Spirit Of The End

Joy

::In the mind of Rachel:: : :

The discotheque is dark and crowded. Marie drove us here. Leon is talking to her, but it's so loud I can't hear what they're saying. They're going outside now.

Bennie is next to me; he doesn't drink, he'll be our chauffeur.

I think we're the same age, but his lively features make him look much younger this effect is worsened by the fact that he's also shorter than me. On the way here, I got to know more about him. We both enjoy Nintendogs and Tomodachi Life. He said he'd show me his Flipnote library on Monday. He mentioned that from noon to 2 pm, the shop is quiet.

Leon said Bennie has been tense for a while now, so he's with us tonight.

I'm not very good at drawing, so my Flipnote creations will remain forever hidden from the world.

Bennie is much more artistic than me; he has a scrapbook he works on occasionally and he's shown me some blurry pictures on his Blackberry pearl.

He seems to be looking at someone, but I catch his gaze.

The music is good; it's easy to let go. We dance together, making simple steps and waving our hands. "Is it always this loud?" he asks, reaching for my hand to speak to me. I nod. There's an earplug in my purse. I hand them to him. He must have sensitive ears.

The red and yellow strobes flash rapidly, creating a vibrant atmosphere. People around us are singing and dancing, and occasionally, we hear the sound of glass breaking.

Discotheque Red may not be the fanciest place, with its somewhat shabby second-floor appearance, but it's exclusive. Invitations are limited, and any unwanted guests are quickly shown the door. Most attendees are university students, but to get in, you need connections—either through a donor, an equestrian, a well-dressed drug dealer, or nepotism. This word-of-mouth system makes the dance floor more enjoyable, filled with the scents of cologne, perfume, and various drinks rather than sweat, though the sticky floor from spilled drinks is unavoidable.

The beats drop.

Just like that, he finally let's go. We're in a trance. We grab each other's hands and swing to the beat.

::In Marie's mind:: : :

"I don't smoke in front of Chels, and you shouldn't either." Leon's eyes wander as he closes them, inhaling the fumes while lighting up the candle. He smokes like a monk, steeped in some act of adoration.

Rachel wasn't lying when she complimented him. In his sunken eyes, I find an odd sense of peace.

Weed is something I perpetuate, yet I end in an inevitable state of penitence every single time I indulge.

"You run?" I ask.

Once again, there is wonder in his eye. "The tan line on your leg looks like a runners leg sleeve," I continue.

"Could have been wrong, but you got it right," he smiles.

The reverberations of the music inside reach outside; there's a certain quality to it. Feels like I'm transposed into the sound. It's nice.

Mouths getting pasty, I kill the joint by twisting the ends. He swings his hands back. Like me, he can't keep going alone.

I open my hand. "I can go too," he proposes.

"No. Go join the others. Haven't you waited for this?" Eyes avoiding me, he reluctantly agrees. I walk outside the building to reach the bigger bin. I can still hear the track, but faintly. There are other sub-groups outside.