The Great Ball.

I walked through a bolted silver door. Everyone at the Masquerade Ball looked unique, yet similar. A few people chose to go with a personalized version of a Phantom of The Opera mask. A handful decided that painting over their faces would be a better idea. Some had masks that were adorned with diamonds and pearls, others were wearing green, blue and gold, while some proudly wore black and white masks. People huddled in groups with others that put on a mask similar to their own. A large group of men and women with gold-colored masks and raging black holes for eyes started surrounding me. They danced ritualistically, holding hands, forming a circle around me and trapping me in the midst of the gold link chain they had constructed around me. I had no real mask. My face bore a transparent foil above my thick skin, and my eyes showed hope. I had no business being with them. One of their three tall leaders came towards me with a gold mask whose inside glowed a burning red, smoking and sizzling, eager for the touch of human skin. If I were to put it on, I could never take it off. The second leader was waving a silver spoon around, and a piece of black cloth, ready to blind me with a swift flick of his hand. The last one was fitting a red thread through a needle whilst looking me dead in the eyes. My lips would be forever sealed. My transparent mask and I had no business being around this group of people. I danced my way out of Golden Group, and pretended to help them reach their goal. ‘I am not getting indoctrinated.’ I thought. The three leaders watched me make my way out of their circle, visibly filled with hatred and anger despite their lack of expression. Their blind eyes fixated on me as I twirled around, and linked hands with them before making a run for the windows.

The windows were large and stained with different shades of red, green, white and gold. The murals on it showed scenes of The Birth of Jesus, scenes of dancing with Devils, of walking on mountains, of Angels singing with Sirens, Pandora’s Box, Eve in Eden, the creation of Man. They spanned the entirety of the outside wall, and reflected their colors on the mahogany ballroom floor when the sun shone through them in the middle of the day. At night, it was the light of the crystal chandelier that kept the windows alive. Despite their captivating beauty however, the windows were barred. Thick steel rods blocked people from getting any closer than three feet from them. Hundreds of men were gathered around these bars, ramming their shoulders into them, and attempting to pry them open with their thin, weakened arms. No matter how many people ran towards them, the metal rods stood still and sturdy, and the painted glass windows were clean and untouched as ever. No matter how many banged their heads against them, leaving their dripping blood marks before passing out, the rods stood unshaken. I never could tell if the people that spent their whole time in the ballroom, trying to get to the windows, were hoping to escape the dancing and music, or were just yearning for a chance to lay their palms on the divine images. I tried to do it myself. In my case, I wanted to feel closer to divinity. Closer to perfection. The heat radiated off the windows the closer my freezing cold fingertips got to it, however on the last second, a man pulled me by the collar of my shirt.

His checkered black and white mask stood out more than anything he wore. He was not like the rest of the bunch dancing around at The Great Ball; he was unlike anyone there. No one got close to him. He got close to no one. He could not speak, and his open palms revealed two bleeding ears sitting there. I am not sure what he was expecting from me. Maybe he wanted me to sew them back on his head. Perhaps he was offering them to me. But I think he was trying to confide in me, to tell me that he was just done listening to everything the masked people had to say. No matter how much I waved him off, he followed me around, sighing loudly and moaning through his closed lips. By hour two, I was already used to it. And then the sighing stopped. I turned around.

A crowd of men and women in white masks were wailing their fists and stomping the Checkered Man to death. A masked man with a goatee kneeled over his nearly lifeless body. I thought that was a good thing. I thought it was out of my hands. Until he pulled out a white rope from his back pocket.

The women wearing white masks brought the man a chair, and helped him tie a sturdy noose around the crystal chandelier. The Checkered Man had accepted his fate, and closed his eyes as the masked man kicked the chair from underneath his legs. Defiance was unacceptable. The law unquestionable, the rules unbreakable. His limp body dropped from the chandelier, the sound of his snapping neck silencing the entire ballroom. His palms opened, letting his ears fall to the floor. The women untied him and threw his body towards the large, painted windows. His body passed right through the steel rods, and became immortalized within a new mural on the ever-growing window wall.

The music came back on. The White-Masked Crowd went about its business, until it was abruptly interrupted by a large group of men, all wearing black masks. The Black-Masked Folk launched themselves at the necks of those responsible for the Checkered Man’s execution. They each pulled out identical switchblades and slit the throats of all who wore a white mask. The Golden Group retreated to the side of the ballroom, letting the massacre happen beneath the hanging noose of the chandelier. The man with the goatee was crawling on all fours, trying to make his way out of the murderous brawl. I caught him. It was not my business to get involved, I know, and I likewise know that murder is wrong. However, the Checkered Man and his bleeding ears were rewinding in the back of my head like visions, his empty eyes staring deep into my soul even beyond the grave. I held the man with a goatee by the neck, waiting for someone in a black mask to come and take him off my hands. A woman walked up to me. She watched me carefully, and waved her hand at me as a sign to let him go. The man keeled. She took her mask off, and looked him straight in the eyes.

‘I’m sorry, daddy.’ She said, before plunging her switchblade into the man’s throat. She put the mask back on, nodded at me and pulled her father’s body back into the midst of the mass murder that was happening on the ballroom floor. The cadavres laid bleeding on the hard mahogany. The Golden Group began to clap their hands, time during which people in green masks began to clear the dead bodies off the floor, and wipe the blood. They were the only ones speaking loudly. I had seen some of The Green People reaching for the glass murals before, aching to feel the touch of God. They bumped into me as they dragged the dead bodies by the hands, both masked with black and white. One looked at me and asked me if I had any change to spare. I did not.

The door I had first entered through was gone. One can be reborn, but they can never truly return to their mother’s womb. No matter how much they want to. I figured there was no way out. A food stand was sitting neatly arranged in the corner of the room. From afar, the food looked incredibly appetizing, yet nevertheless tasted like wet cardboard and smelt the same way. The coffee was mud, the tequila was rubbing alcohol, and the cigarettes were made of charcoal. Everything was a facade. I wiped my face, removing my transparent mask. It felt good to let my skin breathe. I threw the mask into the corner.

A blonde girl was looking at me from the other corner of the room. She took off her blue mask and walked towards me slowly. We spoke of nothing. Our act of defiance said enough. I grabbed her hand and walked into the middle of the ball. Her head rested upon my shoulder as our dancing space grew larger, and the music grew more and more quiet. It was just me and her- no masks, no words, no tears, no songs. Is that what love is? I opened my eyes for a brief moment and noticed everyone had cleared the dance floor, and was standing around us with their arms crossed and blood-thirsty smiles covering their faces. Their fangs were razor sharp and drooling on the floor. She knew it too. She did not care.

A Golden Group leader cut the rope that was holding the chandelier tied to the ceiling, letting it fall upon me and the girl, shattering our bones and leaving us bleeding to death. Blood stained crystal covered the ballroom, and the masked people ran towards our dead bodies. They began to eat the flesh, fighting and killing one another over who gets to eat what. Their eyes rolled back in complete ecstasy.

I grabbed the girl’s hand as she watched, terrified, beside me. I felt her fingers clenching around mine. This was real. No one was watching us, they were too busy with our bodies. We turned around and walked through the steel rods, leaving the ballroom behind. I touched the stained glass mural, and looked at her. She was doing the same. We stepped through the glass, and a new mural of us appeared.

We had finally made it outside. So this is what divinity is?