BINDI DISCO

I used to dream of a dark room. Dim with thick draped curtains. The breeze was hot and filled with scents from a thousand different worlds. It shivered in the curtains that lined the walls. The light was dark and my eyes were wide open. The lights spawned a rainbow dance, spun from a hanging crystal.

Under the disco ball, the movement was like a school of fish, twisting and turning in one mass. I can see him watching. Standing and staring, his reflection repeating infinite times in the mirrored wall. The music throbs and hums and seems to incorporate the old electric heaters mounted high on the walls. Beams of neon colours slice through air, severing the blackness and casting a crosshatch of colour over the sea of faces. I watch his face descend in rhythmic motion into the blackness only to be illuminated quickly by a flash of light, his expression a blaze with desire and passion.

I am suddenly aware of the crush of people around me and the involuntary movement of my body as it is swept up in the flow of dance. I stretch out my fingers to identify some sort of feeling and suddenly my hand is clasped and I am whipped from my feet and lost in the crowd. My arms outstretched I see his face. The music pulsates and the colours intensify. I am taken over.