Bastille Imagines

The Unsociable Party

You try your best to socialise and communicate with people, usually through the method of social media and phones. You basically live off your phone as the digital screen is always pressed firmly against your face. Your mother, who labels herself as traditional and old fashioned, contradicts your way of living as you were once told that 'phones don't know how you feel'.

But you just can't. You're oblivious of the skill of making friends and unable to comprehend sociable outings that other girls in your year do. In simple terms, you prefer quiet and peacefulness and not having to bother to put up with other some obnoxious people. Your phone seems to be a good substitute for a friend.

Your mother is a wise woman, but in this day and age and with the advice she gives you, it's impossible to spend 24 hours without some usage of technology. You never heeded your mothers words so you continue on with living in your electronic prison with Facebook, Twitter and YouTube being the bricks that surround you. You were never one for 'friends' or 'love'.

But tonight that changed.

The high pitched screeches of your mother had you wincing in pain. She was more excited about the New Years party - that somehow you had miraculously been invited to - than you were...by a mile. You soon realise that this was what your mother wanted; a pretty, conscientious daughter that was social enough that she had a respectful amount of friends, knows what's colours go with what, what to wear and what not to wear. But, to her dismay, that is not you. So you needed her advice and this time you were going to take it into account.

After a countless number of hours spent trying on clothes, taking clothes off and practising walking in small heels, it's all over and you're finally ready for the party ahead. Well, your appearance was ready but not the emotional side of you. How are you going to pull this off? How are you going to interact with people you barely know? How are you going to co-

"Honey? C'mon I'll give you a lift." Your mother's sweet words drag you out of your worrying state and you follow her, preparing for the worst.

~~~~

It's loud. It's hot. It's too claustrophobic. You are being smothered by people who aren't comprehending the necessity of personal space. Slowly but surely you eventually shove your way through to the kitchen which you decide will remain to be your sanctuary until midnight. You weren't going to allow yourself to intermingle with strangers who have been drinking too much. It's what motivates you get yourself a drink. You'll need it to get through tonight.

With only 20 minutes to go until the new year you sit patiently at the kitchen table basically acting as - the almost - sober innocent. The alcohol hasn't hit you and you've not had the chance to talk to anyone, anyone at least half sober at least...

A few people come and go refilling cups over and over again only to see them reappear every 5 minutes or so, but someone whom you've not seen before strides into the kitchen. He's tall, naturally. Even without the hair. He's pouring himself a concoction of various types of alcoholic drinks but stops when he spots you in the corner...isolated.

"You want one? They're my specialty." He mumbles. Great, he's already drunk.

"No thanks."

And that's about enough socialising done for today.

"C'mon lighten uuuppppp. It's New Year's Eve!" He persistently protests edging closer to you with the cup in his hand.

"I think you're just drunk." You state.

"Maybe not." He sneers back, a grin pulling the sides of his lips. You snigger back at him and fold your arms, does he really think that he could fool you?