7 Deities

Occult-Based Original Cosplay & Media Production

Original Cosplay Character and Media Production 

One Fine Destiny

As seen on AFROPUNK


The concert hall floors were glossy and black, reflecting distorted images of every

surface in the room. I walked through a pair of black doors and was suddenly bathed

in a rainbow of lighting, the mood of reception of good music being set. I moved

towards the stage and was swallowed by darkness, a mass of black clothing-clad

bodies moving briskly to the jarring beat of the music. A visceral heat rolled off of the

bodies, and all that encompassed mine responded, suddenly satisfied that I was in that

very room at that very moment. The pungent smell of perspiring human flesh invaded

my nostrils, tugging at a strong sense of familiarity. The sound of the music pulled me

towards it and I obeyed, understanding what it was trying to say to me. Finally I was

close enough to the stage and stopped walking, tapping my heel in time to the music.

The music rushed quick and ragged through the crowd streaming together in perfect

arcs of harmonious sound. The resonance would have looked like multicolored

fireworks bursting through the air, through chests, through bobbing heads, had my

eyes the interpretation of swelling sound as bursting sight.

In that moment I felt my eyes light up. The commencement of the music made the

mass of bodies jolt to life, suddenly beastly in the heat of their enthusiasm. They

moved together in intimidating speed, circling like a human merry-go- round. Being

frail and thin, I knew better than to throw my weight into the circle pit, but still my

eyes would rotate between watching it and the stage. The energy in the room was

building, and I felt it prickle across my skin, then work its way into me. Some part of

me got lost in the pulse of the music and I pushed my way towards the front of the

stage my body feeling fueled, animated by the intangible substance produced by the

perfect blend of instruments. I reached the front of the crowd and glared at the

musicians on the stage as they spoke a wordless language with their instruments that I

was so incapable of reproducing. I pumped my fist in the air and sang along to lyrics

that were so familiar to me, as their recordings had been played time and time again

into my ears and my subconscious. The wave of bodies that I was now a part of

moved in a liquid-like motion, a body or two being shoved violently every now and

again. The shoving eventually made its way to me and I responded with a jolt of force

through my arms I didn't know I had. I looked to see the receiving end of my shove

and caught sight of a frail man with a bare shiny white head, covered in tattoos,

toppling nearly off his feet as the force of my strength pressed him into the human

wave. He looked up to see where-from the force had come, and we met eyes. As his

gaze met mine, his familiar eyes went from hot, to a flaming fury of hatred that I

recognized from the day before. He was the white skinhead addict from the soup

kitchen, and the last person I wanted to see here and now, or ever. Fear shot through

me as we were in the perfect setting for him to act as hatefully and violently towards

me as he saw fit, with possible supporters all around him. I took a moment to wonder

why I'd decided it was a good idea to come to this show, as Dropkick Murphys

proceeded to play the soundtrack to what would be a real-life fight scene. My reality

warped. Nausea swept over me and within seconds his open fist made hard, thrusting

contact with my face. A flash of white light sprayed across my vision, and the brute

force of the physical manifestation of his empty hatred sent me bouncing off of

loosely packed bodies. My arms flailed in a violently disoriented tumble, the

exploding contact knocking me to the floor. Metallic, salty liquid filled my mouth and

I spat blood onto the floor. A degree of fear I hadn't felt since childhood, since I was

deathly afraid of the dark, of monsters in my closet, of death itself, spread quick and

hot through every inch of my body. I became aware that my life was in danger, and

purged the fear out of me as instinct and self-defense.

The next 10 seconds of my life felt like a blur, as if every action that passed through

my body was being lived by someone else completely. Moments being watched

through foreign eyes set in my face, as if my body were numb, being carried to safety

by some force, some entity stronger than I. I reached forward and slid my fingers

down the side of my boot and pulled out a rainbow switchblade, pushing my thumb

across its release button smoother and faster than I'd ever before. Its sharp edge

sprung to life in my hand and I jolted to my feet with an urgency that made me feel

made of electricity and brand new. For a split second, fear burst visibly like a hallow

spark through the man's eyes. Like a Time bandit, I stole away that split second and

dove armed into its fleeting void. My arm slashed forward in a nearly invisible blur as

I gave him half a joker's smile, the red meat of his cheek giving a twitch, then splitting

agape. My razor sharp salvation met his face halfway between his ear and his thin,

discolored lips. Tiny trails of a crimson waterfall began to fall eagerly down his now

disfigured face as it bubbled slowly out of the wound. His body buckled down

towards the floor in a wave of pain I could almost feel, his blood trickling into pools

then surrounded by prancing red foot prints within seconds. The lack of him at eye

level gave way to dozens of crystal-colored eyes that were like magnets to my

presence, my rich chocolaty skin, and the vibration of this building battle. I could feel

the beat of their awareness pulsing through them like rhythmic blood through veins to

a common heart. Fear-induced paralysis held me captive for a vulnerable split second

while my mind raced towards the best means of survival. I bolted as quickly as my

legs would carry me through the press of bodies towards the door. The dark-hued

colors of the room were swimming unsteadily, and I could only think of getting out of

there. I had to get the fuck out of there.