Yours Truly...

[1]

The Red Damsel Strikes In.

The skies turned darker as the crowd scatters from hitherto tither, therefore, it was finally nighttime. Where the city never slumbers, also known when everything goes down; deeper than the lowlands.

Somehow, I start my way to a formal appreciation night that a colleague of mine told me all about. It's for the awarded nominees and newcomers who are inquisitive in schooling journalism, it's located near Garfield 88th Street. At the Thompsons & Hubert's Reserves.

I started carelessly at the window as I flipped my hair sideways, my reflected image glowing under the dimmed lights around the corridor of the hallways, and then I let out a sigh.

My phone kept on ringing once I placed it down, setting aside glance at it for a minimum, before shifting my posture and turned it off.

"Hey, Kyle." A voice called from a small crowd of people, his voice appearing nearer than I expected.

A dark haze of green eyes, slit with an uneasy irritation.

Aaron finally came, his clothes quite ragged from dressing too quickly. The cologne scent outgrew a powerful fragrance. I wanted to shout, scream in heavenly bliss, but yet I decided to stay silent. My breath mumbling whenever he gazed at me.

"Hey." I retorted.

"You mad or something?" He asked with a premise voice, questioned and utmostly tired, maybe from staying up? His baggy eyes show a distinct appearance as he let out a huff. We then stood silently for a long minute, then he retreated towards the feast auditorium. Where the nomination taking place at.

I swear that I felt my stomach twisting and pulling at an accumulating speed almost made me vomit for some sort. Yet again, I contained the awkwardness away and flickered at a large sea of people. Some mingled, talked, and the rest were waltzing in pairs along with classical music. And here I am, being a pain in the ass as I always was.

Ever since my last lover, it has been an influence on me. For almost six months or so, we'd be moving back and forth from fighting stupidly, to snuggling in the living room. She's okay, but not mentally. Her fears and rage were nonetheless when we left, after all a fight again.

I sighed to myself, giving up the feeling that lived once above the clouds. Where I was happy at the time. But now, I don't realize who I am, or what my purpose is in this world.

The music had finally came to an end, everyone went silent as they follow their eyes at a tall, lean person walking calmly on the stage. He held the microphone and began glimpsing around the crowd. Where I was peering down from the second floor. The guy had wavy and gel-like hair, even to the point of its embodiment. Grey, small eyes as cold as a wintery day.

I felt pins of needles pricking all over my back, frozen and unamused. Forgot he even had a costly medal on him.

"Welcome, dear guests," he clears his throat and stared at the written paper. "Today's just an ordinary day, for an ordinary mass. But now, tonight is when we rise--for becoming young, and extravagant journalists. Perpetually since each and one of you began on this hard journey, wasn't it hard? Or wasn't it easy?"

Not to mention, I am a journalist, and struggling with this job is extreme and tiring. Not a fan of waking up early after all, but I can assure you I can get the job done. Occasionally at least. There wasn't anything that entertained me, from partying once in a while to gawking sappy movies. Nothing at all.