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Here's my latest. For English we had to write about if we got invited to Dracula's Halloween dance.
I woke up. I honestly don’t know why, but I did. It was only three A.M. on a Saturday morning, but I still followed my usual routine of wiping the cruelly excessive amounts of goopy, sandy whatever that accumulates as I sleep. I sat up slowly in order to assure that my head didn’t hit the awkwardly slanted ceiling of the attic. Yes, that’s right, my, how you say… bedroom is “conveniently” up in the attic. (Take note of how I placed quotation marks around “conveniently” to indicate sarcasm.) I turned and placed my left leg over the bed, followed by my right. I grabbed the dresser with my good hand in such a way that I could pull myself onto my feet and begin walking. I did just that and walked a yard over to my piece-of-garbage television, where my glasses were always placed so carelessly that the angle of the frames bent and changed every day. I picked them up and fumbled with them until they were in a decent position on my face.
I opened my old, wooden door. It was one of those vexing occasions when it becomes so humid that the wood expands and the door gets stuck. As usual, I pulled on it till it gave way and I lost balance and was flung across the room. Oh, how I wish I weighed more. I stepped foot onto the blood red carpeting that covered the stairs. It was the color after the blood dried and a scab formed, rather than the color of fresh blood. I tiptoed down the stairs so I wouldn’t wake Mother.
Plan failed.
A package was thrown right through the kitchen window. I watched in horror as the falling shards of glass embedded themselves into the dinner table right before my eyes. The following sound of a light switch being flicked on and slow, tired footsteps instantly becoming frantic, hazardous footsteps shall forever haunt me.
Mother entered the kitchen.
I stood there, babbling like an idiot, my lips moving faster than ever before but failing to make words. I stood there in fright of being blamed like I had never stood there in fright of being blamed before. Mother raised her hands to her face. All things moved in slow motion. My life flashed before my eyes. I knew exactly what was coming…
THE MACAULEY CULKIN FACE!
I didn’t know what to do. There is no defense against such a maniacal maneuver.
But then that package that was thrown through the window exploded. Orange and yellow balloons filled every corner and crevice of the room. The oxygen to helium ratio was dropping faster than the quality of NBC’s Thursday nights.
The balloons all popped at the exact same moment. All that remained was a gray index card, wrinkled and torn, sitting in the center of the room. I tried to explain to Mother, but when I uttered a single sound I could have sworn to God that I had obtained Alvin the Chipmunk’s voice for a minor amount of time. I covered my mouth in embarrassment. Mother stepped jerkily towards the card because her joints were still weary from the explosion. She picked it up as I leaned over to look at it.
Join us for the best dance of the year: Dracula’s Dance! It will take place at (name and address withheld). Please bring some sort of dessert for everyone to share.
Your Host,
Dracula
It felt kind of odd, you know, getting an invitation to some party that I’m going to reluctantly attend thrown through a window by some person or thing that had already run far, far away by the time anyone looked out the window.
That night I walked a few blocks to (name and address withheld) with a tray of Betty Crocker brownies that Mother had prepared. I wasn’t expecting much of anything interesting to happen that night; it was a cold, gloomy night and the moon was hidden behind the rain clouds that looked ready to start pouring. I went in average clothing, which for me usually consisted of a black t-shirt with a band or album logo on it and a pair of faded jeans that were torn along the bottom and at one knee. I had torn them on purpose, but made the hole small enough that it looked as if it just became thin and worn out over time.
I arrived. I paused before entering so I could observe the environment that I was subjecting myself to. The (name withheld) building was instantly recognizable as a stereotypical run-down church that was only holding this party as a fundraiser. I figured I’d go in, hang around for half an hour, realize I didn’t know a single person there, drop the brownies and run. That was my game plan.
I entered.
The room was bursting with energy for some unexplainable reason. There was a huge stage with some band of four chicks who all looked like Courtney Love in one way or another, yet still looked different enough from each other that if they all told you their names you’d be able to recognize each one correctly. I wanted to listen to the music, but the unanimous screams coming from the mosh pit made the music sound like just a bunch of unarticulated minor-key chords. Unless, of course, that could have been what the music was in the first place. The world may never know. The room was poorly lit; lamps filled the room, but such a large portion of them contained light bulbs that probably blew out years ago and no one ever noticed or bothered to change them. Off in the corner there was a table filled with about a dozen trays of identical salad, another dozen trays of identical brownies, identical breads, pastas, sandwiches, so on and so forth. There was the one cake made by the only person who really cared that was carved into the shape of a bat. I watched as some old woman cut of the wing and placed it on her paper plate that I’m sure she isn’t going to recycle. What a poor old woman she was; I’m sure she’ll need a new hearing aid after she leaves. I tried to make my way through the ocean of teenagers to the refreshment table.
Plan failed.
I was stopped by a group of kids from school whose names all escape me still to this day. One of the girls handed me a little pink tablet. “Swallow it,” she said. “What is it?” I asked. “It’s a cheeseburger.” She and her friends laughed. I dropped the tablet, the brownies, and all notions of staying for at least thirty minutes. I turned around and tried to run.
Plan failed.
I was grabbed from behind and held on the floor. That one girl shouted a few obscenities at me as she shoved maybe six of the pills in my pie hole. I choked them down, as chewing wasn’t exactly an option unless I intended on biting this girl’s hand off. I was so frightened that I don’t know how my pants stayed dry.
I now know that it wasn’t exactly a cheeseburger, but whatever it was made me climb up on the roof using some method that I can’t remember, jumping off, and trying to fly. Someone else whose name escapes me still to this day caught me and explained to me that after the party was over I went insane and got up on the roof somehow.
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