Short Stories

The Beasts Within

Dimmed lights inside mixed with the smell of booze; bodies rhythmically swaying on the floor, carelessly, to the sounds of the deafening music. She watched curiously as the alcohol in her hand slowly fused with the demons within, waking them all at once, and calling them to an age-old war to which many a soul had been lost. Gradually she felt her senses grow numb and an unseen force took over her whole being; and she started moving into a trance, letting go of trying to fight for control. She started sensually moving her body to the beat of the melody of the songs playing in the background, her curves shaping and reshaping the whole concept of femininity.

I watched her in silence, all the while a jumble of buried emotions rushed through my body, sending me to a blissful state of euphoria. I had always seen her in a defined context, one which I was unable to rid my mind of until that moment when the D.J. played one of her favorite songs; when the world I lived in changed into one I did not know, one to which I was a total stranger. Many a time I wished she was dancing for me; wished it was I she was seducing. I found myself drawn deeper into her beauty, like a moth to the light, and getting high simply by laying my eyes on her.

An untamed crowd gathered at her feet, cheering like scavengers over a prey, waiting to devour her at the first available chance. She was unaware of her surrounding and continued to move her body aesthetically, exciting her crowd even further. They clapped and cheered, each one of them believing, in the back of her mind, that she was the one: the promised woman to claim that ‘virgin’. Still, the ‘virgin’ seemed oblivious to all that; the demons within were rampaging ecstatically, taking hold of every fiber in her being. She was lost in the long waking hours of night and into the effect of the cocktail that lay on the wooden bar. She was caught up in a dungeon for years and her freedom existed only in a song. She was intent on taking advantage of this momentary liberty.

With a half-full glass of red wine in my hand, I observed as the eager predators awaited their moment, in their eyes a hunger I had never seen before. Licking their lips, or biting them, as they watched the virgin’s ritualistic movements and the glances she threw at each and every one. I gave away a faint smile, for I had known that those craving glances were merely an automatic reaction to her demon’s commands; I was well aware that, in her induced utopia, images of another played repeatedly.

The last sip of my wine was bittersweet – like the woman she was – but I made sure I enjoyed it till the very end especially that I was an invisible soul and would always be. Wine was timeless for me, from everlasting to everlasting I would think. It was a potion of love, seduction and guilt; three ingredients I had always enjoyed tremendously. And thus, I allowed myself the freedom to dive into the depth of this timelessness and take pleasure in its wide array of possibilities and impossibilities at once.

The song lasted for a few moments, but for her it was an eternity that came to an end with the start of the first beat of a new song. She suddenly came back to her senses and found that she was almost exposed. She was surrounded by a wild herd of lesbians applauding her seductiveness, raging at the temptress she had been. Her cheeks turned red and she hurriedly stepped away towards the door, her shawl following her outside.

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