Wild Hearts

The Neon Sea

If the neon signs outside were dirty and harsh, the fluorescent colours in here are bold and utterly spellbinding.

We step into a large room, the walls painted black so it looks almost never-ending, stretching out into an eternal night. But atop that darkness are pictures of neon beauty. Streaks and patterns; fierce beasts—and dolphins; flames, shapes eating each other; an ouroboros like no other. There are phrases too, but I don't even bother to try and make sense of them. It doesn't matter though. They are entrancing, and so so bright—such a contrast to everything else.

But it's not just the pictures or the colours. It's how much they envelop this room. Taking up almost every inch, giving this place an otherworldly feel. I feel like I've stepped into another dimension, the blackest part of space, but holding the allure of neon blues and teals; magenta and crimson. I look down at my feet: the floor is the same, and I catch my breath, almost feeling like I am standing on nothing, floating on the precipice of the void itself.

I walk along the body of a vibrant purple snake, balancing on it until I feel a rush of vertigo and I put my hand on Ryder's shoulder, laughing uneasily.

The walls themselves are impressive enough, but they aren't the only things that occupy the room.

A large willow tree takes up much of the space, and it's hard to tell under the neon streaks and diamonds, the orange sun, navy zigzags if it is actually real. Put simply, it's a piece of art.

I take a few more steps into this neon wonderland, and glowing tendrils from the shining willow brush at my face. I push past, noticing other details in the room.

We all glow; that is, the twenty or so of us in the room. My shoes are a more intense white; Ryder's eyes look almost transparent, and yet bolder at the same time, and I see people's laces hum with colours; glowstick bracelets covering whole arms and necks. Most people are scattered around, though some run their hands along the patterns on the wall, and two guys in their early twenties sit against the tree, eyes closed, heads resting against each other, soaking it in. Their hands are linked and on their faces are neon patterns, slightly faded.

A Japanese-style bridge leads over a pond swimming with fish and reeds, but it's the surface of the lake that stuns the most. It shines with the intensity of the sun: pure cyan, and it looks like yet another portal. I guess that's the theme for tonight: travelling to a new reality.

The left wall draws the largest crowd, about half a dozen or so people gathered around a girl as she spraypaints a weird spectre-looking thing on the wall. The purple reaches out, the ghost seeming to break free from the wall. Her strokes are graceful, and yet deliberate. She swishes her hand to the right, and then the left, commanding the colour, making the purple sing for her.

I have to blink a few times to snap myself out of my latest daze, and then I feel Ryder tugging at my arm.

"You haven't said a thing since we came in here," he remarks, flashing his teeth.

"H-how could I? This... This is—"

"Mental? Breathtaking. Out-of-this-world. Tell me about it. I had the exact same reaction when I first came here. Trust me, I've seen graffiti all my life, even done some myself, but I never saw anything like this when I was..." He pauses, considering his words, and a look dances across his eyes, only for an instant, but I recognise it. One of uncertainty. One of danger. "Well, it doesn't matter."

I want to probe him for answers—I feel like we've come this far. We still are virtual strangers, but if we're gonna start trusting each other, he can at least tell me about this elusive past of his. So far he knows I'm a crybaby, a loser and an incredibly dull person. Yet he is Mr. Cool, a mystery straight out of the night, too hard for me to crack.