- the contest is one month away and you must prepare for it. the contest is always one month away and you are always preparing for it, but right now it is closer than ever
- the hosts this year wear dark blue and ascend surrounded by stage fog. it pours over the stage, into the arena, descends over the audience and the witty banter barely drown out muted screams. when the first song begins, the fog retreats, having taken its share of sacrifices this year.
- the drumbeats sound like hearts. the drumbeats sound like footsteps.
- russia goes for a dragon-themed song and the onstage fire show swallows the singer. the onstage fire show swallows the backing dancers. the onstage fire show swallows the stage. when the song climaxes, your television spits out sparks and maybe this year you won’t have to stay for the whole thing, but when the song finishes the fires dies down and charred ashes are swept away.
- uk shakes his way through the whole performance dead-eyed and desperate, his skin sallow, his mouth grim, eventually coming in at an unlikely 3rd place. it’s still not enough to save him. nothing is enough to save him.
- norway sings about fairytales again, and their dancers grow claws and teeth, shed their skin and use blood to trade for a wish. they still come in 10th.
- spain sings about her dead lover, lost at sea. it’s catchy.everyone who dances along feels an unbearable sense of sadness. (no one wants to vote for them - no one wants to carry that kind of sorrow.)
- moldova’s weird this year, you say. yeah your friends agree. onstage a giant gargoyle dances ballet.
- ireland is not allowed to join - not after those awful twins that one year, the ones who moved completely in sync and smiled like something monstrous had made its home behind their eyes.
- “europe, start voting,” beams the hostess into the camera, her voice metallic like a war cry. the words carry old, ageless power in them and the lights across the continent all flicker at once.
- the interim act sings the stars down from the sky, sings the ocean away, sings the moon off-axis. afterwards, the newspapers will muse for weeks about the unexplained flash-floods on your beaches that summer.
- the winner this year is– it doesn’t matter. the winner this year gets to walk away on shaking legs and with a head full of glitter and that’s all that counts.
- what happens to the other contestants? asks your younger sister. there are no other contestants the host answers, looking right at you through the television and smiling with all his teeth.
- later that night, when you go to bed, something howls outside your home. it sounds like a woman wailing. it sounds like the wind. it sounds like a power ballad. you close the window tighter.
- the contest is one month away. you must prepare for it.
thunder and lightning it’s getting exciting
