'Round and 'Round

Somewhere between his eighth and ninth drink, Alan lost it. Mind you, he was not incoherent. He was in perfect control of his body -- at least, as perfect as it got during this long time that he had been drunk more often than sober.
You could get anything you wanted.
It probably wasn’t even the alcohol that got to him in the end. The thing that did probably didn’t even have a name. That’s the way it goes.
The eighth drink was finished, and put down. Then it, as well as half-empty ninth, the still-full tenth, and the table itself, went flying.
Alan stormed out, scattering other partiers like flimsy sailboats in his wake. Sheep. Fucking pussies.
Well, they’d learn not to fuck with him. All of them.

You could get anything you wanted.

No one knew how it happened. Maybe some of them saw the bits of broken glass, the spilled alcohol, when they got to the dance floor. Not even a tenth of those that did notice even wondered what caused this minor inconvenience. They had more important things to do.
The place was definitely getting hot, with more and more pieces of clothing being left on empty chairs or with zoned-out friends in the booths. The progressively less-clad dancers seized the vibe with both hands and refused to slacken their grip.
No one saw anything. Maybe they couldn’t remember, maybe they didn’t want to. Maybe some of them would admit to hearing the seven especially loud beats, all of which were in time with the music.
No one could deny, however, the empty seven-round clip found by the door, or the seven bodies found on the dance floor after the song ended.
For a while, there was shock, outrage, horror. What kind of person would do this? Why? That could be me lying dead, shot and trampled in the confusion.
The matter of who it was that got killed proved to be difficult. No one could seem to recognize any of the bodies. That’s not to say that they had been injured beyond recognition. No one could put a name to any of the faces. None of them could dance, drink, or fuck any more, so what was the use for a name anyway?

By mutual agreement, the dance floor was deserted before long, and the partiers embarked on a migratory mass bender. By the time the hangovers and burnout had faded enough, many found it within themselves to return, partly out of curiosity and partly out of habit.

The dance floor was empty, sparkling, and new.
And everyone marvelled at the changes. And everyone that could do so got up to dance. And everyone began to have a good time again.

After the first few songs, it was like they’d never been interrupted at all.