In Hell We Dance

Ashes

Don't fight it. It's just so much easier. Take the shot. Swallow the pill. Forget.

Hell is letting go. It's living, but under a lens. You drape yourself in the sordid colours, and you inject bliss right into your veins. I think I get it. Like, before, I had a vague understanding. I could grasp the outline, from a distance. This was like diving headfirst into the deep end, and man—it's pretty fricking glorious!

You dance with the crowd; you fall with the crowd. And yes, I even took a hit from a few joints and bongs, joining the little circles where joy could be found. Definitely experiences... Yes, that's the word I'm going with. My brain is fried, dude. It was a freaking miracle Hell had gone unscathed thus far. Already a freaking month!

If there's one sore spot—and there always has to be, it's Corin. She's there, alright. I mean, where else can she go? It means staying clear of the zen garden, but that's fine. Which is a shame, since I wanted to try the ball pit Isaac had installed at the bottom of the hole. Like how do you install? He just tipped a container of plastic balls down the hole, clapped his hands and did a backflip without hesitation. Shit, man, a fricking ball pit. Like who the fuck doesn't want to just cannonball into that shit?

I spend more nights with Isaac, but he's usually too wasted to have sex. He lays spreadeagled, tongue flopping out, and I swear half the time he looks dead. But with a real gleeful painting of a face. A guy who has died the best way a hedonistic son a bitch can: swimming in his vices.

I lay against his arms, and wake long before him, but still draw close to him, watching that rise and fall, living in the quiet. Fuck running. Fuck all the stress. Isaac's way is far simpler. As each day meshes into the next, time loses all meaning, and you know what? I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck.

Tuesday night is a bit of a lull. I roam with glossy eyes, looking for an answer to my boredom. I share a few beers with these cool dudes at the pool table, sit in the corner with some girls from Ireland; I swear we share around the joint until the world goes spinning. Next thing I know, I'm wondering free like a rabbit in the zen garden. Look at all the colours!

Somehow I end up laying on the grass, giggling for no apparent reason. My fingers twirl in between the grass, and my tongue goes all numb. There's a slight pepperiness and—

Corin's standing over me. I have to blink. Then again. Yep, definitely Corin. She's glaring, alright. A red glittering thing trails from one hand.

"You probably want these back."

The red thing falls in a heap on my face. I just manage to tear it free when something pointy and heavy lands on my stomach. I groan when a second thing joins its friend. This time aimed a little lower. As I writhe, slipping in and out of la la land, I sit up, having to support myself against the grass. I dry heave, eyes going black at the edges. Beneath me a striking red against green, the ruby heels, and I pick one up, studying it like you would a dead rat.

"Don't suppose dearest mummy even noticed they were gone," she sniffs. "Could have kept it. But you know what, I don't stoop that low. I'd like to think I'm a reliable kind of girl. I look out for my friends, y'know."

She might as well be spitting in my face. Staring up at her with shameful eyes, I wipe away the stinging tears, but can't find the words.

"Just curious," Corin hums. "how much was it? A lush thing like that; it's gotta be worth a fair sum."

"You... you don't wanna know."

Corin thinks about that, leaving things with a shrug. Her work complete, she turns to leave. I shudder but force out a grunt.

"W-wait! I want to talk!"

Corin's as sharp as glass, and I'm cut by her withering eyes.

"No. Piss off, Connor! I don't want to hear it! You're just like them."