Poison (A goth's fairytale)

A busy night. The crowded reeking floor of the pub was awash with
bouncing kinetic bodies. In the centre energies collided frenetically
in what was colloquially known as "The Pit." On the outside people
attempted to avoid the hurtling graceless bodies and concentrated on
making the music their own savouring the rhythm and moving in perfect
time. On the outskirts, the aim was to avoid being hit, or to throw
bodies back into the pit, back into oblivion for the duration of the
next raucous pounding song.

It was close to eleven o'clock, nearly the end, even Cinderella got to
stay out for the extra hour, but in the fairytale world of licensing
laws, glasses would be turned into pumpkins the moment the last bell
had rung. As eleven approached I had a premonition of a "new rock" boot
standing solitary and defiant in the centre of the floor and of some
drunken goth running lopsidedly to their awaiting taxi carriage. But
now living in the moment, the music changed. A familiar riff, known
universally in the place filled every corner and bounced off the walls.
It evoked a response in the entire populace, some it reduced to tears,
others upon hearing it became elevated to a state of near jubilation;
Alice Cooper had much to answer for when he wrote "Poison," for this
was the very tune which enveloped the place in unity.

A chilling lupine howl arose as the first few notes aired themselves. I
could easily add to the atmosphere, that there was a full moon tonight,
that it was Samhain (Halloween to the uninitiated); but it was neither.
It was just another monday night, the end of another night of metal
music, not long til chucking out time, but long enough to get this one
universally loved and loathed song played to its death. Everyone filled
the floor, squeezing somehow into the miniscule amount of space.
Intoxicated smiles and laughter mingled with the despair that the night
was still young, but seemingly over already. By the chorus, the roar of
voices shouting along were making the "rock o" sign as arms waved in
the air and bodies swayed suggestively, seductively. in my eyes I
wanted to focus my attentions on someone across the room, someone I
fervently wished to tease and titilate from my vantage point. Euphoric
on alcohol I felt free and wanted to challenge the world to refute my
immortality for that brief moment. If only I could catch my quarry's
eyes. If only I could voice what was so evident in the lyrics. It was
giddying, but my confidence was balanced on a slender thread, a slender
thread I did not want to break. Maybe I would be happy just observing
this narrow portion of the world. Maybe this was how thousands of
fairytales ended; with a sudden awakening and an awareness of the
world. The bell each and every person in the place dreaded sounded
loudly over the din of the music. It woke me. There wouldn't be any
happy ever after. Like normal I would be ignored by the one I longed to
notice me, we would traipse down to a club under the pretences of
scaring the locals, but really go there because we didnt want the night
to end. There aren't any happy ever afters.

And that my lovely is the story of Poison, the Goth's fairytale.