Noah

Lights flash. Smoke…Smoke every where. Smoke fills every corner of the room flashing different colors as the lights flash on and on. People moving to and fro in a hypnotic rhythm that I can’t escape. I can’t focus on any one thing, the world seams to be a haze that blends together seamlessly going on forever….endless.

I am in club Twilight. The biggest dance club for the Sub culture of the city. There is only one rule; you have to wear a mask, any mask will do as long as it covers your full face. It seams appropriate all of these people come to loose themselves, what better place then where no one can recognize you and suck you back up to reality.

This is where most of the dealers go. This is where I go. I try something new every time. Never wanting to stick to one dealer. Except Noah, my savior. He has just about every thing in back. His symbol? A ship in the poring rain. It is even on his little plastic bags. Very professional, Noah is. He owns everyone, even me. Every one respects him even other dealers go out of their way to be polite to this guy.

He’s crazy though, everyone knows it. He’s the kind of guy that’s had too much. Too much sex, to much drugs. Too much everything. He consults a magic eight ball before doing anything. Looks like it’s got him in all the right places.

I walk up to him, eyes averted out of respect, out of fear. Apparently the eight ball told him that he should be worshiped as a god. He has owns the back room of this place, just the back room. I can see his figure on the bed just behind the beadded curtain. The yellow plastic would be almost pretty, if it wasn’t for the brown flecks of dried blood. He’s had many…“outburst” in the past. No one is aloud to talk about them because the club has several undercover cops floating around. Of course every one knows who they are. All it takes is one corrupt person to bring down an organization. In this case the chief of police is one of Noah’s regulars, and I am not just talking about Drugs.

Noah has interesting taste. Taste in people, taste in sex. He isn’t a sadist per say but he usually likes to scare people. Scare them enough to do anything for him to be anyone he wants them to be. Then he takes them on to the bed. No one but him and his…”consorts” are aloud to touch the bed. No one knows the exact penalty because anyone rumored to of broken to rule has always disappeared. Then again we all wear masks…were all nobody’s in here, here where Noah is god.

I am gestured through the curtain by one of the faceless bodyguards, he wears a mask too. Noah doesn’t, the only thing that covers his face is a strip concealing his eyes. He can see out of it, and although I can’t see his eyes look at me, I can feel them burning a hole into my soul. I have several holes, I can feel them.

Noah makes them, this I know,
because his laughter tells me so.

As is customary I kneel with my head down waiting. I feel his long bony fingers hold my chin underneath my mask. He pulls my head up and removes my mask. This is routine, He knows all of us, because after you’ve come to his club you inevitably go to him. He is clad in a black corset; anything he is wearing below his waist is hidden beneath the blood and cum stained sheet on his bed.

He smiles; I come to him at least once a week. He knows me, I’ve told him everything about my life, because he’s asked me. He knows who my wife is where I live, even my two daughters’ names and ages. He has requested pictures of my family, he said that that will be the offering this time. We always bring an offering, because he is our god and we must appease him. I pull out the picture, taken just last week of us at the family reunion. I am standing there laughing holding my wife our daughters are both tugging on a shirt fighting over it. Jenna is eight and Cindy is twelve. They both think the world belongs to them. He takes the picture and laughs, assumingly amused at my daughter skirmish. He tacks it on his wall underneath a sign that says “A place of honor”

I give him the money, four hundred and eighty dollars. That the amount he told me to bring apparently he had planed what to give me this time. Usually I just ask if he can give me eighty dollars worth of whatever he had. He would consult his eight ball then hand me a bag. This time he takes my hand and rolls up my sleeve.

This has never happened before, but I never say a word unless spoken too, an unspoken law in this room. I watch as he injects obsidian colored liquid into my body, wincing only slightly as the needle penetrates me. “Good boy,” he says before taking out the needle that I can only pray is clean.

He turns still holding out my arm. The spot starts to bleed only slightly, but he notices it, setting down my arm on his thigh he takes out the eight ball. I don’t move, but I can feel my pulse quicken as a result of whatever he gave me. He shakes the black ball and smiles before pulling my arm up to his lips and licks away the spot of blood. He puts the band aid on my arm and lets me go. I still don’t move, I can’t unless he says I can, but even if he did, I don’t think I could because my body felt like lead. I move my arm only slightly to see if I can. It works but I don’t feel the motion.

I suddenly feel warm, and tiny droplets of sweat form on my brow. I continue kneeling on the floor in front of him waiting for him to let me go. His hand suddenly finds its way to my head and he strokes his hair whispering to me. “Good boy, very good boy, I promise you this will be fun,” As he says this he pulls me onto his lap holding me close just before putting me on the bed. “Come on little one, you’re my new pet.”

A week later I wake up in his bed. The only other place I am allowed to go to is the bathroom. I watch him sell to other people from behind my mask. He wants me to wear it when others are present, and of course I obey, what else you can do when in the presence of a god. He must be mortal as a god, for I have seen things with him that I have never seen before, he tells me that he wants me to be a god to. That what he injects into me every morning is Ambrosia; nectar of the gods. I must be turning into a god because each time he makes me bleed my blood gets a little darker, he tells me it taste sweeter then ever before.