Page 4 of Neon Pestilence
There’s plenty of open space in both the VIP area and the pit area, still enough room for small dance circles and mosh pits to form without everyone being packed in like sardines.
Mini shops and food vendors line the outskirts of the grounds, and the smell of about fifteen different foods and weed smoke mixes in the air around us. My stomach growls. It’s like if Snoop Dog and Martha Stewart had a Halloween party and only invited DJs to play.
Everything looks and smells amazing.
I decide to make a quick stop at the bar to calm my nerves and get myself loosened up for the night. It’s an all-inclusive event, so drinks are included, and I plan to take full advantage of that.
I duck in behind a few people until I can squeeze between a man wearing a diaper and a beautiful woman dressed like an iridescent butterfly.
The titty-high wooden bartop rests under my fingers as I look at the menu. “What can I get you, poison cap?” A man dressed like he came straight out of a romance novel pops into my eyesight.
His voice is smooth with a touch of danger, like honey-flavored whiskey. His elbows rest on the bartop as he clasps his tattooed hands in front of him like he’s about to make a deal with the devil.
“I uhh, I’ll take a Peach Punch Beat Box, please,” I stutter, my cheeks turning hot.
“Ahh, so the sexy mushroom’s got a sweet tooth. Noted. ” He turns away from the bar like it was just a casual remark, as I try to keep myself from melting into a puddle.
Before long, he returns with my uncapped drink. I smile and thank him as he scans my wristband. Free drinks really are a bonus. I’ve never heard of it happening at any festival, which kind of makes sense why this one’s so exclusive.
I make my way down to center stage before spotting Tini and the group following not too far behind me. The deep bass begins to sink into my bones with each step, wrapping around me like a blanket of pure filthy wubs. There’s over one million watts of bass at this festival, split between the two main stages, and I can feel it in every part of me. My feet immediately start moving with the beat. It’s fast and brutal, thumping around me.In me.
I don’t even think, I just move. Losing myself in the bass. Before I know it, I’m two joints in and absolutely cross-faded. My body is buzzing, and it’s feeding off the energy of the bodies around me.
More people have started to make their way over to the main stage for the B2B2B sunset set. Tini, her friends, and I all stand in a small circle. Passing jays between one another, distracting ourselves while the ten-minute intermission drags on.
“Have you guys heard about the Doctor? Everyone has been talking about it, and I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.” Tini’s voice breaks through the soft music playing in the background. Every one of us turns to look at her, intrigued.
“I heard that people have been hearing screams coming from a tent all night,” the harness-adorned guy speaks up. “I haven’t seen any weird shit though, so who knows.” He shrugs his shoulders in a ‘who knows’ motion and takes another hit of the joint.
“Anyone want some?” The older wook opens up his palm, a bottle of fairy dust shining against the lights above us. Most people refer to it as Molly, but I like it to be more magical, at least when it’s in its powder form.
We all smile, thank him, and take our turns taking a hit. He made sure to dose it out for each of us, he said it’s about a hundred to a hundred and twenty milligrams per dose. Usually, I stay far the fuck away from taking drugs given to me by strangers, but I figure the high would be worth the risk with this one, especially since his girlfriend also took it. The odds of him actually drugging us are slim, and I made sure to bring some extra Magnesium and Vitamin C pills just in case.
“Cheers,” I say to the others as they watch me take my dose. The familiar burn of the drug tingles in my nose, and my world starts to tilt.
Time to fucking rage.
Chapter 4
The Doctor
The stench of sweat and blood burns my nostrils, flooding my veins with something primal. Every year it’s the same thing. They drink, they dance, I sniff out the ones infected with the pestilence, and then Ihunt.
This year smells different, though. A little too sweet. Like autumn is trying to weasel its way into me, the heady notes of pumpkin and vanilla are almost overwhelming. Sickly sweet, but oh so fucking good.
I float through the crowd, a ghost hidden behind smoke and drugs. The mirrors are much too cracked here, and I thrive on hiding in the cracks.
Smooth leather presses tight into my face, my protection from the pestilence. My own form of fucked up anonymity, allowingme to move as my true self. Behind it, I can be anything, a monster, a saviour, a god.
Wild eyes meet mine, and I assess each one, taking care to mark the ones that are too glossy, too…much. I can’t explain to you how they look, not really. In the many centuries I’ve existed, I’ve only ever learned how to spot them better because there’s not one specific thing about them.
It’s not a lack of color or red-rimmed pupils, it’s not the ones holding back tears, or the ones that have too much hunger in them. It’s the ones that feel empty, hollow. The ones that feel like they are holding back more death than joy. The ones that just don’t look right. The ones holding secrets.
I clutch my bag in my palm, fingers curling in on themselves. One is close, my body feels it. I shut my eyes, focusing on the energy. Thehumors of life,as I’ve learned to refer to it. Each human has four humors—fire, water, earth, and air.
You can find them in their auras, the stench of their skin, even down to the body fluids they exude from themselves.
Every living creature has them, but humans? Humans tend to have much less balance between them. When a patient suffers from an imbalance or excess of one or more humors, that’s when I step in.
