Dance Dance Dance

An offbeat hits the airwaves, and all the people surrounding him fade into non-existence. He cavorts around the room in a rush of exuberant insanity. Talk floats of unhappiness, and of enjoyment. All he can do is keep this insane gyroscope in motion. Walls blur into one, and corners whisper in shades of unknowing. Laughter crackles in some parallel dimension, where voices still carry meaning, faces still carry empathy, and humans still carry feelings. A time comes to mind. A time of youth's innocence. A time of hate's exile. And it all comes to a front. A crest swelling fifty feet high, dwarfing horrified wraiths, silencing the wails of those in torment. And surely what goes up must come down. The wave pounds down on the hapless, statuesque in the grip of fear and mounting crisis. The sound destroys all it ripples through. A quiet washes over the mortal face of existence, tearing down the fabric meshing everything together. It bears down with the ferocity and threat of the last minutes of your life. The assault is relentless.

And once it is over, and everything is ruined, he emerges from the fog, dancing still to the tune of 26. He is not afraid, as he feels himself falling back to ground.