Through ceaseless bodies I wade, through hypnotised, blank faces, mesmerised, unaware of my presence. Splashes of green and red bathe the room, like flourescent fingers ravaging the depths of the darkness as swirls of blood and poison in water, lighting up faces, hands, corpses. But are they dead?
Their eyes are transfixed, lips parted, rippling with rhythm. They divide at the slightest touch, submerged in a sea of the living dead. It goes on and on, face after face, the wail of the violin mourning each and every death, the pounding bass striving to revive them, drums mimicking their already forgotten heartbeats, the echos of which have long faded away.
I fight against the tide, but am pushed back. The closer I come to shore, the further I sink into the sand, the harder I have to fight. I must swim. I must hear again.