By Jake Hunter
April 23, 2025

The lights flashed violently, syncopated with the bass that rumbled through the speakers. The crowd was buzzing, hyped, caught in the rhythm of the night. But then, amidst the strobe lights and the steady thrum of the music, there was him—the Skitso.

He wasn’t like the others. No, he wasn’t swaying to the beat or nodding his head in time with the rest of the club. His movements were chaotic, sporadic—almost violent—as he spun and jerked like the music was controlling him.

Inside his mind, the beats were a battle, a war waged between rhythm and insanity. His hands flung up, slicing through the air like he was trying to catch a ghost. He was out of sync with the world around him, lost in a loop only he could hear.

“Evacuate the dancefloor!” shouted the voice in his head, and the words pulsed with a strange, urgent beat. “This music’s playing in my head… and nobody else can hear it!”

People stared, some confused, others amused. The DJ, a quiet figure perched in the corner booth, was spinning his own kind of madness—tracks no one else could access. The Skitso wasn’t dancing to the same song. He wasn’t dancing to anything they could understand.

He wasn’t even in the same world as the rest of the club anymore.

With a sudden, erratic jolt, the Skitso thrust his arms out wide, and his eyes met the DJ’s through the fog of flashing lights. The DJ nodded, as though there was an unspoken agreement between them. The crowd didn’t notice the exchange, but it didn’t matter. The Skitso was on a mission—lost in his own world, yet strangely connected to the beats that ran through the underground current of the club.

“Everybody in the club, pull down your pants,” the voice in his head sang in time with the distorted bassline. “Let the DJ see your d***!”

His body jerked in a wild, unpredictable motion as he kicked his legs out, completely oblivious to the social norms around him. To him, it was the only thing that made sense—the only way to feel the music in his bones. As the crowd paused in stunned confusion, the Skitso spun again, a grin stretched wide across his face, his eyes wide with the delirium of the moment.

The world around him was a blur—a sensory overload of sound, light, and the strange reality of being caught in the middle of something no one else could see. To him, it was a revelation, a catharsis. He was finally free. Finally dancing to the rhythm of the universe that nobody else could hear.

But as the DJ dropped a deep, hypnotic beat, the crowd slowly began to follow him—perhaps unsure why they were doing it, but swept up in the frenetic energy of the night. Maybe it wasn’t about understanding anymore. Maybe it was just about feeling.

For the Skitso, though, there was no more “maybe.” He was lost in the music, in the chaos of his mind, his body moving to a different pulse than the rest of the world.

And in that moment, he wasn’t a freak.