deepundergroundpoetry.com
Danse Macabre
They were stood on the balcony, overlooking the heaving mass of bodies beneath them. The cavernous underground club was truly alive tonight; music pounded through speakers at a volume that would leave the ears ringing and the senses reeling for days; bodies jumped and writhed together to the same beat; the pair stood and watched. A combination scent of sweat, hormones and alcohol drifted up to them, and she uttered the faintest of moans, leaning over the balcony. The dull bass of so many heartbeats vibrated through her frame, increasing her hunger. She swung her legs over the balcony railing and sat there, ready to join the throng below, but a gentle touch to her shoulder restrained her.
Patience. He whispered, baring his wrist to her. She swung around, back to the energy beneath her and dipped her head to feed willingly, while he half-closed his eyes in rapture. The line between pain and pleasure had been blurred long ago; now there was just her. He reached for a wicked-looking sickle with his free hand, and grinned maliciously. She released him, and daintily wiped the blood from around her mouth, kissed him softly, and fell backwards off the balcony.
Not many people registered her fall at first, only those that she landed on and near. He waited to observe the reactions before turning and making his way down the stairs to the floor. He had his own theatrics. He arrived just as someone picked her up and started to move through the crowd with her, taking a direct path across the floor, into the heart of the multitude. He grinned again; exactly what she wanted. The band was still playing with gusto, and after a few minutes the ones she had disturbed joined back in, forgetting effortlessly. He slid through the crowd, drawing a few looks for his attire but no more than that; the sickle was well concealed beneath his jacket. He found a spot amidst the cavorting bodies, and waited, watching the band, hand loosely wrapped around the blade’s handle.
The body of the man that had picked her up crashed into the lead singer with ferocious velocity, carrying him backwards into the drum kit, and all hell broke loose.
People ran screaming towards him, away from the horror that was stood in the middle of the floor. Drenched in blood, she was plucking people off their feet as they tried to find a way to escape, but that had already been taken care of. Grin fixed on his face, he pulled his sickle out from his jacket and set to work.
They both stood their ground and slaughtered everyone within reach - him with a manic grin and a sweep that sent heads rolling and guts spilling, her with soothing words and a tender caress that opened throats and popped eyeballs in their sockets. His actions chased them towards her; she chased them to him. The band watched, stupefied, as the whole scene unfolded before their eyes. The lead singer had been killed instantly, head hanging at an entirely unnatural angle from his snapped neck. The good Samaritan had been ripped to shreds by the beauty that was now moving to stalk her prey down, her consort (for what else could he be?) herding the people towards her effectively. Eventually the whole audience was pressed against the stage, waiting in terror for the end.
And what an end it was! The club was huge, cavernous, and every so often someone made a break for it, attempting to sprint past her to the glowing ‘EXIT’ sign, but she was always somehow there, waiting for them as they slammed into the door futilely. She was very gentle as she led them back to the rest of the host, stroking their face, their hair, their back as she murmured soothing sounds that stilled the shakes but not the tears.
She saved those for last, letting them know that what they were witnessing was nothing to what would happen to them. None of them got the desire to run a second time, and when they screamed, they screamed for more pain.
The band had been left untouched, and now the grisly duo faced them.
Encore, They whispered, the noise carrying in the dead silence. Bravo! Encore! They murmured mockingly. She picked the Good Samaritan off the lead singer, startling the band with her sudden appearance right next to them. Retrieving the microphone, she made her way to centre stage while her partner began to applaud. She looked around at the band as a violin was pulled from seemingly nowhere.
Encore. She whispered, and began to play.
Patience. He whispered, baring his wrist to her. She swung around, back to the energy beneath her and dipped her head to feed willingly, while he half-closed his eyes in rapture. The line between pain and pleasure had been blurred long ago; now there was just her. He reached for a wicked-looking sickle with his free hand, and grinned maliciously. She released him, and daintily wiped the blood from around her mouth, kissed him softly, and fell backwards off the balcony.
Not many people registered her fall at first, only those that she landed on and near. He waited to observe the reactions before turning and making his way down the stairs to the floor. He had his own theatrics. He arrived just as someone picked her up and started to move through the crowd with her, taking a direct path across the floor, into the heart of the multitude. He grinned again; exactly what she wanted. The band was still playing with gusto, and after a few minutes the ones she had disturbed joined back in, forgetting effortlessly. He slid through the crowd, drawing a few looks for his attire but no more than that; the sickle was well concealed beneath his jacket. He found a spot amidst the cavorting bodies, and waited, watching the band, hand loosely wrapped around the blade’s handle.
The body of the man that had picked her up crashed into the lead singer with ferocious velocity, carrying him backwards into the drum kit, and all hell broke loose.
People ran screaming towards him, away from the horror that was stood in the middle of the floor. Drenched in blood, she was plucking people off their feet as they tried to find a way to escape, but that had already been taken care of. Grin fixed on his face, he pulled his sickle out from his jacket and set to work.
They both stood their ground and slaughtered everyone within reach - him with a manic grin and a sweep that sent heads rolling and guts spilling, her with soothing words and a tender caress that opened throats and popped eyeballs in their sockets. His actions chased them towards her; she chased them to him. The band watched, stupefied, as the whole scene unfolded before their eyes. The lead singer had been killed instantly, head hanging at an entirely unnatural angle from his snapped neck. The good Samaritan had been ripped to shreds by the beauty that was now moving to stalk her prey down, her consort (for what else could he be?) herding the people towards her effectively. Eventually the whole audience was pressed against the stage, waiting in terror for the end.
And what an end it was! The club was huge, cavernous, and every so often someone made a break for it, attempting to sprint past her to the glowing ‘EXIT’ sign, but she was always somehow there, waiting for them as they slammed into the door futilely. She was very gentle as she led them back to the rest of the host, stroking their face, their hair, their back as she murmured soothing sounds that stilled the shakes but not the tears.
She saved those for last, letting them know that what they were witnessing was nothing to what would happen to them. None of them got the desire to run a second time, and when they screamed, they screamed for more pain.
The band had been left untouched, and now the grisly duo faced them.
Encore, They whispered, the noise carrying in the dead silence. Bravo! Encore! They murmured mockingly. She picked the Good Samaritan off the lead singer, startling the band with her sudden appearance right next to them. Retrieving the microphone, she made her way to centre stage while her partner began to applaud. She looked around at the band as a violin was pulled from seemingly nowhere.
Encore. She whispered, and began to play.
Published 12th Jun 2010
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