BEASTLY

iii. it's my party

Mitch Grassi

"Mike? Where are you?" I always dreaded coming home. I was always alone, and it really sucked. I hated being alone... which is probably why I tried my best to invite someone over. I'd kind of become infatuated with our foreign exchange student, Gianni. He suggested that, to cure my loneliness, I invite people over. It wasn't until then that I realized just how many friends I didn't have at this new school, though I tended to travel solo for the most part. I guess that's why I am the way I am.

Oh well. I can't let friends get in the way of me and my talent and future career, anyway.

I walked throughout the house and searched for my father... for somebody. This house was a literal mansion compared to some of the homes in New York City. We had three floors and there were only two of us that lived here, and 99% of the time it was just me living alone, accompanied by our maid. I didn't expect for him to be here.

"Mike! Are you here?" Of course he isn't. Don't get your hopes up. "I wanted to tell you about my lead role in the musical!" I heard movement from upstairs. My heart fluttered, thinking that he might actually be here. I might get to share this news with him. My excitement bubbled and I ran upstairs, turning the corner and nearly knocking a vase off of a table as I turned, heading down the hallway to the sound. "I got Anthony Hope! I get to sing the lead! I get to--"

Meow!

Behind the closed door was my kitten, messing up Mike's desk, scattering papers across the desk. "Oh, god. Wyatt, no!" I lunged towards the desk, the kitten jumping off and running out the door. He clearly got locked in by accident. I briskly grabbed each paper on the floor and put them back on the desk, eyeing one that had my name at the top.

Mitch - I had to leave for Prague on a business trip. I'll see you soon. I put some money on your debit card for you. Spend whatever you want.

Yeah, right. Soon never seems to come soon enough.

So, with the house to myself for probably another two and a half weeks, I figured it might be cool to invite the cast and crew for the show over to mine for a party. There was no one to ask for permission, and we had a house maid, Naomi, who would be more than willing to clean up after the mess.

I headed to my room and got on Facebook and ironically found a newly formed group, called 'Fleet Street.' I don't know who it was made by, but I'd never seen anything happen faster. The Z Generation had so much... Well, Zing. I started a message on the page.

Mitch Grassi
Hey guys and ghouls - party at my place on Friday at 8PM in honor of everyone receiving the roles they wanted. 83872 West Pointe Circle. Invite a friend or two. Dress pretty. 💋

Seemed nice enough to get someone's attention. I hit 'send' and within a minute I already had a few views, a few likes. At my old school I was notorious for throwing parties. Hopefully that will make me a little less alone?

Wyatt meowed loudly, wandering around below my feet and crying. He was never extremely vocal unless he was hungry, and so I assumed I should get my little boy some food. I picked him up and he climbed up my body and curled in the oddest position on my shoulders, which wasn't really that odd at all. He used me as a jungle gym any chance he could get, and I could only assume it's because he thought he was royalty and didn't want his paws to get dirty. If that was the case, I one hundred percent support it.

I walked throughout the house and caught myself in the mirror, staring back at what was undoubtedly a beautiful sight. Thank god for good genes... no wonder I was given the role.

Let's just hope they don't notice my tattoos.

-.-.-.-.-

Scott Hoying

"Dad, I'm home!" I walked into my apartment, making sure the door closed completely behind me. I locked the top lock. Attached the chain to the second. Twisted the third. And then looked out the peep hole out of paranoia. I knew what happened beyond this door, though my father thought I didn't. I'm not completely oblivious, but I choose to not see things for myself.

A distress voices replied from around the corner with, "I'm in the kitchen, kiddo." I heard some scraping and quick maneuvering, signaling that dad was cleaning up whatever he was working on. I always respected his privacy, making my way to my room first and setting down my things, grabbing a snap back and smoothing my hair back so I didn't have to deal with it anymore. I glanced at myself in the mirror and did what I always did when I looked into a mirror.

"You're grateful to be alive, you know that?" I smiled and gave my mirror self a fist bump. Thankfully no one saw me when I did this, because they'd think I had lost my mind. I walked into the kitchen and found dad with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, one in front of him, and another in the chair next to him.

"How was your day?" He glanced up from the newspaper and smiled at me. He always cared about me. That's the number one thing I'll take to the grave with me. He did everything for me, even if it wasn't good.

When I was eleven, mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. It was as if they had no clue it was coming... it just popped up over night. She was hospitalized and taken away from us within three stressful weeks.

She had one wish for my dad. Help our son live his dreams, because that's how I'm going to live out mine. He enrolled me into Fulton and swore to mom that he would always be there for me. He'd help me become the best version of me that I could. And so, when I sing, I sing for my mom because she is living through my dreams, and I sing for my dad to let him know his hard work isn't ever going to waste.

"My day went great!" I smiled and took a sip of the coffee, releasing a satisfactory sigh. My dad couldn't live with the silence. He knew audition results came out today.

"S--"

"I AM THE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET." It flew out of my mouth as quick as word vomit, and I covered my mouth like I was shielding my excitement. My dad set his paper down and stood up, doing the most precious little dad dance before rewarding me with a hug after I stood up.

"I knew you'd get it, boy! From Scotty Buckets to Scotty Todd... I am so proud of you!" He squeezed me further into the hug.

"I couldn't do it without you, dad. And without mom." I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder when he pulled away.

"Your mom would be so proud of you, kid. You know that?"

I could only continue smiling until my cheeks hurt. "I know. I'll always know."