The air is bright. Hips are swinging, ears are ringing. The room emanates happiness and freedom. These people are proud of who they are. I flash pink before turning back to green. I digress, most of them are proud, a few huddle in the the corner below me, as if to hide where they are. The guy with the blue hair buys a drink for the short man. The girl with long hair drapes her arm around another. It's a tightly woven community of love and hope.
The wooden doors swing open once again as the bouncer admits yet another flood of people. A man with a distinctive scar slows upon entry. He's not one of us - that much is obvious. I flicker. A warning. The tension is tangible in the air below me. Oxygen feels like a pleasantry that a selected few have access to. A glass shatters. The drink pools around the long haired lady's heeled feet. The music slows as realisation hits the musicians. Some are still oblivious to the atrocities that are about to occur. I am not oblivious.
The gun becomes more visible. Screams echo through the hollow walls, bouncing off and rebounding onto my round glass surface. I'm glad I'm fixed to the ceiling - untouchable. I change my colours apprehensively and inappropriately as the first shot is fired. If I were human this might be the equivalent of soiling myself. I don't know why I'm so nervous when I have no heart to speak of. One of the crossdressers stumbles behind a table, kicking his heels off. Many appear dazed as if the shooter is a phantom of their imagination rather than this messed up reality. Blood splatters the walls as the casualties rise exponentially. The doors are mystically shut and won't open, no matter how much anyone begs them to. A bouncer is pounding the swing doors from outside to no avail. People are grasping for their phones in penguin-like huddles. The shooter aims at the roof. The bullet skims past me, but everyone's staring at him. Humanity's showing it's worst side.
"No phone calls; Or you'll be next, you fags." His voice resounds around the room. The huddles of people tremble. I flicker. Everyones' eyes look guilty for praying that they aren't the unfortunate ones. I move along, looking for something alluring. There's always beauty, even within the madness. I find it. My vision hones in on a couple. They're probably strangers, but their actions are bewitching. A man is standing in front of a the long haired lady. Her overly rounded belly is just visible, her fear is very imminent. These are the people I enjoy. In this dire moment, this man has done something that is incredibly admirable. I wish for them to both survive.
It feels like eons have past but the clock has only moved a quarter. Sirens are detectable in the distance. I hope; I pray. I see things I don't wish to record.
A bullet ricochets across my surface, shattering the glass. The light blinks out. The filament sparks. I'm still alive. I turn red and blue, red and blue. I become a mirror of the lights visible outside. Glassy eyes shine with hope. Limbs are knotted in pretzel shapes. The man is still protecting the pregnant woman. Another man falls. His partner screams as though he's the one who's been shot. Despair and tragedy plagues some corners whilst others fill with guilty relief. I detect whispering from the outside, but I don't let anyone know. The shooter is methodical and calm. I guess he has all the time in the world as he takes others time from them.
I hear the twist of some locks and the hustle of feet. I pray that he can't hear it too. He doesn't seem fazed. His collectedness is a cruel sight to behold. It is evident that he believes that what he's doing is right and true and just. Pure hatred like this seems antonymous with liberation. My America has moved so quickly, I can't comprehend why a person would want to take such a backwards step.
I'm brought back to present moment as the special forces shatter the bricks. The cold air is refreshing as it hits. Oxygen is brought back into the room, creating a calmer atmosphere and bringing the occupants back to reality. I glance back over at the pregnant woman. She's crouching in the corner. Alone. I'm not sure why this devastates me most. I wanted him to survive badly for his bravery. Her shiny eyes omit enraged waterfalls that drip down onto his limp body. It is an atrocious sight to see.
I focus back on the other humans. No gunshots are to be heard. It's a reprieve.
His voice shatters the room. It's cracked and broken. "I am out here right now because of the U.S bombing campaigns in the American-led intervention in Iraq and Syria. They need to stop. I am attacking on behalf of ISIL."
The negotiators attempt to pacify this irate human. I detect fear in his voice and self-doubt. He truly isn't here because he wants to be, rather, he believes this is his duty. The short hand on the clock revolves three times. Many conversations take place between the eleven negotiators and this man.
The room grows visibly hotter. I can detect the walls heating up into a burnt umber colour. Guns are raised. It is agonising to watch the shots. It's unclear who hits him first. The glass surrounding me cracks. Little shards of it fall on the people below me. He perseveres until he is struck through the head. Everyone is shaking. They know they should feel grateful for what has unravelled. They're the lucky ones who have escaped with their lives. So many disgusting feats of humanity have been uncovered. Those that were encased in the room are likely to sit in therapy for hours. The negotiators look grateful and remorseful. They are unaware of who's bullet ended his life and they would like it to stay that way. Ambulance officers take care of the wounded. The others just sit there in shock. This is only the beginning of their journey through hell.
Everyone files out of the bar as the clock revolves again. All that's left is devastation. The switch is hit as 5am morning light floods in through the blown out wall. I blink out.
