Discovery follows exploration. Exploration requires abandonment. Tonight, forget yourself. Forget who you are, who you've been. But most of all, forget your name.

Through the black field of human sheep, thin red laser beams dart back and forth, broken only by molten bodies of flesh. My eyes struggle to keep up with the flights of light, their trails lingering after they dissect the air. They slice through my mind, open my thoughts, and linger sweetly. Whispers beckoned: "What path shall you follow?" My legs slowly move across the room, gliding gracefully and carefully, weighed down by some unseen burden that wishes to retreat home.

The path I have chosen is cluttered by numerous zombies barely moving to music intended to create a life force. The beats are devoid of any meaning to the lambs, all clad in uniform blue jeans and a t-shirt that'll never be cast off in naked ecstasy. Clones of the same entity, males mesh with females to become part of an insurmountable force named conformity. I continue to advance, head raised, looking beyond the cliques to get to the center. "Excuse me," I say, entranced by the way the beat of my heart assimilates with the beat of the song. "The center, retreat to the center," I tell myself.

Everyone I pass carries a scent of joy/anxiety/longing. Their auras bring my spirits down. Their whole life has been spent on the notion of what they're required to be. Their collective unconscious screams to me, "We've died before we've ever lived." Pity should encompass my heart, but instead I sneer at the frozen tundras that will never know how it is to exist in a higher state of dissonance. Their beseeching fades away at the sight of the ray of light in the nucleus of the floor. As I reach the center, I slowly close my eyes and ignore the existence of other people.

Nothing exists except for the low-pitched vibration of fast-paced rhythms. The pounding seeps into my ears and throbs under my skin. My conscious mind acquiesces control of my physical body and my unconscious takes over every muscle control. My legs and hips thrust back and forth, faster and faster. My arms and legs rise and twist, turning with every millisecond of reverberation. Possessing me, I rise and fall in one long continuous movement.

Pump it. The temperature's rising, and every inch of my skin is a monsoon. Every breath is shorter than the one before it. My insides reside aching, and my whole body feels as though it'll soon erupt in an explosion. Blood is filling the veins in my forearms till they protrude and pulsate, beckoning a needle to drain the fluids. Sweat flows rapidly down my forehead, blinding my eyes with mascara. My body can't stop moving. The veins keep growing. The music isn't slowing. It's increasing, red blood doubling and collecting underneath the skin. The veins are going to pop. Christ, the veins are going to pop!

A screeching siren roars at the pinnacle of the song, a shriek that breaks beer bottles at the bar as my veins burst, spilling blood everywhere, from the floor to the sheep to the mirrored ceilings themselves. I scream as the beautiful people slip and fall on top of each other. Some laugh in hysterics, others tear at each other's heart in disgust. Others still roll over and lie on the floor, moving their arms and legs to make demonic red angels, painting hell's winter. The catatonic blondes fall and go into shock, struggling to keep consciousness. At the sight of their comrades, the men shriek effeminate shrill cries and slip into the repulsive fluid, trying to flee.

My eyes shoot open. I can't stop panting. My vision is blurred, and everything is moving too quickly for my senses to keep up with. I stare down at my arms. There are no veins protruding, no scars, nothing. I can't stop shaking, and the chunks rise up in my throat. The last thing I need is to be sick. I can't be sick. My hands wrapped around my stomach, I hold myself tight. I bend down, hovering over my black boots, my auburn hair hanging down, covering my face.

Every breath is tight, and I force myself to inhale deeply, taking it all in. The nausea subsides, and my head spins. My arms quiver, as a warm embrace takes me from behind.

"Are you okay?" he asks as his dark eyes burn through me.

I stare at him blankly and critically, wondering why he'd care. I hate speaking to attractive men. "I'm fine," I lamely say while staring at his black Metallica shirt. Then I stare enamoredly at his soft lips, long black hair, and chiseled face.

"Are you rolling?" he asks, anticipating a yes.

"Fuck you!" I shoot at him, glaring in disgust.

"I want you to fuck me," he says, looking deep into me, with one hand on my arm and another grabbing my hair, pulling back my head. He bites my neck and throws me to the floor.

My face burns into a bright shade of scarlet. I shoot up to embrace him. My legs wrap around his waist, and my skirt rises up to just below my thong. His hands go up my bare ass, and he thrusts me against his hard-on, up and down, exchanging fluids through our clothing. His lips ravage my throat, tearing at his prey. Challenge me, inspire me, you can feel the raw intercourse through the clothing as the tempo rises into a climax.

He sets me down, and I flee into the bathroom. There is only one other girl inside. She locks the door and faces me. She is my Doppelganger. Her black gaze is bewitching.

"Dyke me," she says.

"Whaah?" I reply, stammering the words, hypnotized by her eyes. She grabs my breast and thrusts her tongue in my throat. I am in complete ecstasy. I am one with her at that moment, me inside of her, she inside of me. She thrusts a knife inside of me, and I scream in agony.

"I love you. Now we can be together."

"I never loved, I never loved."