Stepping out into the abyss, the streets are aglow with orange light. Tight dresses and stumbling steps as people migrate between destinations. Screams and laughter echo the streets and lines stretch out from gloomy doors. Tires screech and sirens blare responding to the danger of darkness. Men move in packs, chasing flocks of women for a late-night snack.
The day-life is asleep and the night-life is awake. Masks are being worn that you cannot see in the light. You leave them at home and bring another out with you. Morals of the day give way to the freedom of the night. Wild spirits consume all and are coming for you as well. They are ever wanting to devour you.
At every stop, there are breasts for a baby’s thirst. Opening taps behind the bar, ever pouring, ever seducing. The more one drinks, the younger they become. Mentally aging in reverse. They lose the skill to talk. Forego the art of walk. Reducing back to the fetal position on the bathroom floor, they cannot climb back into the womb. Life must be faced in forward motion. Going backwards will only bring pain by the next day.
Alchemists build potions to beckon the spirits to you. They mix for bitter or for sweet. On the rocks or for the neat. They shake, they pour, you drink. Impatient for them to come, sometimes taking several elixirs before they take hold. You lose yourself and find solace in that loss for you are a vile person and you need to escape your life. By morning you will forget how you lost control but will revel in the time you spent away.
The pack is on the move. They weave through the crowd like lions in tall grass, obscuring themselves. They look to one another and nod their heads. The spirits controlling them are ready to make their move — to bring you home and to consume. The pack splits and attacks one to one. You admire their manes and deepness of their roars and accept the fate they have for you. They give you more spirits to free you from any remaining doubts. You lose yourself even more.
The two of you perform the ceremonial dance. Disconnected and controlled by the rhythm through which the spirits pull the levers. Each note is a tug on your strings. Each pause releases you for a moment. You feel it as a freedom, but it is the definition of control. You are a puppet playing a role that you did not write. Conduits through which the spirits express themselves. You do not know who you are.
As morning approaches, you move underground behind doors that hide all sins. Shadows fill these halls much like the darkness of the night. Dim light reveals undefiled bodies moving back and forth as one mass — they are soon to be defiled. The spirits join together revelling in their control of the possessed. Your mind is dimming into darkness. You don’t remember why you came and won’t remember why you left with him. You are coasting on a track that leads to a cliff and you cannot get off. You embrace it and invite more, choosing the alchemist’s late-night brews. They smile and gladly push you off of the cliff.
When you awake you realize that you lost more of yourself in those moments. Willingly giving up that which is your truth and allowing the spirits to consume. More and more they do. With each consecutive brew. Every weekend you give yourself to the spirits without ever finding more of you. You are in an empty void looking for yourself, but finding nothing. This is why you drink from the elixir, to fill your void with the spirits. Without them you find nothing. Without them you are darkness.
The lion lying next to you sickens you. Foul smells of a fresh kill. It was you. There is no way to escape the canyon. No ropes are this deep and you have not the skill to climb the cliff on your own. It is just you, alone with the lion. Do not move or he will wake. The spirits have abandoned you and reality sets in. Fooled again.
