"Rejected"
Hello, my name is Cleo, and I'm here with my best friend, well, with what's left of my best friend. In any minute, that homicidal maniac will come down for me. I don't know why I have to share the consequences of my best friend's mistake. This happening began, as far as I can remember, when my best friend had been acting strange for the pass weeks, especially upon that night of the Annual Victorian Ball. This best friend of mine is Anne Gwish. You might remember her as the Party Goth, Morticia of All Seasons, Lady Dark of Darkness, or simply, Bitch.
It was another gloomy night in the dark dreary bar of Thistle Grove, the special nightclub that opens once a week. I sat there alone, waiting for Anne. She must be taking a lot of her time with that new eyelash curler of hers. Every month, she bought bigger ones. Anyway, I stirred my absinthe round and round, wishing those idiot people on the dance floor dissolved like the anise in this liquor. Suddenly, I saw a reflection of a guy standing near on my chalice. I looked up, and upon the sight of his green lupine eyes, my heart pumped with Cupid's poison arrow lodged on it.
"So, Cleo," he said, "Have you already heard of the Victorian Dance this Thursday the Twelfth?"
Ah, the Annual Victorian Dance –the most numinous of all formal gala. Elegant gothicas put on their tiaras of onyx and obsidian, while knights of the dark cavalry wear cuffs of spikes and the most buckled of all boots. In this gathering, all of us pay tribute to the Dark Lord and play the occult practices to welcome Paraskavedekatria, the celebrated Friday the Thirteenth, by midnight. And of course, like some grim fairytale or horrible prom, we must have partners. And for me it was this guy. What's his name? Ramses, I think. Whatever.
From that moment when I said yes, more and more hackneyed "can-I-ask-you-out" statements filled the smoking air of the bar. Last-,minute shoppers. They're like pimpled frogs in a black puddle, flirting and croaking with the rain's melody outside, only to die after they mate. That's what usually happens to frogs. And here comes Anne, already wearing a gown – fur on the shoulder edges, revealing top with fishnet arms, A-line skirt with ruffles but slit in the middle, revealing high-heeled stilettos with gladiator straps that reached her thigh.
At a brief moment, everyone stopped to look at her puffed a smoke. Then, they all resumed their coquetry, and irked, Anne crumpled her cigarette though it bruned her palm. But she was numb anyway for her heart wasn't pumping anymore with the hope that guys would crowd around her, ask her out and she would reject them all. Oh, predictable Anne. She soon saw me with Ramses sitting beside me on our favorite table, vandalized with angry poetry. She stood for awhile, and looked at me as if I was a bitch possessing a hot guy.
She sat down, but seconds ticked slowly with an awkward silence. Ramses broke our piercing gaze, "Hey, Anne. You got a date for the Victorian Ball yet?" Anne pulled another cigarette, and after one smoke, she replied, "I don't get dates. Dates get me." Then, we looked around if indeed guys would go to her and ask her for the ball. But there was none, for now. Feeling we need to be alone as girls, Ramses went away to check on his entourage. "Isn't he the guy who works in that geeky museum?" Anne asked me.
"Yeah, but he's in a band, y'know. Anubis."
"Nice."
"So, do you have any preferences?"
"I have a list," Anne showed a thick scroll, full of names of guys she wanted to date. The first one was already crossed out. It was the bassist of the band Dark Goiter she used to date. I guess, he's still all over that fat chick who played the keyboards. Then, Anne began to get busy. One by one, she went to the guys in the bar and asked them out herself. And one by one, their names were crossed out on the list. I never saw her so pathetic – her make-up was running with tears, she was pleading on her knees, shaking them by their leather jackets, slapping them after; when the guys turned their backs, she screamed in agony, and began to ruin the other girls' make-up and skirts instead.
"I'm far more beautiful than these bitches of shit! Why must they have you when I am here, vacant, open, free, available?!"
Then, the bouncers arrived to drag her out as she clawed them along the way. When she was kicked out, she grabbed their knees and asked them out, too. But they were disgusted with her. I went outside, and comforted Anne, "They're not good enough for you anyway. Let's see who else is in the list." But every name was crossed out, from the hard-core band members to the cool emo smokers. Then, Anne took me by the hand. And throughout that night, we went to all clubs in town. And all guys turned her down. Before they usually go to her and end up being snubbed. Now, it was Anne who went to them and she, too, ended up being snubbed. Oh, the irony!
We soon stopped by a 24/7. The cash register was a total nerd, with thick eyeglasses, braces, hearing aids, acne, inhaler, jumper, the whole dink. And I could not believe my eyes when Anne flirted with him. I dragged her away from utter mortification, and at an aisle full of canned goods, I slapped her to wake her up. But she cried, "Cleo, I'm desperate here! Y'know, I'm always the Bell of every Victorian Ball in the past. I should not break that record by going dateless. My reputation as the Goth Queen is at stake here." She tried to have a smoke, but her lighter refused, thus she threw away all her cigarettes.
"Yeah, well, your majesty must not go beyond the dark and fathomless pit by going out with that abomination in the counter!" But Anne only laughed maniacally. She then suggested, "I know. What if you broke up with Ramses for a while so he'll go out with me?" At that moment, I got sick and tired with my best friend. I left her alone for the rest of the evening. It was 2 am I think.
