The music blared. Sadly enough, every person in the club looked as if they were having a great time. She doubted anyone actually was. They were all fake, and she was too, and she was sick of pretending like she didn't know any better. It was just hard to be different. It was easier to pretend to be like them, to pretend like you don't care and you're happy with that fact. Sad, lonely people dancing to music no one actually listened to. That's what they were. She slammed her cup down angrily, and watched the cheap liquor splash as it hit the dance floor. "Damn" she mumbled, knowing she wasn't upset at the alcohol on her shoes, but instead at the idea of somehow surviving through this constant war of self. A war between playing pretend and being vulnerable. Which was worse? Her date looked down at the mess and gave a sigh. "If you're gonna be a depressed little drama queen and ruin my fun, I'll find someone else to take home." Then he walked away. Well, she said to herself, pretending it is. So she ran after him.
{Inspired by random thoughts about our society}
YOU ARE READING
Partials
RandomPartial ADJECTIVE | existing only in part; incomplete This is a collection of different bits and pieces of stories and scenarios I make up in my head. Most people would call these "excerpts" from books I will never write, I call them Partials. Comm...
