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Howdy! I’m a 17 y/o writer from KY ⚡️

Message to Readers

This is very late as an entry, which was mainly because I kind of had a hard time getting ideas for it. Yet, here it is! Any kind of feedback on it is greatly appreciated (as always), especially because I'm a bit of a stranger when it comes to writing realism.


November 19, 2019

    The last thing Alice remembered was a party scene, clogged with bright colors and life that drowned her. Yet, she also remembered the stench of alcohol, which hung like a stagnant beast within the air. Nearly every person had a cup of the stuff, which they gripped loosely in their hands. She remembered when she tried things that herself. And then she remembered trying it again. And again. Soon enough, she was drifting in and out of that neon reality. It quickly turned into her only hobby in her high school years; even as she was sober, she felt herself compelled by the stuff. 

    Her memories expanded: she sat on the kitchen counter, which was a stained marble and very expensive, but laden with garbage and spilled drinks. It was also covered in bodies: zombie-like bodies that only knew how to talk of boring news and then fall into a sloppy embrace.  Several of them moped towards her, which raised a peculiar sadness and curiosity in her chest. She talked to them with a genuine sympathy; they always seemed so unhappy.

    She was unhappy, too. She was dragged by her friend, Vince,  to the mansion on the hill, with the overbearing music and lights.  It’s no wonder an eccentric like him could so easily melt into the crowd. 

    “You don’t drink?” A girl with red lipstick stared at her with interest, turning her nose up and scrutinizing every piece of her.

    “No. Not really my thing, I guess.”

    She sat down beside her, and picked at the underneath of her nails. “Me neither. Place feels like a morgue sometimes to me, don’t you think?”


    “Like a hot spot for dead people, all confused. We’re confused too, aren’t we?”

    This gave Alice a slight smile. “Absolutely.”
    “That’s lame.” She said, staring ahead like a captain upon a rocky sea. The stare was mesmerizing to Alice, and immediately pulled her close to the girl. Naturally, she wove herself into thick conversations about zombies and philosophy and parties. The girl eventually latched her hand upon her and, laughing all the while, took her into a small bedroom where she shut the door and the talk continued. 

    Her name was Gloria. 

    And Gloria could easily start a conversation; she smiled and spoke words of honey. Everything she spoke of intoxicated Alice, and pulled her closer and closer… 

    And Gloria also had the charity to tell Alice goodbye by the strike of midnight.

    And Alice didn’t want to leave her, but she found no other choice when Vince dragged her back out from the mansion, and into his old truck that seemed full of garbage and memories. Old memories at that, back in innocent ages, playing before her in black and white. This revelation made her want to cry. 

    “You finally got yourself a girlfriend?” His voice was carried on the smoke billowing out of his mouth and straight towards her face. She always hated the stench of cigarettes, which may be why she held her nose and looked away. Or maybe it was from the sheer embarrassment of having to face the man who found her entangled with a complete stranger. 

    “Not really.”

    “Then all that kissin’ was just friend things?”
    Her face lit red. “Sure.”

    His laugh, which was loud and warm, filled the entire car. “Sure.”
    The conversation ended there, but after a few miles downtown she urged him to pull off. With great hesitation (“You sure? There’s a lot of creeps out there”), he finally curved the car, landing it flat on the corner street. She shifted her fuzzy coat across her cold shoulders, which kept cold even with the warm stitching, and found herself on the corner of Grand Street, full of life and full of Gloria. 

    A crumpled note ran bloody in her pocket, but it didn’t infringe on the initial statement: an address. Alice had to see her before the night faded away to reveal her monotonous life. Maybe Gloria could help tug her out of it entirely.
She found herself climbing up the stairs and knocking on the door. Gloria opened it, and leaned against the splintery door frame. “Come in,” she urged, then turned away carelessly. 

    Alice found herself, then, sitting on a cloth couch, in front of a television turned down to a low murmur. It was the only collage of color against the night of the living room. The kitchen yawned a gentle light, though, which is where Gloria stood so patiently, twirling her spoon in a cup of hot chocolate. 

    “You really wanna go back? To those people who you know are gonna tear you apart?”

    “They don’t know yet.” Her voice was hushed, as if the wind would pick up her voice and carry it across the country to her mom. 

    “They’ll have to know eventually. Can’t be in that box forever.”


    “Just stay with me instead.” 

    Alice froze a moment, then and now. The sentence covered her like a scarf, almost tight enough to choke her, but too warm to pull off. She considered the proposition, rolling it around in her mouth, feeling its sour burn. After that burn, however, bubbled a sweetness. A sweetness that led her to the perfume clad Paris, and the gentle laughs of Spain, then to the godly stature of Greece… 

    Then back into the old truck and beside of Vince, who coughed up every word with pride, and kept them flowing like ribbons. 

    Never did she see Gloria that night, but she imagined her as she stepped on her street and walked down towards her apartment. She thought of her when she called her mom, and reiterated some lukewarm religion that she never connected with. She certainly thought of her now, as she watched the television screen display a house fire-- the expensive kind, all-consuming of that lifeless mansion. It showed a number of the dead: faceless, but all Gloria. 


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  • November 19, 2019 - 8:02pm (Now Viewing)

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