Guests 
    ^^^^^^

The girls escort us down the hall. Every light in the building
is on, but there are no signs of the other guests. The murmur of
our footsteps dragging across the level-loop carpet is the only
detail in the ringing silence. We stop unexpectedly at a fork
in the corridor, then one of the girls kneels down and begins
picking at where the wall meets the floor. She finally catches
hold of a quarter-sized piece of the moulding and yanks at it
like a stubborn zipper until it gives, revealing an impossible
darkness. The wall falls around the vacancy like curtains.

The other gal squats down beside her friend and begins gathering
up the floor away from the gaping void like remnants of cut
fabric. Once the hole is about an armspan wide, she carefully
tip-toes toward me, clutching my hand just as the wadded up
linen-like flooring shifts under her weight. She regains her
balance, then interlaces her fingers with mine as she leads me
into the dark hole.

Suddenly we are wading through hot water in a dusky cistern. The
low-celinged room is saturated in a din of churning water and
the ecstatic moaning of other guests. The air is thick with
anti-sepctic steam and the musk of carnival.

We make our way through the maze of bodies and convex columns to a
vent in a narrow corner. Water and moonlight flow steadily through
as steam rapidly evacuates into the night. The alpine canopy
reels behind the steel grate as we approach and I feel a sudden
wave of vertigo crash against the inside of my skull. The girls
take a seat next to each other on a submerged ledge, reclining
into the current of hot water flowing in through the vent.

We embrace and everything is skin and steam. It is clear there
is no love in it, though; no lust even. It just happens, and
the indifference of our dates is distracting. What are we doing
wrong? Are we misunderstanding the customs of this Authentic
Cultural Experience? They invited us, afterall, what do they
expect? The rapturous howling of the other guests begins to
mockingly intrude on our cultural exchange, and the glaring
distance it reveals between us and our escorts floods over with
insecurity and shame.

A look of horror appears on my date's face. I brush her left
cheek with my palm in attempt to console her. She promptly tears
my hand away and gestures toward something behind me. I am not
quite sure what I see, but I am frightened. Blades of light cut
through the steam out of thin cracks in the ceiling. The light
filters through the steam and the confused faces of the other
guests are revealed. The sudden exposure makes everyone uneasy. We
are beneath the faculty sauna, I realize, and they are furious.

The staff are gigantic! Their feet are the size of small
cars. You can't make out anything they are saying, but they
are shouting incessantly--at us. Their frantic shuffling above
creates a dizzying strobe effect in the light coming through
the cracks. Everyone starts to panic.

I turn desperately to our dates, unsure of what is being said
and what is even happening. But they have already fled. I glance
desparately out the vent to find the lake meters below. The
lights of other resorts in nearby coves glow in the thickening
fog. The vertigo returns, and I gag on my stomach as it spills
out of my throat.

It becomes clear that the staff's barking is a warning: they
are preparing to flush us out.

All at once, tangerine peels begin gushing through the cracks
of the ceiling. Like water. The impossibility of their volume
and force horrifies me. They descend upon us like meandering
flurries in a snow storm. Hot, damp peelings assault my bare
face as I stare dumbfoundedly upward. I sink into the shallow
water to avoid being pelted. I watch helplessly as they smother
out the last burning embers of carnival.

It is unclear what is supposed to happen now. The lake is
still there, probably. Reeling somewhere below. Welcoming still
more guests.


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                                                 mieum@rawtext.club