It’s been 23 years and you’re still not sure when the exhibition ends. You received the package on Valentine’s Day, 1998. The exhibition was on October 2nd, 1998. You were given a mirror, a CD and a rolled up 50 bill. You only decided to go since you had nothing better to do: The address on the exhibition flyer was for a corn field in the middle of nowhere. It was a 5 hour drive to get there. The exhibition flyer instructed you to put the CD in the truck and put the volume at max. You wondered about the other attendees as you saw no cars nor heard any music. When you got out of your truck, you could hear a child wailing in the distance, and you wondered how you could hear it over the music pumping behind you. Beginning to follow the footpath through the corn in front of you, the ground underneath your feet started to bend and slope and you realized you were no longer walking through the field, but sliding in a murky quarry. Suddenly, you saw the other patrons and sighed with relief, realizing you must have somehow found the correct location for the exhibition. The figures illuminated by darkness stared at the blackened bulbous shape at the centre of the circle. The shape consumed slowly by fire. They chanted and gyrated to unknown words and the beat of a drum. Ghosts trapped in the beat. The scene like an oil slick only comes into focus as you begin to shift through the figures. Looking around, many of them seemed to have blood and spit slicked on their jaws. Others were spitting black masses at the ground. The figures started to brush against you and asked if you had a ride home. We hope you grin and bear it. We hope this isn’t scaring you. We hope you’ve already made it to bed. It isn’t safe here. You pushed past the figures and fell to the ground in front of the black mass. You stared at the pile of what you realized was burning tires and wondered how these figures could ever worship it as God. You still wonder. Suddenly the group looked towards the sky. Blue and red lights flashed in the air and suddenly, a dead boy seemed to float above you. You could only assume it’s a young man from the way he was dressed. His head had been torn off from impact. At least you think, now you can’t really remember. Suddenly the group dispersed and you were left entirely alone in the darkness. When you put your hands out beside you, you realized there was only an inch between you and the dark cold metal surrounding you. A knock on the metal. You only start to realize now you wish you hadn't gone. Above you, three slits in the metal allowed slivers of light through. You looked through the metal and another body lay motionless on the yellowed tile outside. This time the body was you. An old friend began to punch the locker. You grip the exhibition flyer still in your hand. You woke up on the floor in a damp, pink room and a voice above you coughed. ‘Did you bring the objects?’ You closed your eyes. Would it be offensive to the artist if you spoke back? You reached into your bag and passed the tanned, wrinkled hand above you the mirror and 50. ‘Dope.’ You were tired. Sickly tired. You still are. More tired than you’ve ever been. You began to sink into the floor like mold. Before you fell completely into the basement, you saw 4 pairs of feet on the couch. ‘Yo she’s sinking into the floor.’ ‘Shut up man you’re trippin.’ You reached your hand out for help and a new hand grasped it. The hand was too light, and cold, and clammy. You looked at the hand and it was wearing your mother’s wedding ring. The ground broke open and you fell into the bed of your truck. It took you a few moments before you opened your eyes. You wondered how the music could still be playing, you felt like you had lived 20 years. You heard a banging noise and looked up. The artist was bashing a doll’s head in on the dash of the truck. She noticed you. When she opened her mouth to grin, black blood and yellow rotted teeth fell onto the pavement below her. She looked just like you. She got on her knees and started crying, she asked you to stay, begged you to stay. You looked towards your hands and realized there was a gun in one hand and a needle in the other. Depending on the color of the night is how you decide if you die. On the side of the road you noticed a refreshment table. You grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and started to drive home. A euphoric feeling blossomed in your chest. It was a mistake to come here. The music continues playing. - Molly Therése, Revenge Exhibition, 1998