Across the Floor

The DJ looked out on the crowd. Bass thumping, laser lights pulsing in time to the rhythms he alone created. Bodies pulsed and swayed in time to the music. Glow sticks swirled in celestial patterns, merging with the laser lights, bathing the crowd in a surreal glow. The crowd was united tonight. United in the love of the beat and the music, just the way he liked it.

He lifted one side of the headphones to his ear to cue up the next track. Tonight they were riding the same wave. Every vibration was sensual, every movement erotic. The crowd swayed, caught up in the hypnotic sound that was Trance. With each button pressed, each CD selected, each sound-bite looped, he controlled them, carried them to the edge of climax and then pulled them back from the edge of satisfaction. Over and over they would ride the wave until the sun would begin to spread its amber fingertips across the sky. Then they would return to their lairs, exhausted to sleep away the light of day.

This was what he lived for, where he felt most alive. There were no doubts here, everything he did was right. Here he was a god. With each sound wave, he would woo the crowd, drawing them into a world of his own making. He was loved here, accepted with open arms because of the mood he created with the sound. He provided an escape, for himself and for those who moved on the dance floor. Tomorrow would come, but for now there was just the music and the movement.

With the next track cued, he looked up and their eyes met. His woman, nymph or muse for the night, for each night there was one. She would always find him with her eyes and for that night they would be lovers. The music whispering to each other what spoken words would never do, their eyes seducing each other with a promise that would never be fulfilled outside the dance floor. Though they would never touch they would be marked indelibly.

He would love her by the music he chose, for each rhythm would entice her to move and she in that movement would love him in return because he would know she moved just for him. These moments were part of why he would walk away spent, having given so much of himself in the making. These too were the moments that drew him back, intoxicating him with the fulfillment only the music could provide. He craved it, ached for its fulfillment. The music was his and he belonged to it.

An Entwined Fairy Tale

Eric Prince pulled his shiny black mustang into the garage after a grueling day at the office. He slid out of the leather seat, loosening his tie as he shut the door and walked toward the mud room entrance to the house. The smell of smoke greeted him as he opened the door and fear gripped him. He dropped his coat and sprinted through the corridor that connected the garage to the rest of the house. An overwhelming heat assailed him as he entered the kitchen already thick with smoke.

He ran back to the garage for the extinguisher he’d placed near the work sink. Once there, he yanked off his dress shirt, called 911 and gave them his address while dousing a shop cloth with water. Ignoring the admonition to wait for help, he closed his phone, grabbed the extinguisher and rushed back into the house. He stopped at the end of the corridor to tie the damp cloth across his face, before he brought the extinguisher forward and began to fight the flaming dragon of the inferno that was devouring his kitchen.

Inching his way forward, he yelled his wife’s name, praying to hear her call back, but his only answer was the roar of the flames as they threatened to overtake him. He’d made it halfway through the kitchen, when the dragon sprouted a second head and blocked his exit, forcing him to fall back.

He yelled for Stephanie again as tears ran down his face and his lungs began to burn from the smoke and heat. When he again heard no answer, he abandoned his current route, to run back to the corridor and then out into the night. He gulped in the cool night air as he ran for the front porch, praying that the fire hadn’t made its way to the stairs in the foyer.

Cursing his shaking hands, Eric fumbled to open the door’s locks. He half fell into the house as the door sprang free. Seeing that the flames were beginning to lick at the foot of the stairs, he ran, hoping to beat them. He started up and fell as the stair’s runner tripped him like brambles. He caught himself and sprinted to the second floor. The smoke brought him to his knees just as he made it to their bedroom.

“Stephanie!” He called again to his sleeping wife as he crawled toward the bed. Again she didn’t answer and terror gripped him. He gulped air into his lungs then sprung to his feet, wrenching her limp body from the covers. He ran for the library on the other side of the house knowing there was a window that opened out over the roof of the portico.

He made the window panting, his lungs burning from the heat and exertion. He forced it open and pulled his wife out onto the roof. His foot slipped as he pulled her free of the windowsill and they fell, skidding toward the roof’s edge. He managed to catch the guttering to slow their fall, but it gave way, swinging them into the porch’s railing below. Eric felt his ribs crack as he hit the railing, but he managed to buffer Stephanie from the blow, and ease them both to the ground.
He looked down at his unconscious wife, her face awash in the moon’s glow. She appeared to just be sleeping, but he was terrified he’d lost her. He cradled her head with one hand and cupped her chin with the other before bringing his lips to hers, forcing air into her lungs. He felt her stir just as the fire engines pulled up, bathing them in the glow of yellow and red lights. Relief washed over him as her eyes fluttered open and she whispered his name. He pulled her close, reveling in the knowledge that they could face another day together.