I'm not sure what compelled me to take the drive out to Bushwick last night. I could have easily spent the night at home, in bed by eleven, curled up with my cat and some sub-par anime flashing across my lap. I haven't been able to replace my TV since it fell so my laptop has been my primary source of entertainment. I'd have had Dorito dust coating my fingertips, my sleeve, and the corners of my lips instead of the dried, sticky blood that covered them now. A joint would be burning in the tray on my bedside as I drifted off to sleep around midnight, as per usual. Gods I wished I had just stayed the fuck home. But now I've got bigger problems.
I can't tell which part of me is touching which part of anyone else, I think I'm the only one still awake back here. The van has no windows, no lights, no seats or seatbelts. Zip ties keep my wrists and ankles together as I roll around the back of the cold, dark space. I think I feel a heel on my thigh, maybe pulled someone's hair under my shoulder. I can only assume they've been drugged the same way everyone else at the party was, except these three and myself did not erupt at midnight like the rest. Thank fuck I brought my own beer. I can't even imagine what they had consumed to get a reaction like that.
It was like a scene out of a horror film. As soon as midnight hit, one by one, the guests all around me started to complain of a dry, itchy throat. One by one their skin started to glow as if they had swallowed a star, an orb of light forcing it's way up and out of their throats. The light was dim at first, then a bright red, then a burning, bright white as each guest who suffered from the anomaly imploded one after the other. Some of their necks bulged out with the glow, rupturing at the side so their heads lobbed over their shoulder. Others managed to keep the explosion internal, sputtering blood from their mouths and eyes as they collapsed to the ground. It took mere minutes for the floor to turn from colorful tile to a sea of red. The once over-crowded house party now turned murder scene, riddled with lifeless and dying bodies as survivors screamed and tried to help their fallen friends.
Only a handful of us seemed to survive the massacre. It wasn't clear why, at first. Seconds after the first body dropped, a group of men in black suits and face coverings entered the apartment. They didn't seem armed, but as soon as they grabbed the terrified and bloodied survivors, the poor things went limp in their gloved hands. I noticed a syringe in one of the men's hands, at least, I can assume they were men. Us survivors, or victims I guess is the right term now, they barely had anything in common at first glance. The few I noticed seemed around my age but besides that, nothing else matched. It was completely random who exploded and who did not, but the majority of the party had died on that floor, and these strange-suited men were dragging us living guests out one by one.
I'm not sure why they didn't stick me. I was fozen in the moment, debating a jump out the window which might result in broken legs or my death if I fell properly. But why should I be so quick to die when I was one of the few who survived this horror? I barely had time to consider my options before two black leather hands grabbed my shoulders and stood me up. I begged them not to stick me, I pleaded for my life and extended my shaking hands for them to cuff. I don't remember much after that, I either closed my eyes or they bagged my head. But I do remember walking down some stairs, out a door, and now, I'm here. In the back of what I can only assume is a van, driving god knows where with a bunch of other stolen partygoers.
I only went because I liked the theme. I'd been to this apartment a few times before for other themed events, after I met the host at work. She was a great tipper and had a bunch of connections to performers I admired. DJ's, bands, comedians, they all came through this apartment for intimate studio shows. Sometimes I'd make a new friend or find a new song to obsess over. But I'm sure after tonight that's all over, if the host even survived that weird event. Tonight's theme was "Dance with a Dragon". The DJ had an elaborate mask that leaked smoke through the nostrils, body painters were decorating party-goers with scales and other ren-faire-esque designs, even the drinks were themed with special names that matched different dragons in literature. I wonder if it was something in the drinks that caused all this...
Shit. The van stopped. I can't tell how long I've been in here, an hour? Two hours? I managed to wiggle the bag off my face but still all I can see is pitch darkness. They wouldn't put us through all of this bullshit just to kill us instantly once we arrived, right? Then again...there are worse fates than death for people like me.
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Eyes Don't Lie - Isabel LaRosa
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Tipping the Scale (Dark Romance, Dragons, Nonbinary, Now Posting)
RomanceI didn't think I was going to end up bagged and bound in the back of a van one impromptu Friday night. The party was an impulsive choice, one that I now wholly regret after what I saw. Now I'm a prisoner of some wealthy investor, trapped in his mano...
