Hours passed wandering. She might have actually disappeared. Not even trying to look for her; there was just…no sign or even a fleeting feeling that she was here. She’s just…gone. The energy is just gone. People are sitting around in groups, not even looking like they’re chatting. Smaller groups moseying around, likely looking for trouble to get into. They looked peaceful.

  Closed off. Occupied. Full. For better or for worse, I became invisible. People even bumped into me without looking. They rebounded and nearly fell over, but they knocked into me nonetheless. The only real goal I had next was to find Via. I did- she was off enjoying her time with friends, literally so enclosed in her own amusement that nothing could catch her attention. So, I moved on.

  Two girls wearing unflattering bunny outfits handed out flyers. They were calling out to essentially anyone, and people were receptive to them. “The rave is coming up! Don’t forget about it, come to us if you need help for directions!”

  Instead of coming to them, they approached me. Directions looked easy enough to navigate: there was a “You are here” sticker and a red line going to the destination. They gave me a rough estimate of when it was going to begin and end. It seemed like a big waste of time, but standing around or navigating out of the space I’m in now, alone, is an even bigger waste of time.

  After wandering, getting somewhat lost due to the weird geometry in the building, Anna’s group happened to see me. I was hardly paying attention, but they called out to me a few times and waved.

  Something was on my nerves. I tried to hide it around them, but I really couldn’t think of anything to say to any one of them. They didn’t help in unlocking the key to what I should say next, as everything they asked me was to get information out of me about the next events, to try and appease me while visibly walking on eggshells, or ask the most glib questions I’ve ever heard. While I felt neutral before, after they tried talking to me, I didn’t want anything to do with them.

  I interrupted one of the guys. “Tell me where the rave is. I am going there now,” I had a robotic tone.

  They were at a loss of words and looked like they were mentally re-evaluating what they thought of me. One of the girls piped up and gave this overly nice tone to answer me. I glared at her. I stared at the others. My lips were pursed without squishing them together. I realized they might have passed by Rebecca, and took a deep breath as my train of thought arrived at its next station.

  I said with a demanding tone: “How have you all been?” as if it were a command.

  Anna looked back and forth at her friends and stood up first. “So far, uhh, so good. That um, little fight we got in earlier ended fine…you were there though, maybe, right?” She wasn’t really waiting for me to answer, and I clearly looked like I was in a rush, anyway.

  “Well, it’s nice to see at least one of you again,” she gave an awkward laugh and continued: “I’m assuming you’re going to go to that…then, right? Oh, and, we all met back up at our room again all safe and sound,” she gave another awkward laugh and made a sort of cartoony gesture.

  So, she didn’t even return to our lodging room. She might really be gone. As I squinted at Anna, I wanted to ask her if she knew Rebecca was skittish, quick to be alone as humanly possible. I didn’t have the concentration to. What value would I have gotten out of it, anyway?

  After exchanging a few more words, one of the girls sent me away, saying: “Well, it was nice to see you again. Have fun at the rave,” and we parted from each other.

  …

  Oh lookie me, the last event of the night. Incandescent lighting wrapped in almost discernable coils made it very easy where the door was. Although, there were multiple molds of the door that became smaller and smaller until one arrived at the actual entrance. I could hear the music despite not having crossed the bridge yet. It was not, and I repeat, not something I found alluring. There just wasn’t anything else to do, and I thought I might as well not waste my time.

  There was a clicker- a human clicker, to clarify. They were sort of distracted, as was I. I think they were just checking to make sure I wasn’t carrying an obviously dangerous object or to check room capacity. Inconspicuously carrying? Well, I’m just glad I’m not that kind of person, lest this scenario becomes more complicated.

  Before I experienced light, there was darkness. The ground had small squiggles here and there of black light, although some of the glow was green or teal. The long hallway gave me enough time to orient myself to the vibration producing music, and the audible wave of noises emanating from the crowd inside.

  Once I was in, I saw oranges, yellows and reds. These were the colored lights, to be specific. I felt like I was about to get hit by a smell, but I didn’t. I did have to adjust to the mild humidity, but nothing horrendous. There was a good bit of distance before the crowd became a festering pile of amorphous worms, where I could still see people scattered.

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  One such scattered person was a girl, wearing an unflattering bunny outfit, having a few zippered pockets in potentially practical, but unaesthetic lines.

  “Oh, you must be new. You want an all-nighter or just a to-go?” She didn’t flinch, but I did hesitate. She took no time to take a tab from one of her pockets, put it in her mouth, and lean into me.

  I rolled backward and caught her by the jaw with my hand as if I were holding a pool cue. Despite my quick instincts, she, possibly unintentionally, spat out the tab, hitting way too close to home: beneath my eyelid. My nails then made her bleed, and I freaked once I regained control of my stunned arm. Too late, as whatever it was began dissolving into my skin, only getting some of it off of me. I fled without a word.

  I was wiping and scooping the feeling off my face frantically while ducking and effortlessly surfing around the crowd. Dozens of people danced yet made no contact with how I moved. Some people looked gross. Gross. Some of them had cracked skin, sweaty hands, hair, everything, disgusting. I used my clothing to bump against people if I absolutely had to. Although gracefully weaving through the crowd, I was slowly being directed toward the center by being the path of least resistance.

  The music didn’t help. The only good thing about it was how incomprehensible it was that it couldn’t really get into my head. Zero hooks, zero catchiness, just a jumble of organized sound. So, why didn’t it help exactly? What organization the sounds had created a vortex of people moving in certain directions and predictably so. At a certain point, in order to avoid the ick from every tangible shape around me, I was being dragged right into the center. Once I was there, though, it was like the eye of a storm. And then I thought.

  …

  What if that dream had merit to it? What if there was…something out there…running. What if, no matter how much it ran, it couldn’t outrun a curse? What if there was something out there who was being chased into a waiting trap?

  What does it mean to be yourself? Where, although the shape of your existence is threaded by borrowed concepts, you, in theory, have something entirely unique? What exactly would the assembled materials be, and what is the mannequin underneath it? Is your past purely authentic? Is any point in time touched with your authenticity? Is it something you have to fight for, or is authenticity something you fight against? Do some materials resonate, letting you sharply hone into what makes you you, or does any consumption dilute your pure essence?

  What if there were those who weren’t unique? Copy-paste. Or worse, those who are just parts to whole of someone else. Like what I think would’ve happened to my host in the dream.

  What do you think would happen when one would collide with the other?

  What I believe were the effects from the tab from earlier began to set in. Dizziness was a mercy compared to what burning, vicious feelings I had. Sludge traveled through my veins, eating the comfort I once had. Slime wriggled through my stomach, lungs, and joints. I pespired…a lot. To say I was overheating was an underestimation of what being stuffed in an oven felt like.

  I wanted to grab onto someone, but every rotting freak in my periphery gave off a wall of thick air. It was horrible, so I left myself on my knees along the edge of the pit. People began throwing themselves around- good for them- but my stomach began to churn. I felt like I was about to be stamped out. I felt like my mind was being chewed apart like worms making holes in the dirt.

  I plowed and swam through people to get to one of the walls. Somehow, I almost made it, throwing up right next to the door of the bathroom. As I dragged myself through the lavatory proper, I yelled while gurgling puke. It sounded like I was being stabbed to death and then cutting my tone much lower. I hit the checkered floor, the painted, melted-looking walls, one of the stalls, and almost got the toilet seat, only to hit its fried clay exterior. Veins in my neck burnt.

  All of this happened because I left a single hole in my wall. Because I didn't completely close myself off, an entire flood of poison seeped into my brain. I became horrifically distracted to the point of not being able to do anything effectively. My personality, who I am, and my essence were completely erased and washed up by the deluge of toxins. It was disgusting and made me become disgusting. Just one hole. Just one in, and the zombies pour endless waves of acid into my mind.

  Amidst the sludge, a glistening thought appeared to me. Cook meat to kill parasites. Smoking cures meat. Flames kill disease. Fire ejects poison. Heat cauterizes wounds. Fire. It is fire that purifies metal. It’s the fire in your heart, the flames in your spirit that keep your engine running.

  After one last primal scream, I felt better. I was worn out, but I wasn’t dizzy anymore. No more rave. Staying along the walls, I felt my way to the entrance. As I was leaving, my mind was cleansed enough to think some more.

  It almost seems like a trend. What nature someone else has, what their essence is exuding, seems to occupy some of my vacant headspace. What space is for sale is in my actions, my interactions, and my thoughts fills in from the people I’m around. Obviously, having such a weakness can be exploited and could get me in trouble for exhibiting personality traits that aren’t really mine. I guess, if there was the right person, they could delicately use my weakness as a key to sustaining some sort of connection.

  I don’t know what to do. I feel as if I should close off what I know is me. Exposing myself to others- it doesn’t cause embarrassment so much as confusion. It’s a wasted effort at best since I have to adjust my behavior just to make sense in a language they can understand, but at worst, they take a little bit away from me. Only after I’ve shown what Ishmael is, has that aspect of myself fallen away from me: aged, rotted, decayed, destroyed. And it’s not like I forget that such an aspect of myself once existed; rather, I just don’t know how to do it again. I don’t know how to go back to being softer, to putting trust in others, and to having a simple interest in others. The blueprints are gone, or the resources to manifest it are gone.

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