The panorama of a city.  Any modern city. Tall skyscrapers, many of their hundreds of windows lit. The night has just fallen and the city moves to a strange rythm, a magnetic pulse. The beat of the night. It calls all creatures hidden in the buildings to come out and look for something indeterminate, it wakes up inside of them a pressing longing. Because at night everything is possible. And she’s hearing that calling too.

From the big window of her appartment, in the heart of the city, she observes between the shadows. The lights are off, so the room is completely dark. She’s leaning on the wall, besides the window, naked if she wasn’t wearing a black undergarment.  Her head is turned to the window, her gaze lost in the city, in the traffic, the people, the magnestism. Up in the sky, the moon shows its dark side. The city lights are calling her, waking up hidden parts of her heart, revealing undisclosed desires. A wild light shines in her eyes, the eyes of a predator, as she makes up her mind: tonigt she’s going to hunt. To hunt souls.

She moves away from the window and walks towards her bedroom. Modern low bed, deep blue quilt. Two bedsides table, a digital clock on one, a bonsai on the other. The room is dimly lit by a warm, yearning light. She opens the wardrobe and, after some seconds, she picks up a black, elegant dress and a pair of black heels. After put them on, she stares at her mirror, but nothing changes in her face. Not a smile, not a gesture of dissatisfaction. Then she left the mirror and goes to the bathroom. There, she puts her make up on, although she’s not used to wear it, tonight she feels like. Once she’s done, she can’t help that a smile scapes from her lips.  She looks beautiful. She’s not sure wether it’s an effect of the make up, of the night or of that amber light in the bottom of her eyes.

She’s outside, walking through a crowded street. The sound of her heels hitting the pavement is damped by the voices and laughs of the people around her. Groups and happy faces against which she contrasts. Dislike the rest of the people in the street, she walks alone and she’s completely serious. A cold determination in her eyes. Then, for one moment, her heart seems to come back from the place where it’s drowning this night and she turns her head around, becoming aware of the reality that surrounds her. “I live in complete solitude, but I don’t feel alone. Maybe something is broken inside of me…”. But soon she leaves these thoughts. The city breaths, challenging the empire of the night.

After have taken some deviations from the main street, deeper into the city, she’s got to the pub she was looking for. When she opens the door and puts a foot into, she can’t see much until her eyes get used to the darkness. But her hears don’t need any adaptation period, so the music instantly strikes her, like a shock. Industrial metal. She couldn’t help love the distorted guitars, sounding like blades. Despite the avang-garde nature of the genre, there was something primitive in it. Its heartless sound and its powerful drums connected to something in the bottom of her mind, some basic longing. Conceptually, for her that music expressed perfectly the reality of modern man. The distortion could stand for the industrial and contaminated ambience, the techno beats for the unstoppable and dehumanizing  development of technology. That cruel mixed was the isolation and disconnection in people hearts made music. The grotesque tragedy, the screams in the background, the twisted black humor of the lyrics were somewhat primitive too, was linked to a kind of animal instincts wich lies in human genes, although modern era has made us forget it. Together, all that expressed life itself because, what is life, but a twisted, practical joke? But also expressed a cry for help. She’s completely carried away by the grandiloquence and the power of those indescribable feelings for words, but not for music. The only thing she can do is let herself go… where? Her body seems vulnerable, shaken by the music beat, her conscience seems far away. She would hold to whatever makes her feel there was something alive below her ribs.

She’s been dancing for a while, doesn’t know exactly because she’s lost track of time. Then, she turns her head for a second, following the music, her eyes encounter a fleeting, magnetic gaze. When her brain registers it, she turns her head back in that direction. There he is, staring, blurred by the darkness and color lights. Their eyes meet and, in response to a silent signal, they move towards each other, pushing through people. And then keep dancing, looking into each other’s eyes. What does he want from her? What does she want from him? What are both of them looking for? Maybe their bodies. No, she wants more, wants something deeper. She wants his soul.  She begs to tear the brilliant ego he has created arround him, erase all the unnecessary complexity, all of his protection mechanisms,  excuses and insecurities, the stains of this world and the conventions, up to the essentials, the core that makes him be who he is. Explore every single corner of his mind, of his heart. She begs she could do the same to herself and, for once, see something authentic, feel connected to someone, win the battle to the city lights, to the night that confuses her and makes her walk in a world of shadows and lies, where nothing is real, however much it may seem. Only illusions, mirages and reflections of feelings that vanish when she touches them, shreds of humanity. At the end this was what she was looking for that night: something authentic, a way to scape. There’s a metallic glint in her eyes, as all of these ideas cross her mind in two seconds.

They keep dancing, staring at each other’s eyes with no words. The night is young and there’s not a clear winner yet.

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