Fevered

A mansion party in the heart of Burlington was way out of our usual weight class, but there was no way we were going to turn down the chance. We’d made a pact to stick close, at least until we got the lay of the land. It was nothing more than words on the wind though. I’d no sooner dropped my keys in the fishbowl, when Laurel had accepted a pile of white with her nose and jaunted off towards the source of the music echoing in the foyer.

I did my best to keep up, and gained some ground when Laurel broke into a boogie where the hallway décor changed from paintings to people, but it wasn’t good enough. She slithered into the press of bodies that made up the dance floor and disappeared behind a wall of tight vests, thigh high dresses, and go-go boots. This kind of party didn’t know the meaning of shy though, and I wasn’t given a moment to worry about her breaking our promise. The first drink of the night hit my palm by way of a caramel skinned beauty who wore a wide smile lined by glittering red lips and a brilliant dress comprised of every hue of blue.

We weaved some playful banter between two more drinks then she worked the same magic as Laurel and positioned us beneath the mirror ball so we could bathe in its kaleidoscope of lights. There in the center, where the electric heat of bodies becomes a sizzle, everyone is your dance partner. Some people are embarrassed by the idea of free love, but I love it, and that haven where flower power had been given miracle gro is where I get to live it.

I danced for ages, until Avalon’s ‘Venus’ fumbled it’s way through the speakers, which I took as a sign to catch a breather. I didn’t rush it. The fishbowl was making it’s rounds, and I watched with a smile as Blue dug her hand in. There was nothing random about what came out. She flashed my keys at me with a wink. She was barely under my arm when a sound rippled through the room. It was familiar enough to make everyone pause. It repeated itself, but louder and closer. Unmistakable. A scream.

All eyes went to the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A lady slid into the opening, covered with blood. She tried to corner but faltered. Her boots weren’t made for the maneuver. I made it one step in her direction when a tiger tackled her. Up until then I’d filed the rumors of exotic pets in my mind under lies built on lies. Despite the tearing of flesh and gurgling of blood my mind struggled to parse something so out of place.

Through the cacophony of chaos, Blues voice pulled me from the shock. A single word, then action. Run. I didn’t get far before an incessant tug of my arm slowed me. I failed to shake it off then glanced back into wide teary eyes. Blue pointed at her left boot, specifically, the odd angle beneath it. I tried again to pull away, then she dangled the keys in front of me. It clicked and I scooped her up and made for the threshold.

She watched behind and did the screaming while my stomach did the sinking as the crowd around us moved faster and farther away. Somehow, we made the front door, the stone stairs, and the car without being turned into meat ribbons. I dropped her in front of my Pacer and she passed me the keys. We were in with the engine running when I remembered Laurel.

Blue yelled about it being the wrong way, but I pulled us up to the steps anyway. I had one hand on the door handle, contemplating joining a man who had charged up the steps with a revolver when the gore covered tiger barreled out. The man squeezed off two shots before being mauled. They tumbled down the stairs together until they met with my bumper. An instant later the beast’s paws slammed down on the hood, and its eye’s crept up to meet mine.

I’d always imagined I would have a story I could tell with my chest thrust out.

I sensed Blue move the shifter. I pushed the pedal down, reversing away from the monster, its claws raking lines in the paint.

I’d never imagined the story would be whispered when I entered a room, punctuated with words like ‘yellow’ and ‘coward’.

Blue did the honors again on the shifter. My hands shook as I turned the wheel and gunned it down the main drive. I didn’t bother looking in the rear-view mirror.

796/800

​

i love crit!

/r/dmonrth for old stuff havent updated in a long time though.

##Ruins of Disco

“The fact that they’re still operating is a crime against humanity.” Franklin spits into the microphone. His face is red. “Who do they think they are, doing the electric boogie or whatever trendy dance those idiots think is cool.”

Rebecca is standing in the sound room with her arms crossed glaring at him. In her right hand, she has three pictures. The technicians and producers do their best to ignore her for fear of provoking her wrath.

“We’re seeing a decline of disco’s popularity nationwide, but for some reason, it refuses to die in our city.” He grabs at his collar for dramatic effect even if the listeners won’t be able to hear it. After a few quick breaths, he calms down.” With the power of rock and good taste, that’ll hopefully change soon enough. This is Franklin Smith with TKPY signing off.”

When he exits the studio, he lights a cigar and takes a large draw from it. He spots Rebecca out of the corner of his eye and perks up. His smile dominates his face as he approaches her with an arm outstretched. The lines around his eye show that it’s genuine.

“Rebecca, it’s so nice to see you. I haven’t seen you since Miguel’s party. How’ve you been?” he asks.

“Cut the crap, Franklin. Explain this.” She shoves the pictures to his chest. The pictures are of a brick building with the words “Emerald Haven” in a neon sign above the doorway. On the right side of the door, someone spray painted, “Disco Freaks Must Go.” On the other side, the phrase “GO AWAY” is written in all caps.

“My word, this vandalism is horrible. Have you contacted the police?” he asks.

“We both know you’re the one who caused it.” Rebecca says. Franklin looks around ashamed.

“Can we talk in my office?” Rebecca shrugs and follows him. Franklin’s office is an excuse to cover his walls with the famous people he met. His desk has no drawers, and the chairs are cheap. Rebecca’s back begins to feel sore the moment she sits down.

“Every day, I play a character that hates disco. Staying Alive is one of my favorite songs; it creates a sense of euphoria in me. People are embarrassed by that feeling, but I love it. Unfortunately, I have bills to pay and condemning an entire genre is how I do it. Market research shows that-”

“And what about the people?” Rebecca interrupts.

“What do you mean?”

“Screw the market. What about the people who are losing the only space where they felt like they belonged because you keep demonizing us. I’m barely staying afloat right now. If you keep up the hate, I’ll go under.”

“It would be a crime to lose the Emeraldy Haven. History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes. You’re a great businesswoman; I’m sure you’ll bounce back,” Franklin smiles. Rebecca stands.

“You know. I actually prefer the character you play on the radio. At least he has convictions, you’re nothing more than a spineless greedy bastard.” Rebecca storms out of the radio station.

Later that night, Rebecca is bartending for her nightclub. There are ten people on a dancefloor designed to hold forty. The tip jar only has spare change in it. It’ll take a miracle for her to keep the lights on for a month.

“Why are you so sad? You’re killing the vibe of your own business.” Gloria’s face brightens the other side of the counter.

“I just had a meeting with Franklin today. That lowlife is killing our business, and he doesn’t care. He’ll lead an angry mob if he thinks it’ll get him higher ratings,” Rebecca says.

“Why do you care about him?”

“I don’t. This is the only place where people can escape their problems on the dance floor. Where will they go if I close?”

“That sounds stressful. Why don’t you listen to your own advice and dance?” Gloria grabs Rebecca’s wrist.

“No, I can’t. I have to oversee the bar.”

“Tyler’s here too. Take a small break.” Gloria drags Rebecca from behind the bar to the middle of the floor.

Rebecca sways to the rhythm for the first few moments. Then, her arms and legs start to move. Before the first song is over, she fully embraces the moment. Franklin is not even a memory to her. Her club is no longer in debt. The entire world is confined to this small space created by the infectious four on the floor beats.

After a half-hour of dancing, Rebecca returns to the bar refreshed. The club may close, but Rebecca will survive. Everyone will survive. Because that’s the power of disco.

r/AstroRideWrites

#Found

Part 2

It had been a long time since Justin had heard the words ‘Lights Out’. And good thing too, those words held an ominous meaning in the world of spies and agents. It meant the end was near. That safe havens were falling by the dozen and all whilst no remedy was in sight.

It was usually reserved for when a nation was near its end. When the coup, revolt, invading force or whatever else was threatening its security was drawing dangerously near. Justin supposed that a world-ending force rather than simply a nation-ending force deserved a somewhat cooler name than ‘Lights Out’, but it worked nonetheless.

“The Lost are approaching on all sides. At a snail’s pace, sure, but they’re approaching nonetheless,” the woman announced to the small collection of very powerful people in the briefing room. Incredibly wealthy elites. Politicians with more power than some nations. Some of the collective spy agencies’ best operatives. A few choice cats. Justin only liked one of those categories.

“So how do we defend ourselves?” Simone asked from her little table. Justin noted with some amusement that she had failed to distinguish between the small table and a seat. And promptly sat on said table as if it were a chair. Justin was also surprised to note that Simone was far more alert and attentive during this briefing. About as attentive as he should probably be.

“We don’t,” the woman started, eyeing Simone as if she too were surprised. “Forty-two days prior, we came into possession of a rather fascinating artefact. Agent Satter has been examining it just this morning.” As if on cue, all eyes in the room turned to Justin. Even the cats.

Raising his hand, Justin gave the occupants of the room a clear view of the crystal, its electric-blue glow almost uncomfortably bright. With so many eyes on him, Justin felt the urge to do something silly, inject some humour into an otherwise dreadfully boring briefing.

Without a second thought and still with the room’s collection of eyes on him, Justin twirled about on the spot, shaking his hands in a bizarre mix of a wave and a frantic gesture for help. He was trying to dance. Nobody even cracked a smile. Damn.

“Anyway,” the woman continued, ignoring Justin’s failed attempt at a celebratory boogie dance. “We’ve had sufficient time to test the shard and its purported abilities quite extensively. And I am happy to announce that it does in fact work.

It’s fine, Justin thought glumly. People are embarrassed by impromptu dancing, but I love it. History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes. And these people are the sum of that. So who cares if they don’t appreciate my sick moves? Simone certainly does. But peaking over, Justin was repulsed to find that Simone was not in fact amused by his outburst. In fact, she wasn’t even paying him any mind. She was a strange woman indeed.

“And we’ve also been able to confirm that the crystal remains enchanted after being broken up. And that each resulting shard’s potency depends on its size.” Looking at the piece in his hand, Justin noted again the odd edges and sharpened corners. As if what he was holding was merely broken off from a larger piece.

“Therefore.” The woman turned on the projector to reveal a map of the world, and a tiny red circle encompassing an island just East off the coast of England. “Our plan involves using the crystal to wipe out the Lost once and for all. And seeing as we haven’t yet figured out how to replicate its specific material, we’ll need to use what we have.”

She pointed a laser pointer at the projected image, circling the small island again. “With the piece in hand, Agent Satter and Agent Ciask will be tasked to rendezvous at the coordinates here and locate the nuclear fusion facilities there. The island’s natural sea defences should mean it’s fared better against the invasion. There they will be tasked to load their shard into the reactor core and then activate it. The resulting nuclear meltdown of uncontrolled fusion should by our calculations spread a thin layer of the crystal across the globe, thereby eliminating the Loss in one fell swoop.”

The resulting silence was deafening. And—Justin noted with more than a little concern—the woman seemed to be bracing herself too. A thin sheen of sweat coated her otherwise spotless skin. Despite all the eyes on her, she only looked at him as if waiting for the reality of what she was assigning them to dawn on him.

Justin remained silent, however.

“Well, better get to it then,” Simone piped up suddenly, getting up off her makeshift seat and impersonating Justin’s twirl. “World ain’t gonna save itself, eh?”

WC: 800

Reflections of Neon

​

Al's Disco Dive was, by all modern standards, an oddity - something which sat just outside downtown, seemingly unburdened by the pressures of time. The cool pink hue of its neon sign played off the damp street and cut paths of rose colored light through the fog. It was a beacon of sorts.

Gene strode through the darkness, his wingtip shoes smacking evenly against the pavement. As he approached the doors he adjusted his wide brim glasses one last time and ran a hand over his quaffed hair. Show time.

Gene didn't really enter rooms so much as take them over. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, he flowed into the building, hips and feet moving as if they had a special agreement with gravity. He was unstoppable and untamed - he was electric. He was a man out of time.

As he boogied through the venue towards the bar, his ice blue eyes picked through the dancers. There were the regulars, of course. They swung and danced in the shimmering lights of the disco balls and other timed lighting fixtures. While beautiful in their own right, it wasn't what Gene was after. As he finally reached the bar, though, he spotted it. His purpose and his treasure.

A younger man, maybe twenty, danced alone. Whether or not he came that way or was summarily abandoned by his party was a mystery. One that didn't really matter to Gene. What mattered was the here and now.

He stuck his hand up to the barkeep. Two - my regular. Shortly thereafter two double whiskeys slid across the bar, their dark brown liquid refracting the brilliance of that soulful haven. Gene collected them and began moving towards the man, dancing through the crowd in a way that almost made one wonder if the room was simply moving around him.

"Hey there," Gene shouted over the din of the music, "first time?"

The young man blushed slightly. "Uh - well. Yeah. I came with some friends, but..." his eyes quickly flicked around the crowded room, knowing full well they would not find the party he had accompanied.

Gene shushed him, and proffered forward one of the glasses he held.

"I don't know..." the young man laughed nervously. "I'm not even - "

The raised eye brow Gene expressed seem to shut down his protest. He had that effect on people. The young man took the glass hesitantly, then downed its contents, coughing raucously.

Gene laughed lightly, and twirled himself around. As he finished his maneuver, he deftly tossed his full glass onto the top of his other hand and brought it to his mouth. He downed the glass in a deep draw, arching his whole body in a limbo-like move.

"You wanna learn?" Gene smiled.

The young man looked unsure.

"Got a name?"

"Trevor. Uh, well.. yeah. Just Trevor. And well.. I'm not sure. I've never really liked dancing, honestly. It was their idea to come here."

Gene rolled his eyes dramatically at this. "Well, just Trevor, history is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes. Big ones, little ones, all the same. Is your dancing a crime? Is it a misfortune? If so, I doubt it's big enough to make the books. Hell, most people here won't even remember." Gene pulled him closer as he finished. "People are embarrassed by untamed passion, but I love it."

Trevor blushed again, deeper. Yet, he began to look to Gene. So they began to dance. Under the warm neon and twinkling light cast out by the disco balls, they moved with passion. Anxiety fell away as a shroud, replaced only by warmth and self expression. It was pure and simple and beautiful.

The pair did this after most of the patrons left. They did it until the workers kicked them out, past closing. So, with no effort to hide it, they sighed in all the disappointment of waking from a sweet dream as they were cast out into the cold night.

"Can I get your number?" Trevor asked. Gene smiled at this. Far from the timid boy he was only a few hours ago.

Trevor pulled out his phone, a sleek new smartphone all wrapped in a carbon black case. Gene's eyes shifted and he frowned slightly.

"Tsk. Smartphones. Call me old fashioned," he paused and gestured at the disco establishment behind him, laughing, "but I always found them distracting."

Trevor laughed, half paying attention as he unlocked his phone and began opening up a new contact template. For that reason he never saw Gene's knife as it plunged deeply into his neck. It grated on the spinal column, paralyzing him instantly. The red blood mixed with the rosy neon to create a mural of warmth, both comforting and sickening.

Gene was, at his core, a man of passion.

​

[WC: 799]

‘The Shot’

—-

Boogieing beneath electric lights—this is our haven.

Gloria Gaynor howls ‘I Will Survive’ over the tinny speakers. Swept away by the crowd, I sing along and gyrate with the rest.

Fragments of light strobe across Sonia’s face like a harlequin’s mask. Her baby blue sequined tube top pulses like some alien moon.

My heart pounds at the sight of her transformation. Sonia’s loose-fitting librarian’s knee-length tweed suit has given way to lacquered-on black spandex leggings. Gone, too, are her horn-rimmed glasses, revealing green eyes sparkling with mischief.

As if the DJ knows my mind, ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ bops forth. My monarch of mayhem writhes before me.

I yearn to kiss her. People like Sonia are embarrassed by PDAs, but I love them. I love her, so why not?

Instead, I whirl in front of her like a Dervish—passionate, frenzied.

She smiles that grin that means, ‘You’re nuts, Jan. And I love you for it.’

“Want a drink?” I ask.

“You had to ask?” She flicks her carefully winged blonde hair to the side like a disco Farrah Fawcett. “Shots?”

I look at her askance. “C’mon. It’s a little early, right?”

In reply, Sonia grabs my arm, and we link elbows. The crowd parts as all eyes are on us. On her.

A low wolf whistle sounds. Sonia shakes her head ‘no,’ as the man steps aside.

Another grabs her hand. She disentangles herself and swats his arm.

My face contorts. She’s mine,’ I want to scream. To announce to the world our love.

Sonia looks over and glares.

I feel the ice in her eyes. It chills my heart. The anger and fear. She’s not ready to be out. I know that. But damn it, I want to protect her.

We reach the bar. The bartender slowly surveys her body, ignoring me. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”

“Tequila—two shots.”

“Slammin’. One for me, right?”

“No,” she looks down at me. “For my girl—.”

My heart jumps as I hear the beginning of that word and falls as she truncates it. “For her friend.” I finish lamely.

“Nifty.” His face drops. I wonder how many girls would have stared into his blue eyes and said ‘Yes’ without hesitation.

And now the game begins. Somehow the woman who struggles with the term ‘girlfriend’ enjoys showing off.

“Lean your head,” Sonia murmurs as I’m already doing so with practiced ease. She licks my neck with the tip of her tongue. Teasing me and her rapt male audience at the same time. And still, my traitorous throat tingles in anticipation.

Grabbing the salt shaker, she sprinkles it liberally over the moisture. Sonia takes her time, leaning down in slow motion. Her tongue darts out before her mouth engulfs the spot. Ever so gently and then deepening.

Time stands still.

The bartender murmurs, “Tubular,” breaking the spell.

Sonia pulls away as if nothing happened and swallows the tequila with gusto. Biting the lime as its acidic juices drip down from her still reddened lips.

The onlookers applaud.

My eyes prickle. What should have been our moment was hers and theirs. I feel more like a prop than a lover.

We return to the dance floor, but I am numb to the music.

As Donna Summers’ ‘Last Dance’ bursts forth, I know it is for us.

—-

WC: 554

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

Beverley Chills Cop: The Squeequel. Chapter 2, Electric Boogieloo.

Snowy was daydreaming out the window as Blitzen steered the blimp towards Elfton, when Poiloog interrupted. “Snowy, our analyst, Summer, needs to brief you before the drop.”

Snowy turned. “Summer? I think I worked with your sister, Spring.”

“Oh no, that's Summer Dove. My last name is Emory.”

“Apologies,” Snowy nodded. “Take it away, Summer E.”

“As everyone here knows, but I’ll state anyway, the Christmas Sloth is an immortal time traveller, who every year delivers Christmas presents to all children. He moves slowly, but jumps back in time as he goes, allowing him to deliver billions of presents in one night, even if it lasts thousands of years for him. Santa is evil, and wants to use gifts as coercion, only giving to children who meet his moral standards. Last year, you two thwarted Santa’s attempt to kill the Christmas Sloth before having no major cases for eleven months.”

“Woah, we found that stash of guns at the Winter fair?” Snuggles looked to his partner for support.

“Yeah. Glock in’n’around the Christms tree.”

“Those were water pistols,” Poiloog grumbled.

“Anyway,” Summer interjected. “Elves remain fiercely loyal to Santa. You can’t let them know your police. Now, good luck, gentlemen.”

With that, the floor opened up beneath Snowy and Snuggles and they plunged from the blimp. They screamed as they fell, screaming all four feet until they landed gently in a large snowback, and looked up at the airship floating at head height.

“Hey, you two,” a voice squeaked. “What’re you doing? explain yours’elfs. You police?”

Snowy looked at the three foot woman standing with crossed arms. Then he peered at the blimp with POLICE written on the side knocking a chimney off a nearby house. “Noooooooooooo?”

“Good. If I saw a lawman, I’d shoot the sherelf and the deputy. In that case, we’re friends. How can I help?”

Snuggles dusted off the snow. “We’re looking for music.”

“Oh. For that, the d’elfault place to go is the disco.”

“The disco?”

“Yeah. Elfa Fitzgerald is playing. The owner’s the welfiest guy in town and flew her in.”

“Where would we find this disco?” Snowy said, an antler twitching.

“Just head down the street and turn elft. But be careful,” the woman turned with an ominous aura before walking away. “Something dodgy is elfoot in that club.”

Snowy and Snuggles followed her directions. It didn’t take long to find. The Jingle Ball was written in electric lettering on the wall and even outside they could hear the thumping bass, strobe lights emanated from the windows, and party goers raved to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

“Kinda gross he had that song written about himself?” Snowy muttered.

“Agreed.”

Inside, they walked into a bar that hung from the low ceiling, then up to a bar that served drinks. A waiter spun round. “What can I get you two ‘elfy gentlemen. Maybe a signature cocktail? We have History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes or A taste of haven.”

“Odd names,” Snuggles muttered. “But don’t you mean heaven?”

“Elf no.”

“Don’t serve those two men. Uh-huh. I should’elf known we’d get your kind.”

Snowy and Snuggles turned to see an elf with quaffed black hair in a white sequin jumpsuit.

“You are?” Snuggles asked.

“Elfis. Musical legend and… Uh-huh… owner of this elfstablishment. Now let’s discuss the elfant in the room, shall we. You cops?”

Snowy looked down at the police badge on his chest. “Nooooooooooo?”

“Maybe we should - uh-huh - test that. You know how you spot a cop. Make them dance their socks elf.”

“What?”

“Cops can’t dance, uh huh. Let’s see how skelful you are on the dancefloor, then we’ll decide if we’re friends or your dead.”

Snowy looked down at his lanky hooves, then across to Snowy’s flat-footed webbed toes and non-existent legs. “I’ll do it,” he sighed.

“No. I got this,” Snuggles waggled forward.

“What? Penguins can’t dance?”

“Just call me Snappy Feet,” Snuggles replied, pulling out a pair of sunglasses in the very dark club. “DJ!”

A record skipped and a voice boomed over the speakers. “Ladies and gentleelf, though the weather outside is frightful, but the fiiirrrrreee on the dancefloor is delightful. So since there’s no place to go, let’s get to a ho-ho-ho-hoedown.”

Boogie music began, as the crowd cleared the dancefloor, hollering in delight. Snuggles waddled in-eloquently to the middle of the room, arched his back… then jerked… Then jerked again. Stiff movements. But controlled. Then he bent his arms, swinging his hips round slowly. Snowy watched on in awe. Snuggles was doing the robot.

“Snuggles… how?”

Snuggles turned to his partner in a slow, smooth motion. “Secret, kid. I’m quarter robot, on my mom’s side.”

“Why don’t you go ahead, Mrs. James; I can run through the audio and lighting tests. If there’s a problem we can work it out tomorrow, before the dance Saturday night.”

“Are you sure, Susan?”

“You said you and Brother John had plans. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Susan.”

Moments later the echo of the door slamming reverberated throughout the gymnasium; Susan was alone. At the top of the ladder she flinched involuntarily at the sound as she taped a last twisted strip of crepe paper to the wall. As the echo faded, Susan relaxed--the silence was her haven; she was always more comfortable when it was quiet.

Why did I volunteer for this? she thought as she climbed down the ladder. In a moment her mind flashed to that night, when Michael had broken her trust. Why? It still bothered her, her only friend jeopardizing her future with such a stunt. If it weren’t for community service, I wouldn’t even think about this stupid dance, much less helping set up for it. At least nothing went on my “official” record.

She climbed up the steps to the control booth, and began testing the lights borrowed from the theater department. After starting the lighting program, she pulled a cord from her pocket, using it to plug her phone into the sound system. She selected an Earth Wind & Fire track to start her play list, sat it on the corner of the console and pressed play.

Back down on the floor she took a moment to admire the colored spots reflected from the mirror ball overhead. The music was electric, sending shivers up and down her spine. Closing her eyes she imagined her partner, arm out pointing to her, waiting on her in his Pierre Cardin. She twirled to him, reaching out her hand, her dress billowing out as she spun.

She let herself escape into the music. Singing along with “Boogie Wonderland”, she danced with her phantom partner. Lost in the music, she continued as “Working My Way Back to You” began. As she imagined spinning back to her partner, she was surprised when her hand met another.

Her eyes snapped open. “Michael!”

Michael executed a turn perfectly in step with her as he responded quietly, “You’ve been avoiding me, Susan.”

Rotating through a wheel, Susan met his eyes. “I didn’t know how to react, after what you pulled.”

He let her slide out, catching her hand, and spinning her back in. “It was stupid. How can I apologize more than I’ve tried?”

She turned away, stepping back before facing him again. “You put our futures in jeopardy with that escapade.”

“History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes: disco, bell bottoms, stupid teenage acts trying to impress a girl--”

She stopped in the middle of the floor, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m serious, Michael.”

“If I had been a man in reality, you’d be here baby lovin’ me,” he sung along.

She turned, shaking her head.

“Let’s start again.“ He ran past, sliding to his knees before her. “Forgive me girl. I want you over and over and over and over again.”

“Stop it, Michael.”

He stood up, taking her hands in his, looking into her eyes. “Stop what? Romance? Loving you? Some people are embarrassed by romance, but I love it,” he replied. She tried to pull away, but he held her hand for a moment. “I know how much you like playing music, so it was the best gesture I could think of. I didn’t know the alarm system would be armed that night. Far as I knew they had the stickers on the windows just as a deterrent and never turned it on.” He released her hand as she pulled away again and turned away.

“Look, when we spent every day together, things were good. This month, without talking to you every day--it’s been torture. I’ve played that night through my head every single day, and I’d take it back if I could--just for you to even say one word to me a day.”

Susan set her jaw, looking back at him sternly.

“I told them you didn’t know. And I don’t care what happens to me. What I do care about is you. Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear from a childhood friend, and maybe I’m making it worse, but I can’t live with how it is now.” He looked away. “There, it’s out. I miss you. I love you. Next step is yours. I’ll abide by whatever--” Suddenly he ran for the door, trying not to cry.

“Michael!” she yelled after him, answered only by the echo of the slamming door.

(Word count: 788. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)

#Pride and Joy

I suppose, if I'm honest, I spent a lot of my life pretending to be someone I wasn't. It didn't seem that way at first — didn't seem like a lie. I was just taking the easy path, keeping my parents happy, as any dutiful daughter should. Avoid conflict. Avoid confrontation. Avoid drama. And it was working.

I just didn't realise that I was losing myself in the process.

With my friends, I could be a little more myself. They were my safe haven, a little carved-out refuge in a swirling sea of fear and distrust, all of us outcasts, conforming with our non-conformity. But even that became a performance. We'd sit around in deep discussion about the wrongs of the world, pontificating on some topic or other, quoting philosophers or authors anywhere we could as it was easier than having ideas of our own.

I'd say something like "More people should see that history is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes." and someone else would counter with "Ah, but it is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere." Then, we'd all nod wisely, sipping drinks we didn't really like and congratulating ourselves on escaping the chains of society by living on its outskirts like it was something we'd chosen for ourselves.

Scott only managed to convince us to come to the club by claiming it would be ironic.

Of course, we clung to the walls at first, used to life on the fringes.

The music was loud. The air was thick with the musk of sweat and booze and smoke. The floor was sticky and the lights hurt my eyes. I hated it.

Until I saw you.

You were in the middle of the dance floor. Of course you were. You were spinning around with your arms outstretched and head tilted back, hair flowing and swaying around you, shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow under the electric lights. Your eyes were closed and your face was painted in an expression of pure joy.

I couldn't help but smile just to look at you.

And when you looked at me, eyes twinkling, I thought my heart had stopped.

Suddenly, the music wasn't too loud. It filled my world, surging through my soul. The lights weren't glaring — on you, they were beautiful. The air was thick with the scent of life, and when you beckoned, I braved the stickiness of the dancefloor.

Conversation was impossible. Anything more than a single word shouted in an ear was lost to the beat. But we didn't need words.

It was the freest I'd ever felt, letting myself go as I swayed and spun and shimmied.

And when you took my hands in yours, the electricity in the atmosphere and the music and the lights surged through my veins. Then, as you drew me closer, that tingle of static grew to the roar of lightning until our lips met and...

It might have been a cliché that would have made me and my friends roll our eyes and groan, but when we kissed, sparks flew. The tickle of your breath. The heat of your skin against mine. The taste of your coconut lip balm.

I thought my chest would burst with the joy bubbling inside.

From that moment on, my grin refused to fade, no matter how much my face ached. I stared into your eyes as we boogied the night away.

Disco has held a special place in my heart ever since, as have you. To be so truly yourself — so free of fear or worry or shame. To be proud of who you are. To simply let go. People are embarrassed by it, but I love it.

Perhaps our story could have had a different ending. If I'd clung to your hand when the music finally stopped. If I'd followed you back into the real world. If I'd ever learnt your name. But perhaps that night was everything I needed it to be, and anything more would have just been greedy.

So, whoever you were, wherever you are now, thank you. Thank you for that one perfect night. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for helping me be free.

WC: 708

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

The spotlight found her. And she loved it. On this stage, among the bright lights, this was her haven. The music started and Elayna danced across the stage and lip-synced her heart out.

“…Don’t blame it on the sunshine

Don’t blame it on the moonlight

Don’t blame it on the good times

Blame it on the boogie…”

A hearty clap and even a few whistles followed her performance. Elayna bowed and soaked it in before skipping off the stage.

Two others performed before Elayna and another queen took the stage for a duet of “I’m So Excited,” which transitioned into “We Are Family” as every performer joined them on the stage. The majority of the small audience sang along and many of them stood and danced around their tables. It was electric!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Elayna combed her wig and nestled it into its box. She stripped out of the layers of tights, bodysuits and specially crafted “shapewear,” and dropped the pile of clothes in a bag. Next, she carefully removed her false eyelashes and her make-up. As she stared at her reflection, she sighed and shook her head. She felt as though she had gone through a reverse metamorphosis from beautiful butterfly to wiggling caterpillar.

The other drag queens and kings were in similar states of changing. Laughter rang out at a joke Elayna didn’t hear. She decided now would be the perfect time to discuss the issues she had noticed recently with the manager.

His office was on the opposite side of the building from the dressing area. Even in street clothes, Elayna still felt a thrill stepping onto the stage. One of the lights flickered and popped overhead and she gave a little yelp. Add that to her list. She navigated the steps off the stage and through the tables. Her shoes stuck slightly in several spots and she cringed. There were also four marks in a table leg pattern but no table.

Elayna slipped behind the bar and the bartender cleaning up before heading through the door on the other side. As she grew closer to the manager’s office, she overheard tense voices echoing out and paused outside.

“Evan, why are we still doing a weekly disco night!?” Followed by a huff. “You saw how small that audience was. I don’t know how you keep this place running.”

“Lil, you know why. I’m not going to have this argument with you again,” came Evan’s stern reply.

“Disco is history and history is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes.”

“You know that’s not it.”

“Oh, because it’s in that washed up old hags contract?! Puhlease! Grow a pair and renegotiate or find a new star. Recruit some new blood. Even one of the washouts from DragRace would bring in more interest than *pfft* that.”

“And what am I going to offer them? You know how rundown this place is getting. Are you willing to work for free? Help clean? Buy replacements?” There was a pause in which Elayna was sure that Lil gave Evan her best death glare. “As I thought. So until you can bring me a viable option, stop bothering with me problems I already know about.”

“Uuughh,” was the only warning she got before Lil stormed out. Lil stopped when she saw Elayna eavesdropping and glared at her. Then Lil continued her march out through the door to the bar. Elayna leaned against the wall for several minutes collecting her thoughts.

Evan was staring at his computer, back to the door when Elayna entered the room.

“Evan, I…,”

Without looking away from his computer, he interrupted her, “I don’t have time for you tonight.”

“You’ll make time for this,” she said firmly.

Evan sighed and turned around to face her, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“Hear me out. Lil is right. People are embarrassed by disco, but I love it. I may have been in denial about it for awhile…”

The manager let out a deep huff of a sigh.

“Anyway,” Elayna continued hurriedly, “I think we can renegotiate my contract when I get back, cut disco nights to twice a year and…”

“What do you mean ‘get back’?” Evan cut in.

“Well…” Elayna picked up a pen off his desk and began twirling it. “She was right. Even a washout from Drag Race would bring more business to this place. But what if I were to win?”

Evan sat up straighter in his chair. “Let me run the numbers, but I think I can keep this place afloat until you got back, that is if you even made it on to the show.”

“Oh honey, you know I will. Don’t you worry about that.” Elayna winked and sauntered out of Evan’s office feeling like a butterfly soaring on a summer’s day.

[WC: 799]
Crit always appreciated.

Two Sides of the Disco Ball

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You let out a soft sigh, staring at the pills of homework you have to do. Math, Social Studies, Psychology. It's a bit overwhelming, but you trying to get that perfect score.

You turn towards your computer, typing up some music for the work. You know you couldn't do this all alone without some music.

That's when your mind traces back to what you and your friend talk about this morning.

"Disco is one of the best ways to bring out your inner self, you should try it someday!"

You type up "Disco" on your computer before scrolling down a list of disco music. From Michael Jackson to Boney M, it was like an endless pile of music.

Finally, you found a video that mixes up all the disco music into one. Clicking play, you could instantly see the Lights fricking around the wallpaper.

You tap your foot to the rhyme while looking back at your paper. You felt ready enough to start your work. But then, you heard a little electric sound coming from the video.

The hair on the back of your skin stood up as you instantly look back at the video. It was still the flashy light wallpaper, but it felt a bit...good.

Slowly standing up, you begin to move your arms around. People are embarrassed by this, but you love it.

Your body slowly begins to move. One step, two steps, three steps. Then you realize, you were dancing to the music.

Deep down, you know you supposed to be doing your work. But this feeling of music reaches deep in your heart before those lane books did.

Your lips begin to move to the lyrics, your hips begin to shake and turn, your arms and legs start to move all over the bed. You even stood on your bed and begin dancing to the music.

You can put work to the side at the moment. Right now, you want to get your Groovy on.

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WPC: 330

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