Social Short Story – DANCE OF THE DEMONS
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The demons are dancing. There is no audience. Their dance is thunderous. They are dancing to some strange wild beats. The demons are black, huge and dreadful. Their skirts made of feral straws rise up every time they lift their legs and fall in place again. Their anklets are made of heavy gongs and clang distressingly, shattering sanity.
Their hair is rumpled, uncombed and eyes emit fire. Their music is strange that of fire and flames. They are dancing in a temple and their heavy footsteps cover the whole temple. The temple vibrates and the noise is deafening.
She runs from corner to corner wanting to hide from the demons, but they are too strong for her. They are overpowering, indulging, they are not outside, they are inside her head like a loud clamor in unison. They are the voices in her head, her own voices.
Body is the temple of the soul and her thoughts are demons! They are dancing in the head. Then suddenly they lose their rhythm and run amok. A huge cloud bursts and all the demons are sedated. The vibrations die down and in a hot uncomfortable frenzy they lie with an unknown bitterness on their tongue almost similar to anesthesia. Drowsiness shrouds them. They look out to escape from the trap. They cannot, for the trap is the head and they cannot escape from the head. The stupor deepens and the demons lie un-stirring.
The shelter was once a sacred temple of a chaste Goddess, now desecrated and debased by a trespasser whose forceful intrusion into the depths of that virgin being in all her innocence was deplorable to the soul.
The infernal, violent invasion into her sacred self demolished the temple and its sanctity, reducing her to abandon until it looked like a razed site. She cried for help like the sounds of uneven thunder. No help came forth in the populous land where every human being stalked, unseeing. She was a child in the womb, like an unborn egg.
The raider walked back, her body and mind lay shattered. Justice hid in an invisible corner. Her indignation burned without any retribution splitting her out of ignominy and disgrace……
The heat rises again and all the thoughts drum together and create a bizarre music wild and weird that fills the head. The demons are out from their hiding, charged once again to dance. Now it is a different dance, that of persecution.
They are the worshippers of the only living god in the world, the pagan god. That god is ‘man’ with his sole possession to own and control; his possession which can create and destroy life. In his format of designs, woman is a source of joy.
The singular hardness points at her from all directions in her head. They laugh, tease, taunt, and ridicule her existence. They persecute and hound her. They are at variance. They go different directions and destruction, drumming and pounding.
She runs from corner to corner shouting and screaming at her own shadow. She cannot rest anymore for rest is a curse, an alien and she dreads it. They are compulsive activists, blocking the senses. The temple is a mass of destructive chaos. From the abyss of her distorted mind, bells ring, cymbals sound and the clang is continuous. Words blabber and tumble out incoherently. Now the dance in the head is unbearable. Laughter spills out, first inaudible then inappropriate but loud till the seams burst convulsively. Hands and legs twist. Now, it is the dance of the demons in paradise…….
Some sort of God should come down from the heavens and destroy the phallocentric dominance of the pagan god and some God should become immortal in human history to cure schizophrenia.
–END–
