All That Glitters

For all that glistens under these voracious streams of techno-iridescent lights, a tear can be shed for the scroungers down on the base floor. This shivoo is replete with wealthy sadists, and I am here as another object for them to throw money at. The room is the coloring book of a child. Blistering streaks of colors frantically wave their arms of light across the dance floor. From time to time again, the rays choose to wash over me, a rapture of neon carrying me away, just to leave me still here moments after. A woman approaches the bar that I am sitting at and orders me a drink. There’s a profound sense of confidence and beauty that she carries. I notice this as she ogles my body like a canabilist in a human slaughterhouse. Off into the ornate she goes, I know I will be seeing her later tonight.

The drink she ordered me is a synthetic lime green with a multitude of glittering party drugs cloaking the surface. Stars and hearts lying flat on their backs, eager to take advantage of their victims. The only thing different about this drink from ones that have been ordered for me before is that there is a necklace sunken below. Without a single word spoken, I know she wants me to wear it. I don’t question this as I understand I am theirs, not my own. Just for the night, at least. It’s a heart shaped locket: How arbitrary. I go to where I meet all my clients, a secluded back room, not much bigger than a walk-in closet, and I wait.

This semi-clothed orgy of blissful partying shifts and shapes. Each song has their own holographic band slaving away their non-existent freedom to banal pop beats. It’s a ballroom full of floating orbs that project the lights. Little planets jerking to the climaxes of music. All of this distills my heart of emotions and morality. I can’t feel good about any of this knowing there are dying children scratching at these people’s feet. Families surround their tables every night saying grace to this godless earth before eating a plate of heated dirt. Sometimes it’s boiled, sometimes it’s served cold. Right below us the “Scroungers” wallow in polluted graves and I can’t do anything about it.

In darkness, she finally took me to her room. We were escorted to the floor with some of the most prestigious rooms on the ship. I had never been this high up before. This made me hate her more. Sacrosanct; Her room was a mosaic of the most priceless pieces that still existed. For a while we just talked. There was mockery illuminating her words as she spoke about the lower levels. Asking which level I was from. A cruelty that felt formidable in the sense of righteousness. She fully acknowledged that she was letting thousands of scroungers burn in the wasted feverlands below. A snake eating herself unknowingly. Eventually, her wine became dry and she stretched herself out onto an enormous bed.

A lecherous glimmer spoiled in the curdled milk surrounding her irises. Keeping close contact with the curves of my body. I was pulp. For fortune is lost, my shadow shrouded her face. With her eyes closed, I smashed her head in. Her lack of awareness left her smiling like a bashed pinata misting me with sugary red liquid.

It was the hopelessness in inevitability I found most appealing in this decision to kill her. I realized I had nothing to go back on, it was impossible to see my family down on the lower levels. So I sat there, eating my last meal. The gift my food had given me was still clinging to my throat. I had no remorse. I ate the rich and it was delicious.