Chronicles of the Wingless

O N E

From within the darkness of this room, they listened. They listened and moved, as the music played on. It wasn’t that they had a choice in the matter; it was a demand that came from the bottom of their souls. Movement, action, and rhythm, were all that each in this room wanted. It was all that they asked for. She was one of them. It carried from within her heart, to her feet. She moved as the music demanded; a slave of sorts to it. Her feet moved and her waist twisted as she jumped and shook with the beat. It felt so right to her, to follow the music. To follow him.
The strobe lights flashed and the DJ played on, supplying the crowd’s need for music. In this dark room there were words spoken with actions, fears were met, and cast aside as each one entered, only to become one of them, the nameless, faceless, dancers. Always changing faces on the inside, but ever the same on the outside. It was the life they chose to live without a name, to be another body without a soul, but with graceful motions controlled by the music.
He, too, lived this way, as he guided her, through the darkness around them. He told her of his desire and devotion to her without saying anything, rather he let the dancing and music tell her for him. How he longed after her, and loved her, guiding her body’s motions with his, as they danced together, closer now than they had been before.
It was they way the room felt, the rush of the music, the pressing in of the crowd, each trying to show the other that they too, were here to say what they could not speak with words. It was him, and her. It was the underground. The forgotten paradise of the rest.

This was what they were meant to do.