¡Qué Bonita!

The devil adores Love Island. The drama, the personalities, he simply can’t get enough. Individuals are of paramount importance, for the hierarchy of man starts with top and bottom. Characters are shuffled and stacked until everyone has lost their place and world revolves only in your direct proximity. The bottom falls to mediocrity, and the top goes straight to hell. Satan’s tail twitches in excitement.

Unsanctioned pits of moral degradation fill lonely valleys with tainted perceptions. Here, beasts roam. Insecurities are individualized and molded into a mallet to wack their opposition. I took note of this violence in the pits of Puerto Escondido.

Qué hermoso es el fondo de la sociedad,

entre el caos del pecado,

aún florece la belleza.

Tequila, topless women, hostile beasts. A rich, pheromonal heat hung over the courtyard of the boutique party hostel, Bonita Escondida. Panic flooded my frontal lobe, reminiscent of my years of social anxiety, but the sweet smell of sin and chaos drove me through the gates. I avoided these creatures as to not soil my linens so soon and retreated into a corner of the yard that had not yet fallen to anarchy. They roared from their drinks, targeting the trepid souls looking to fill their broken, empty cups. Bottles ran in abundance, but the ocean itself could not fill these cups.

I clung to my father’s leg, wishing the world would rush by without me. I looked down and noticed my clothes were filthy. I missed my mother, who washed my clothes in tender love. As my father’s leg walked off, all the faces turned on me. My blue eyes rippled before the unwavering stare of the crowd. My kneecap quivered in all the excitement, and I collapsed. I blindly swung into the dark at the eyes fixed on me. They watched and laughed at the spectacle. I had been here before, and I knew it was not real. They are not real. I am not real. Not real. I ran. Right into the silent beast behind me.

I had not noticed them, separated so far from the herd, so quiet. Their eyes were human. She was beautiful. I sat down and laughed. She laughed, a beautiful laugh. She was certainly beast but had a human laugh. Such a soft creature, were they not more human than the bellowing beasts I had fled? Am I a beast? Did she need her thick coat and big tusks? Could she not leave them behind in the animal kingdom and join in the hand of man? Could I? We laughed the entire evening and into the night. I had a friend in this lonely world.

The festivities commenced. In the dark, the sins of tomorrow became the delights of the night. I found myself stamping along with the beasts, to the wild and messy rhythm that can only be danced to in the heat of booze and sexual tension. The individual prevailed, looking for the opportunity to stamp out his enemy, while not being stamped himself. I have been to a few rompings myself, so while I despised them, I fit in. We spun in circles, I spun in circles, my mind spun in circles. The last bits of brain tissue held on. I caught eyes with my gentle beast, but they were no longer hers. It was not her. She snorted at me, and I trampled into the cold night.