then we sneak back inside the golden building, now shining with a dimmer shade of yellow – no longer reflecting the sun.

     The escalator ride is too short for our clasped hands as time finally begins to unravel at a faster pace than I can control. In a moment, I am once more looking down upon myself, and the bustling crowd gathered on Level Three. The food tables have cleared considerably, but people still mill about talking of nothing to one another.

     I sit with my family while my soul sits beside my beloved, three tables to my left.

Time passes in varying circles of conversations of differing lengths. There is no reason in them as there is no reason in listening to them, for my ears are far away, listening to my dream calling for me.

She stands, and the world erupts.

LIKE A LONG, DORMANT VOLCANO

It erupts again (what is happening?) the floor shakes, and rises with the impact of unseen forces. The glass dome above groans under pressure from the brittle glass.

     I call her to me. She I must save. My mind speeds up and the number of explosions increase. We grasp each other in terror, she screaming in shock as part of level three collapses and falls into the Realm of Chaos below. People die and blood stains.

Outside!

The Japanese Garden. Now.

We run, I holding her hand, she holding onto a crying child left behind in the panic to escape.

The escalator. The door. Enter the Control Room. Why are these men smiling? Why are they so calm? They eye me with grim blankness and then return to their business. How do I not know these men?

     Too many questions unanswered as time begins its steady race against my mind. With my lover in my arms and the weeping child trailing after, we seek refuge in the darkest corner of paradise; behind the moss-covered wall.

     She is crying in my arms, holding me and begging me to make everything okay. I have no answer as we crouch low – pressed up against the wall. The floodlights shine out and we see horror working, in slow motion.

BETWEEN MY TREMBLING KNEES

I see the first plane coming. It is ancient; a fighter plane from World War II hurtling out of the inky-black sky.

They are burning.

They have no wings! How can you fly without wings?

     Their pilots scream soundlessly as they smash into the wasteland which forms our horizon – beyond the outer walls of the Glasshouse. The map changes.

It is like watching fireworks falling from The sky. My brain feels numb. I wish to escape! I don’t want to die! I want my darling to be with me forever!

Please don’t let this be our end! Please! Please...

A plane goes careening into the startled brook. Fire and a bloody corpse leap forth, encased in their solid wall of screaming metal.

We are doomed. I cannot save her. All I can do is watch the sky in silent fear of the moment. Her tears fall and make a trail on my arm as she clings to me, frightened.

It comes at last.

Directly above me, a shining light signaling our end – it is growing brighter – and larger. I force my will and cry out for justice and for a very brief pause; the slightest delay in the lifting of a pen – the plane turns and smashes infront of us, in the darkened wasteland of my nightmare:

 The borders of my being,

Surrounded in varying shades

of superficiality,

cry out at the monotone of color

once perceived to be,

something beautiful.

Something precious.

Now lost

in a disturbing haze

of Acrylic Grey,

in which I see,

a despairing lack of silver.

All lost. I feel myself coming undone. I pass out.

BACK INSIDE, WITH NO CONTROL IN THE CONTROL ROOM

“Seal all the exits”

A sneer and a twirl of a moustache. The Creator stands in the Control Room, satisfied with the pain and panic and fear and paranoia he has created. The Glasshouse is sealed, and all the people, once well known, once well loved, scream in unison, as the planes continue falling.

“Release the Gas”

Valves turn in the Control Room. The sudden hissing and the stench of death consume the beloved, as they scream and scream – their faces visible; pressed up against the glass. Their expressions of horror and disbelief start to merge into one as the Gas takes its effect.

     Skin melts, eyes pop out of their sockets till it seems the Glasshouse is a singular body of molten gore, still pressing, still screaming for mercy; for a way out.

     The Creator stands beside the glass, facing the mass of dying human flesh, a manic gleam in his eye. He laughs.

“Sir please...can we not kill them faster? Please sir, let me go to the toilet sir, I feel sick...I can’t take it anymore”

Vomit.

“This is how I want it – and that is what I wanted you to say. For this shall be a fitting end indeed”

Having said that, the Creator (once a school teacher) turns a second valve and laughs once more as the Gas enters the Control Room, and everyone dies, and everything grows still.

Except I, who lie on this smoldering patch of grass, comforting and soothing my precious.

A DYING DREAM IN COLORLESS FRAGMENTS

     She is crying in fitful bursts and I have to be strong for her. I force myself to imagine a future where we can be happy. Alone by the sea perhaps.

Dreams fade as dreams enter. We have a crying child with us and a chilling silence calling us back to the Glasshouse.

     I get to my feet and we walk hand in hand across the emptiness that once held paradise. There is no color anymore. Just varying shades of Grey.

     Nothing moves except my racing mind absorbing the image of familiar faces plastered to the walls of the house, in the grips of death.

     That outstretched palm which once raked at the glass is my mother’s (I recognize her ring). Those tear-stained eyes crushed under a footfall are my little sisters. All dead. All gone.

Empty space

where once

a heart stood still

in remembering love.

Darkness spreads

in a place

where all emotion

leads to pain

leads to cutting loose

the bonds of feeling

leads to a loss

of everything,

eventually.

I feel nothing but the sadness of my lover beside me. I am a hollow man waiting to be blown away. It is inevitable.

 Time moves in frames as we walk between the narrow passage from the garden to the main gate. The world is empty outside. The child has run away – or perhaps he still crouches beside the glass wall, searching for his love residing somewhere within the decaying human flesh.

 Another fragment. I am at the gate, sensing myself disappearing. I kiss she that I once knew and tell her to wait for me.

 A third frame. I stand before the wastelands, with the Glasshouse to my back. I gaze into the Grey sky – then look down at my failed attempt to save us – the plane that missed.

A gunshot.

I see the sky once more, though this time dark blood slowly fills my vision. It was the guard who chased us in the garden. He got me, they always do.

As I lie here dying, a final prayer escapes my lips – the lips I never saw.

“Run...Run away my love. I did not mean it to be this way my love, but run now. Far Far away, where I may yet find you...again”

A plastic bag floats infront of your vision and then disappears.

You are unsatisfied with your work. It is too harsh a reminder to remain forever within this drifting existence you call life, sometimes.

Romanticism is dead and died some time ago. It was too painful anyway - and the rewards are surely always plagued with anguish; a necessary suffering. Another spasm rakes your body. Fear of that Fear, unfelt.

What a horrible situation.

You are a drop of dew, bravely facing the rising sun – protected in your safe cocoon; the flower which is betraying you in its brilliance. Its petals unfold and you truly understand the meaning of what you yourself created through your gentle nourishment.

There comes the point in your life where you fear dying, a quiver running through your body. You are going to die. The sun’s light shall soon enter your blooming flower, destroying you and your kind in a slow evaporation – watching you fade away in the blowing wind.

Your mouth feels dry and you break out into a sweat from the resulting heat. What was that they once said? Something about the difference between burning and fading – it was a philosophical debate you did not hear because it never happened; merely playing itself out in your mind, in your dreams.

Now is the time to ponder – just for a minute. The minutest detail must make sense before you can proceed.

Time passes and you make up your mind to dwell in a second story, a greater improvement on a larger theme. You must tread with caution you decide, as you shuffle through blank sheets. Perhaps this time you can create something greater than yourself and your time. Something universal, and deeply involving. Perhaps that will save you from the rising heat that plagues your tripping mind.

A new story begins:

The Grey dawn lifts off the ground and hides itself in the surrounding forest as the sun rears its radiant head. Morning approaches with many promises of a great day ahead.

 The little town is awakening too, as the night creatures take a final sigh and crouch deeper into their beds.

 The noise of your mother bossing the servants in preparing breakfast wakens you.

 Blanket.

 Pillow in the crook of an arm.

 Skin feels softest in the morning you think, stroking your outstretched leg dangling over the side of the bed. You tend to roll while sleeping. Its annoying for anyone who happens to be sharing your bed with you at the time - but right now, you're alone and time seems to drift, both slowly and gently.

 You smile. Saturday. You're sure of it. Father must be home; explaining you mother's presence in the kitchen below. Soon she'll come bursting through, into your room and your sister's.

 "Wake up child. I see your eyelids flickering so don’t try fooling me. You are awake"

 So you are awake now. Oftentimes you have managed to sleep an extra hour or so by merely denying its existence.

 Your mother's declaration denies you that luxury, so you sit up and start acting, more by practice than true feeling; this setting being so familiar you can almost breathe in the timeless smell of a thousand stories following a similar path.

Feet into slippers. Pad across the wooden floor. Avoid the creaky board - keep going.

Cold shower.

You love cold showers because they shock you. The icy stream of water cuts down your back like a sharp razorblade, following your spine to its base. The sensation is exhilarating. Goosebumps break out over your skin. Delicious, almost orgasmic.

Warm towel. Hair drying as you brush it hastily. A quick glance in the mirror just to clear the fog of last night. Who are you? Where are you?

In your bathroom. In your little house; your parents run a bar downstairs - the only one in town. Your sister is younger than you, a real darling. At age fifteen she’s already quite sexy; though she suffers from teenage angst, as most teenagers do. Its quite becoming, particularly its apparent lack of direction.

What was the question? How the mind wanders! Where is determined yet who remains. A tough question you puzzle over, biting at your lower lip while gazing at your searching reflection. Good looking, yes, but that’s not enough for the mind to be satisfied with. Intelligent. You must be if you are able to perceive so many levels to your existence.

It is too early for these little mind games. Perhaps later. Perhaps never. Why bother about something as inconsequential as who you really are. Its breakfast time and your family awaits you downstairs.

You skip down the battle-worn stairs, remembering past occasions of a make-believe war you waged with your little sister. There is the cracked step where you fought and died, an accident which never took place again (to lose against one's younger sibling is an embarrassment).

They all stare at you as you take your place, by the window, against the wall, so you may have a grand view of the village that lies all around the little hill your house is located on. The dust is rising on the street outside as you empty your plate far too fast for your disapproving mother. The day is chugging along at a solid pace, calling you outdoors to meet it.

"Don't be too late today. You know your father hates it when you come home at odd hours."

"Don’t worry mother. I shall try my hardest to choose an even hour to be home by. Would six do?"

A smirk and a mock-threat from your doting mother. A sidelong wink from your dad. They love you. You always get your way. Quite the man of the house in your own way.

"Goodbye! Goodbye!"

You leave your house behind in a fading haze of golden-brown dust. You dash down empty streets, a half-eaten slice of toast in your hand.

Today feels different from yesterday and something new always intrigues you. What will happen next? What could happen next you ask the warm and gentle wind which runs through your long, silken hair.

“Hi”

Your bestest friend in the whole world joins you as you stroll aimlessly towards a very peculiar beginning.

“Hey”

Short greetings are always best. You seem to communicate better without words anyway. You talk to his mind and he responds in a colorful display of language, far more intriguing than the spoken word, which merely dies with the blowing wind. Here you two can design speech in many dimensions and varying shades of expression.

“Why do we walk towards the old clearing in the forest?”

His tone is interlaced with quiet amusement and warm-brown shades of distant memories, as he recalls the years spent playing in that same clearing towards which you two head.

You stay silent, preferring to dwell in your surroundings.

You are at the bottom of the final crossroad of this tiny town, your home. Beyond this, the lone highway winds through the forest till it disappears into a fog of infinite direction. Perhaps it leads to Rome. At least, that is the more popular myth, no townsman having ever traveled that far.

There is something strange about today. It hangs in the air. The slow, pressing sensation of the inevitable drowning in the shining sun.

A friendly wave from another friend across the street. She walks with her elder brother (you know him too) across the street, heading towards the Saturday market; a weekly affair of lively and colorful proportions.

You wave back and almost trip forward into the ground which rises to meet you. A slap on the back. A little too hard because of your apparent lack of attention to the ongoing plot.

The chase is on, you behind him, yelling bright-red curses at the top of a flowing volcano of abuse. He grins and outruns you, dodging between the undergrowth, around the gathering tree trunks, over the little stream, through the rocky cavern and out into the little clearing in which you played as children.

You catch up and sock him one in the stomach, your fist clenched as your dad taught you once. He goes down hard into the underbrush of dry leaves and soft fern. You stand over him grinning and gasping simultaneously; the run had been far longer than your fragile stamina could take.

“Victory in mine!”

Your eyes laugh at his expression of defeat as you straddle his fallen body and kiss him deeply. You love this gentle creature that massages your tongue with his.

Warm shades of gold and brown drift about in a slow circular motion around your two bodies; insulation against the dream-like, other-worldly quality of the life you had just been leading minutes ago. Nothing seems more real than the moment. Everything fades; drifting into a false reality of pen on paper - but this moment hangs longer in the minds of the dreamer. You.

A gentle tune of the rippling stream serenades you as you lie on your back and stare up at the partial sky; the trees forming the rest of your vision.

“I’m tired of living here. This place...It has the gentle grace of a timeless landscape – but its lacking in actual moments of severity. I’ve been to far greater places than this. I’ve lived far more exciting lives. I can feel it in my soul. I can feel it in my dream as I kiss you. Though just briefly. Oh how I wish I could escape to the greater life! Don’t you?”

Silence, as the hazy wind of midday picks up your searching vibes and scatters them over the deep-green grass.

“I don’t know if Id like to go to a place which is different. It’s so stable here. Comfortable in its familiarity; like an old book which you can pick up and dwell in forever. Would you really like the words to differ? the plot to break down into fragmentary moments of sudden changes and deep shards of emotion?”

“Yes”

Another silence. There is something different in the sunlight which surrounds you. Its warm glow is fading as it touches your skin, sending a slight chill along the side of your body.

“Surely you jest. What is wrong with a simple setting of love and familiarity?”

You sense alienation and rejection in the stubborn blue rings of his tone.

“Surely you wouldn’t want us all to disappear? Your family. Me? The Town? This forest of dreams? This valley of constant warmth? Or is this just about me... Maybe you don’t want me anymore”

That cuts deep into your soul and sends towering waves of remorse shuddering through your body. You curl yourself deeper into his body, pulling his arm around your stomach in a flow of affection.

“I love you. Don’t say that. Its not you... its just everything which needs to be tuned to change. I love you – but yes, I wish everything would change for once and give me something new, even unfamiliar and strange, just so I could feel myself shaping my world rather than following this infinite and meticulously planned existence. I don’t want to go home and live the life I have to lead. I wish to walk off the pages and out of the dream, into boundless leaps of reality.”

You did it. You finally voiced that which had been clinging to your heart for the past few years, many pages ago.

You wake up, as if from a long and restful sleep. There is a Grey mist around you as you raise yourself up. You are on the lone highway heading onward to Any-where, where Any-thing happens.

Loss.

A surge of tears in your eyes, blurring the foggy vision of the void which surrounds you everywhere. Shadows of the lost are your only company on this sad journey forward.

Where is your love? Who held you in the purest embrace of warmth and admiration. How the world has softly faded... lost in a solid Grey of the drifting mind and its inconsistent thoughts.

You can almost make out the empty village that was once your well-loved home. Haunting images (are they real?) leap out of you, at you. People are hiding out there in the gathering darkness – waiting for your next move. You control the game now. So what do you do next?

You leave.

A rapid decline into the darkened street of a big city – another anonymous anomaly of rapid expansion in a world driven by an unnatural hunger for possession. You are part of the virus; standing under a naked bulb, emerging from the last remnants of the unnatural fog.

You sense activity behind the walls of buildings that stretch beyond the darkness of the ever-present night. You stare up in wonder. Who knows what lies above and beyond these decaying skyscrapers?

A flash of neonlights – both red and green. A deep bass roar emanating from the basement of the monolith you stand next to. You can feel waves of heat and pure erotic sound coming out of the sewers below. Apparently, there is a party going on somewhere.

“S’cuse me missy...”

You spin on your heels; your father’s training in a past life helping you to pin this strange little man who gags under your hold.

“I means no harm! I means no harm! You wanted to join the party dintcha? Well heres I am to show you the way!”

He is a midget. A mutant of sorts, with a single eye and lizard skin. He is obviously very poor too; his clothes bearing signs of the wear and tear of a harder life. His singular, glazed eye pleads with you to release him.

You let him go and he races away on his pudgy little legs, bursting through a doorway leading downward. Its odd you hadn’t noticed it earlier, but perhaps it had never been there till a moment ago.

You follow the strange man at your own leisurely pace, trying to get a grip of all that surrounds you. The dank smell of something alive and rotting in a dark corner. The image of you in a shattered glass pane, reflecting the light of the fire burning bright in a solitary trash heap. The sound of musical ecstasy in all forms of electronic glory - faded yet soon to be experienced.

Are you having fun yet? It’s hard to tell. Indeed, the environment is a shocking transition for you, but not enough. Exchanging a utopian past for an indefinable future happens often enough. Perhaps the party will determine whether you are truly enjoying yourself or not.

With that in mind, you step bravely forth into the depths of uncertainty.

The entrance leads down a narrow staircase of countless steps. There are neon-guides here, swirling and drifting with the rise and fall of the music, sending you deeper and deeper. Past the Pillar of lights (now defaced by graffiti of equal brilliance), around the family of sleeping rats and beyond the Rest room, you plunge into a world both hauntingly familiar, yet unknown.

The first thing you perceive is that the fog which surrounds you now is actually a layer of smoke, trapped deep within this lair of sin.

There are a host of creatures in this subterranean nightmare, dancing with their arms askew, their eyes closed and their lips parted in partial prayer to the deejay, who is God.

There are junkies with sunken eyelids and vacant stares; twitching uncontrollably with the steady rhythm, the incessant beat, the astronomical sound which emanates from all around you.

The music reaches out and touches your startled mind, allowing you to roam freely around the cavern in a daze of pure and mighty images, enhanced by a blinding lightshow of tremendous color and frenetic energy. The ever-constant reach for ecstasy and its denial are the theme of the party this night.

You drift over to a junkie crouched in a shaded-red patch of light. He winks at you with a familiar gleam in his eye. Perhaps you’ve seen him somewhere. Perhaps he was the one who let you in. Nevermind - his drugs are potent and quick and that’s all that matters as your body trembles and your lips quiver in a silent prayer for the music to never end.

Sex is in the air as a thousand minds climax in frenzied orgasms of emotion. There is a man in your arms; a stranger who explores your body with the mindless passion of an addict. You caress him too, sharing in sensations you did not dream possible.

Back to the now-smiling junkie. Ah. That was far more potent than last time. His jaw is breaking and falling from his face onto the dance floor, inviting you out once more. You follow the gleaming Grin, enthralled by violent delights of your world’s distortion.

It talks to you when you are both alone in the center of a swirling mob of frantic limbs and thrashing heads. The music has changed, darker in tone and fearful in its intensity.

“It’s been three days now missy...haven’t had enough yet?”

Three days? It can’t be! Your mind cannot comprehend such a leap in time, yet your body cries out in piteous tones at its bitter abuse. He is right, and despite the drugs, a soft whimper escapes your ashen lips. Where did the story go? What has happened?

The same Grin, a new sentence. Concentrate. The words begin to form.

“Another week missy? Is that what I heard you say? Well I daresay you could hold out that long...but anymore and I fear, yes indeed I fear you shall have to sell yourself to me”

Your eyes cry out for pity, for understanding, for release. There is none. All you hear is yourself speaking out over the gnawing call of the droning music.

“More”

Time has gone by, but how much? Everything is swirling in disjointed haunting images of a place you can no longer feel. The music is gone. There is just an empty void of silence greeting your ears as you stare out in horror at the faces captured in throes of ecstasy around you.

You are in chains. There is a bed here. The Grin greets you with a Smile. More drugs, pumping through your veins and jolting your mind again and again and again in a cycle of slow decay.

There are men around you. Women gaze at you. Your eye catches a bloodstain on the sheet. Another fragment enters the silence. You think you are screaming as you are bled hourly by strangers who play with your flesh.

Dying now. You are afraid of dying. You cannot even wipe away the silent tear of fear which slides down your weary skin. They took off your limbs ages ago.

More drugs warping your ability to feel. Feeling is all that was left in this body you once claimed was yours, now discarded as you step back in horror at what you see there. Your fate was not the beauteous one it set out to be. It should not have ended like this you cry, as the Grin returns with an eager client who carefully extracts your eyes, your once beautiful eyes, one by one.

The end.

 You are unsatisfied.

You wanted so much more than this.

You wanted a dream to hold onto and cherish. To look at and love. To feel the warmth emanating from within its pages.

You’ve had it all but you want more. Far more than this. Why should your life end on this same note, ventured upon by so many dreamers like yourself. Why cant the story go on beyond the birth of love, its loss and the tragedy afterwards. It is far too common and far too sad to see everything end in this way once more.

The truth is, you love yourself and you love your dreams, no matter how absurd they are. You cannot give them up merely because that’s the way things seem. Even now your mind cries out; forming its own images of the possible futures of your life.

You are not dead. You are alive and whole once more, breathing in the soft perfume of the surrounding forest. This is a place where the sun never sets and the song never ends. This is a place where everything is true and clings to your body in rapture, entranced by the innocence of such an extraordinary being.

You know who you are now. Two lifetimes and countless thoughts and a myriad of images have shaped your being, your essential presence.

You are who you wanted to be all along. Free sailing through the vast sky, which echoes the songs of the infinite. A bold smile and laughter bubble forth and merge within the purple haze of ambient sound.

Your thought merely drift towards love and there he is sailing towards you, afloat on the air; weightless, yet made of substance you long to touch. To hold. To own once more. It has been far too long.

The two lovers are in each other’s arms once more. Romeo and Juliet escape and sail away to join the stars in their heavenly orbit. The story has transcended its own grandeur, becoming something which you alone control; designing the web of reality through the ideal. For you have always been one who lives in dreams.

The sky is suddenly very bright. The heat is making you faint now.

What has happened?

Redemption is demanded for all your efforts.

Please...Please...I dont want to dry up and fade away!

Its not fair!

What do you want!?

Acceptance.

It slaps you in the face as you break out into the most joyful smile, which courses through your body and pours out into your life like a soft-radiant golden stream.

The Sun is a part of you and you are the Sun - forever willing to shine on as that golden mirror; reflecting yourself.