Neon blood pulses through the twists and turns in the letters, glowing faintly in the darkness. Shadows dance along the street—not those pale imitations of darkness but rather little blobs of black that broke away from the whole to briefly cavort among the gullies and cracks before they rejoined the source. Not much can be seen through the vigorous night which coated me like a blanket, somehow comforting and yet so vast.

I had already slid off my equine construct of chrome and steel, watching as the rainbow veins flowed along the curves of the iron coat. I approached the pair of pale faces floating on the shadow, lit by glowing cherry-colored brands. My head became bare and my hands naked before I could see the people’s bodies.

“Hey there R,” purred a low, dusky voice from a woman with short hair and long, tapered fingers.

“Hello Rose,” I responded. My own voice still carried the briskness of the party before.

“Heyyy,” another spoke, gravelly timbre cleaving the muffled darkness. “Heyyy. Long time no see. Wanna smoke?” A rough hand offered a perfect white column.

“No, thanks,” I replied.

“R don’t smoke, Caius,” Rose murmured. She took a long drag from her own cigarette and held it in her lungs for a while. The smoke billowed quickly from her lips and disappeared, as if eager to leave.

“I know. There’s a first time for everything,” Caius retorted, more to me than to Rose. Despite his statement, he put his offering back in its package. “Anyway, how ya doin’?”

“So far, so good,” I responded. “Yourself?”

“Can’t complain,” he answered. “It’s the weekend.”

“The party’s hot.” Rose’s soft words slowly rose on the threshold of conversation, so natural that they seemed as if they belonged there. “Good music, good guests, good booze. Everyone’s waiting for your poem. Some newbies are interested.”

“Yeah,” Caius interjected. “They want to meet you.”

“I’ll enter when you two decide to go back in,” I said.

Not another word drifted among the smoke that rose into the void. Conversation would have ruined that which was being shared between the two of them—a loud, speechless understanding. I was not excluded, but I was not included. I observed, but I did not participate.

Soon enough their cigarettes shrank to stubs and were tossed into the street. I followed them through the battered metal door, past the garish sign that declared ‘OPEN’ to the night.

The inside was as dark as the outside, lit only by dim multicolored lights that never lingered too long in one spot. A heavy, throbbing beat filled the building, underscored by a soft buzzing murmur that danced across the scales. One minute the buzz crept through the walls around me and the next it seemed to emit from my own ears.

In the middle of the dance floor was an undulating ocean of cloth, skin, and sweat, where one person might end where another began. The frivolous lights danced among them, lighting up faces, arms, torsos. The air was alive with their collective energy, making me realize how cold I was. I could pick out no individual body, instead only catching glimpses of a hand here and a leg there.

Some sat at the bar. Others lounged on couches or chairs. Rose made her way behind the bar. Darkness obscured and then melded with her form as she whispered into the shadowy bartender’s ear. Caius disappeared into the body of dancers.

My eyes settled upon Emmeline, who had broken away from the dancing shortly after Caius had entered. Her lazy, catlike smile, pink cheeks, and drooping eyelids told me more than she would have. She was approaching me, head tilted in a friendly manner. I smiled politely.

“You again?” she said, the cadence of her voice slow and drawling. “I thought I told you I didn’t wanna see your face around here anymore.” Her smile did not waver.

“Close your eyes, then,” I retorted, grinning.

Her laughter proved to be no faster than her speech. “How ‘bout a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon, R. You’ll have more fun with some of the good stuff in you. Don’t tell me you won’t.”

“Very well, I won’t tell you.”

“Suit yourself. You’re gonna dance at least, right?”

“Certainly.”

“Well come on, then.”

Emmeline held her hand out to me, her chin and smirk at a playfully haughty angle. I took her lead—her fingers were warm but not damp with sweat. She pulled me into the amorphous crowd with a sort of grace despite intoxication. We cut through it, a needle in the great beating heart, and after we stopped, the wound closed and we were absorbed into the very center of things. Soon enough we joined the eternal beat.

The Center may have been surrounded by great stems topped with funnel-like caps; hours could be as slow as seconds and minutes as fast as days.

Together, we jumped and whirled and rocked silently in the warm womb of darkness.

We saw only skin, which was quickly enveloped by ethereal ebony.

There I saw drooped eyelids. There I saw rough hands. There I saw short hair.

The Darkness, the Source of Fear, took them all.

It called to me.

I did not answer.

It demanded I embrace It.

I could not.

It demanded I fear It.

I could not.

It demanded I hate It.

I could not.

Crushed my thoughts.

Scattered them.

Wanted chaos.

Away from the Center. Sat on a couch. Collected myself.

I caught my breath. I returned to myself. I became aware of something other than the Shadow.

Next to me was a couple barely separated by their clothing. The dimness was safe for them, protecting their own, isolated little world. I could see neither face, but I could tell that it was Calvin and Fay. They were formless as well, constantly shifting like the crowd on the dance floor. Again, my thoughts began dispersing. There would be no sanctuary for me while I remained inside.

Outside, my lungs eagerly collected the cold, open air, sending out the closeness of the club. My skin prickled as sweat began drying up. My feet led me to the one place I knew would always stabilize me.

I rested on my motorcycle, staring up at the universe. There, even in the most endless of nights light was still present; little points of life that burned brighter and hotter than any imagination. Slowly, methodically, I collected my thoughts to the rhythm of my breath, replacing the cogs in my mind and carefully testing their connections, tightening the screws, making sure everything belonged. I could think whole thoughts again, not just fragments. Once everything was in place, I bound them together tightly. The gray cast of approaching dawn trickled into my vision.

The piece of paper suddenly seemed to assert its presence in my pocket. I could feel the paper, now bent and crinkled from movement, press gently against my thigh. My memory brought forth the words written on that scrap, words that unobtrusively motivated my legs to swing down onto the ground and carry me back inside the club.

My feet picked my way around the crowd. Shadow remained inert and darkness inanimate. The DJ, shrouded in dusk, had already known what to do when I asked for a microphone.

Slowly the sea of bodies calmed and turned to me. I picked out hooded eyes and short, boyish hair on a feminine face. Some faces I recognized, some I did not. I pulled the paper from my pocket.

“Like ants marching

two by two, he

walks, step by step.

Trim, unruffled,

a just right smile;

all know well where

they stand with him.

Everything is

clear and precise,

measurable.

With him there are

no secrets, no

mysteries, no

obscurities.

Nothing is veiled;

all is revealed.”

I returned the microphone to the DJ and stepped off stage. She began packing up her equipment. People approached me and I met their comments and questions politely. I was introduced to some and spoke again to others. Calvin and Fay conversed with me briefly. Soon enough I had said my goodbyes and, as I left, put my helmet and gloves back on.

My motorcycle and I greeted the new sunlight together.

Author’s Note: This is the second of three in the “Raven” series. The third will be released in the Asylum Monthly ezine. To read the first, click here.

About the author

Meg is one who mourns for the loss when the Muse is absent; no other sorrow feels deeper. She is one who elates when the Muse is present, guiding her mind; no other joy feels greater. In short, Meg is a sucker.