I 'VE NEVER felt more alive. A big base beat is thumping through the ground and into me from what might be the night's last song. The whole place is kicking, I'm drugged up and flying. My heart is going wild, buzzing off the energy of all the people as I cross the dance-floor. I'm with my mate Darin and he's flying too, sure I can nearly see his wings. Coolness comes off us like a ready-brek glow. It's in our eyes, in my gelled hair, in the ronnie Darin's trying to grow, and in our movement, the way we walk, half-dancing.

Darin points and shouts over the music.

"Let's go over there."

I follow him up into the tiered seating. The air smells of grass. People have flipped down the blue plastic seats to stand on and dance. We get up as well and give it loads; our arms flying, legs not moving, wearing our best ravers' faces and gurning to f**k. The song changes and a piano solo fills the air. I turn my face upwards and let the music pour over me, getting lost in the notes until someone taps me on the shoulder. A dancer on the seats behind waves a spliff in my face. I give a thumbs-up and take a drag off the joint. The smoke tickles my brain. I check out the dance-floor, a lake of bodies washed in laser green. I try to give the joint back but its giver closes his eyes and shakes his head back into the beat. I call to Darin.

"D'ya want this?" I wave the spliff and he takes it, but hands it back with a wink after one quick toke.

"We have to get down there," I say. "Get back into it."

He does an okay sign with his hand and his grin widens. He hasn't got a clue what I'm saying, but it stops mattering. The joint has me gone all ripply.

I close my eyes and rise with the music; I see myself skimming along the Liffey, bridges rushing over me. I spiral up and around Liberty Hall and skip onto the top of the Custom House, seeing orange light streaking through the river like rocket trails from the buildings, or stilts keeping everything afloat.

Darin tugs at my t-shirt.

"You alright?"

"Yeah man, I'm sound." He's all blurry, like he's behind dirty glass.

"We're gonna do it tonight," he says. "Arnotts, right?"

"Yeah, I'd say so, yeah."

He's on about our deal. A promise we made ourselves one night on Henry Street.

"We have to. We will," he's trying to convince himself.

"There's no panic," I say again. "We'll see what happens."

I spot a perfect candidate for the spliff. A girl about my age in a purple lace dress that clings to everything walks by on the dance-floor, the lights pick out glitter on her tights, ultra violet makes her trainers gleam and little freckles stand out on her cheeks. She stops and grabs a hand-rail and totters a bit, she's gorgeous, and she's out of it. I jump down off the chair and trot down to her in time to the beat. But then I can't think of anything to say. I just stand there with the music bashing my ears.

A big thick with his collar popped up comes over and grabs her by the waist, swings her around and tries to kiss her. She's having none of it but she doesn't squirm out of his grip either. I go over and offer him the joint.

"What the f**k is that?" He says, staring at the joint as if I've just flashed him.

"It's a J. Wanna toke bud?"

"I'm not your bud, pr**k." A frown tightens his big, spotty, angry head. I'd say in the daylight the hairs on his knuckles cast shadows. I can tell he would like to smash my face in, h e's the type that would do it out of boredom. That's why I have a Stanley blade tucked into my sock, not that I'd ever cut anybody, but I bring it just in case. Everyone carries something.

"No bother man," I say. "It's cool, more for me." I take a big pull on the joint.

He moves away and tries to pull her with him into the crowd. She looks my way and stays still, their fingers play for a second, then he's floating alone. He reaches into his top and swigs from a bottle of Vodka before turning away with a grumble. She gives a little trickly wave and laughs.

"Bye-Bye Vodka Boy."

The girl wobbles again so I stamp out the joint and offer help. She drops into my arms, her head falls back, her hair goes across her face in strands but I can still see her eyes, the nicest I've ever seen. The DJ weaves classical music into the sounds.

"Hello there," I say.

"Hello yourself," she says.

Around us everybody is drowning in the swirl of violins, eyes closed, arms up, bodies swaying. I hold the girl's hips from behind and pull her body against mine. My little finger slides up her tights. We lean backwards together, arching our backs to send rushes up our spines. The beat builds up, the crowd moves quicker now. I let my lips get close to her ear, my chin feels the sweat on her neck. The floor starts shaking as the beat kills off the violins. The whole place jumps up and down. A roar swells up from the crowd. We separate and join the motion. I throw out a few two-fingered whistles. My buzz spills out onto my face in a big yoked up smile. Everything is lovely, we're all moving together with the beat and I've never felt more alive.

The song stops. The lights go on. It's all over. I turn to grab her and kiss her but she's gone. I tell myself it's all good but the vibe is changing, something mean snakes through the place, infecting my belly. The magic is lost, it's all skaggy faces and people shouldering for space.

That time on Henry Street, me and Darin were on mushrooms, trippin' to bits, sharing his iPod and painting pictures with the tunes. It was sunny after raining and the streets were all glimmery. Outside Arnotts there was this homeless man warming a strip of cardboard, a smelly drunk f**ker, all beardy and piss-stained with only cider cans for company. He waved us over. We just smirked and kept walking, but he got up and grabbed us, started screaming into our faces. Darin couldn't handle it and just broke his shite laughing. I laughed as well. Then the man gave me a full force clatter in the face. I stood holding my cheek, pure silent as my buzz went all bogey. The tramp's gummy, reeking mouth became a black hole sucking me in. Darin saw me slipping, grabbed my shoulders and pointed up at the sky.

"We should dance up there!" He said.

"What?" I looked up, big tripped eyes blinking.

"Up there." He was pointing at the top of Arnotts. "Next week after the rave."

When I realized what he was at I started laughing again, rescued.

"Yeah! That'd be f** king legend man."

We walked off, talking real loud to let the disco know he hadn't hurt us. He didn't know what was going on. We huddled close together over our new plan. All the way back to the flats we talked ourselves onto the buildings, imagining our arms in the air like the statues on O'Connell Street, but with headphones on, sparkling like the Spire, dancing over the empty streets as they swirled around us.

Some sap slips on the dance-floor and stumbles into me. I push back and we stare at each other. There's a shout from up in the chairs. Bouncers have a hold of the dancer that gave me the spliff. Vodka-boy is there as well, smirking. Darin's in the middle of it, his body language pleading to the listening bouncers. Whatever happened is done with until squiffy loses it and starts swinging digs. I get up to Darin just as he side-steps the scrap, smart enough not to get sucked in. But that Vodka muppet pushes the two of us flying. We lash into a bouncer and then everything takes off.

Vodka's laughing with a big spiteful grin on his face, crooked teeth showing in his half cocked mouth. Darin manages to go for him. Vodka's buddy jumps on Darin, then I'm on the deck from a punch, getting kicked. I crawl clear. The whole tier is in uproar. People are falling off and over the chairs. Vodka's lashing Darin's head off the ground. I reach for the Stanley blade and give Vodka a boot that catches him lovely and then I slice at his face, missing on purpose. He backs off. Darin gets loose. Someone shouts about the knife. Space opens up around me and I'm free until the bouncers are on us again, bending our arms behind our backs and grabbing our hair. The knife disappears.

We're thrown out one of the emergency exits, let loose on the summer night. There must be about 20 of us but I don't know who's with who. Vodka appears in front of me and bashes his naggin into my head. The glass smashing makes me think of cash registers, my tooth chips, but I hardly feel it. Then it's blast off again, we're all punching and kicking, moving in circles. Everybody's night is ruined now, somebody is going to pay.

There's a fence of bouncers blocking people from joining in but some get through. We jostle out of the car park towards the Liffey. I touch my bleeding head and feel only a tiny little cut. We spill out onto the road. Outsiders get swallowed by the madness, trying to help or getting smart and getting attacked for getting too near.

The rave pours out more and more spectators, yelling and whistling, clapping even. I see the girl from the dance-floor with a gang of women high on the drama. Some are baring their teeth, nearly shouting at the sky. But she is still gorgeous though.

Darin runs from my side into the middle of the road shouting. He bounces through the mob, lashing at anyone in reach. Everything moves away from him like ripples from a stone. His top is all torn so he rips it off, his body is slick, the tendons stick out on his neck, for a second he's got control as if he owns the whole street. Then someone sees their chance and knocks him flying with a box. Everybody starts running.

A faux-hawked poser jumps at me and I level him with one punch. We zigzag through the traffic lights near the Custom House, the roads throb under our galloping feet, everything's tense. People are roaring and barking – deep round sounds that start in their ribcages. It's like the most you should ever want to do is scream. A car drives past, kicks batter its flanks, something smashes through the windscreen. The hairs prickle up on my neck. I've never felt more alive.

A raver in combats stands on the granite wall of the Liffey, lets out this huge f**king roar as people throng the edge of the swollen river. Whether he falls or jumps or gets pushed in I don't know. But someone else goes after him then another and another. Darin has someone in a headlock and is trying to force him over the wall; he grabs the belt of his enemy's jeans and manages to flip him in only for his neck to get grabbed. So he goes in as well. It's all yells and splashes as people enter the flow.

There's about 50 people threading water now in the river, laughing and calling others to leave the street behind. Fellas acrobat through the air. Girls hand their things to friends and take the plunge in their minis and bras. People line the walls of the river clapping and cheering. I hear a young-one's voice and see my girl leaning over the edge. Now's the time to catch her and kiss her, but she climbs up and waves at me before jumping in with a splash.

Two shit-vans turn up, painting everything blue and making people scatter. I run for the wall. A girl garda grabs for me but I dodge her and dive in head first.

The wind flies through my hair and then there are bubbles in my ears. I swim under the surface. I used to dream of playing in the Liffey when I was small. Football or kiss-chasing under Tara Street bridge. Loads of little eight-year-olds on water like glass. The cold brings my buzz back and it shoots through me in tingles. I stretch and float, wiggling my toes in my runners.

I swim around the edge of the crowd. The river is warm, the noise of it tickles m y ears, the way it slides off my arms when I raise them from the water. Darin starts singing some song at the top of his voice, all the swimmers join in and so do I. A few of the police start laughing. I see my girl treading water over near the far wall. She waves again. Then I hear movement in the water behind me and it's Vodka with is face all stiff and he sort of hugs me hard and I feel something stick into my side. The pain of it gets me jumping and twisting like a fish on a line.

I manage one big shout and then I feel all dopey. Darin gets over to me and he can't tell what's wrong. My mouth won't work and I know that it's shock, and my hands are tight on my side and underwater Darin feels my stomach spilling into the river.

He shouts for help but nobody's listening, everybody's still having fun. Vodka's over at one of the ladders crawling up and out of the water. The Liffey is in my eyes and tears are coming out, everything's gotten nicer because I think I might be dying, all the street lights are blurry and look like orange stars.

My girl comes over to help and I want to kiss her. Because I might sink and never come up if it wasn't for her, if it wasn't for the care in her eyes. I look above at all the people, at nobody giving a f**k and Darin screams so loud it's like his throat is tearing as the sound flies over the river.

The whole city turns to look at us. I'll never feel more alive.

How to Enter

New Irish Writing, edited by Ciaran Carty, is published on the first Sunday of every month and is open to writers who are Irish or who are resident in Ireland. All stories published will be eligible for Hennessy Literary Awards, which will be announced in April 2009. Stories should not exceed 2,500 words. Up to six poems may be submitted. Address entries (with a SAE) to:
New Irish Writing, Sunday Tribune, 15 Lower Baggot St, Dublin 2.