Chapter 7 – The End Of It All

Chapter 7 – The End
I got up and headed upstairs to see what time it was, because we had sealed up the windows so no light could come in while we slept. I got upstairs, and walked into the kitchen to see the time, and it was about 9:30 AM. My dad was coming to pick me up at 10:30 AM, so I washed my face with cold water, and I washed my hands. I went back downstairs and helped people clean up the rest of the mess we had made the night before. We spent about another half an hour cleaning up, and then we all went right back upstairs, and acted civilized again.
I guess I learnt from this that every person is two-faced. One face is the everyday school-and-home life face, and the other is the one that comes out at parties. At a party when people’s party faces come out, they become careless and such, which allows you to do so as well.
I left my “party face” at that party. Sometimes I regret it, but all in all, I realized I should take care of myself, and not let alcohol be too fun. I vowed from that moment on to never abuse alcohol EVER again.

I guess this supposed haven I had entered wasn’t much of a haven after all…

THE END

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Now i'll bet you're all saying one of two things to yourself... 1. "finally it's fucking over!!" or "wow, that was pretty good, i'd really like to read more about this guy's "parties""...either way, i'd really like your feed back, because i'm currently writing a "drama" about my old Band, Playing With Fire, and what went on during our almost 1 year or so history together. I need to know if i should keep my same old writing style, or if i should tone it down a bit on the details... yadda yadda yadda... anyways, if you have time please dont hesitate to leave me some constructive criticism so's i can improve

@DI0$ n00Bs

Chapter 6 – recovery, teenager style

I got up from the couch, and I headed for the CD stand. Looking through CDs, I found Led Zeppelin Greatest hits, Pink Floyd’s the Wall, and the pure black cover with the silver letters spelling out the word “NIRVANA”. I pulled out this musical masterpiece, and slowly turned around to display it’s simplistic beauty to all those in the room. Some people nodded their heads in agreement, and two people who were previously making out, said “put it on” at the same time. So I did.

I slowly clicked open the CD cover, and grabbed the CD from the case, as I lazily pressed the “open/close” button on the Stereo. I put in the CD on the tray, and closed it. I flipped to song number 9, and the music started. The initial riff pulled everyone in, and then the song boomed to life and everyone started to “head-bang”, myself included. Head banging is a motion involving only the head. The banger moves his head back, and whips it to the front and he repeats this motion continuously. This does sometimes lead to whiplash, which really sucks.

As Kurt Cobain, god of grunge and idol of many young teens everywhere, started to sing, we all sang along on impulse. “RAPE ME…RAPE ME MY FRIEND…RAPE ME… RAPE ME AGAIN.” As I sang this, I thought to myself, why would anyone want to be raped in the first place? If you want it, it’s not rape…right?! I got so confused.

Then, I stopped head-banging, and contemplated life a bit more. We, the hormone-driven, puberty-infested, alcoholic, substance dependant, pain resistant, careless, teenagers of today’s generation live in COMPLETE and constant confusion. This is probably WHY we listen to the crap we listen to in the first place. Nirvana has some of the worst melodic concentration EVER.I mean, they are BARELY coordinated, and the lyrics make ABSOLUTELY no sense, whereas they used to have a streak of irony that, along with Kurt’s mental health, disappeared. You can thank drugs for that one. How can we, the teens, listen to this crap? It’s because Kurt Cobain, God of grunge, sounds just as completely and constantly confused as we are! We want to understand what we are hearing, and since confusion is something we ALL understand, we like the music. We like what is “vedge” and lazy, because we are “vedge” and lazy most of the time. People who are impaired by drugs have an enhanced appreciation for the music, because the artists were probably on all the same drugs and most probably even harder stuff.

“I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE… RAPE ME, RAPE ME, RAPE ME, RAPE ME, RAPE MEEEEEEE!” The song ended, and everybody stopped head banging and “heart-shaped box” came on.

Chapter 5 – contemplating life

To get back to the story, those people being nice to me made me happy. I decided to leave the happiness-inducers, and go check out what else was going on. I saw some people picking up and cleaning whatever was left of the headstand contest puke, which in my opinion was a bad idea in the first place. Clearly, I was too tired to help out, but I did so anyways. After we all finished cleaning the vomit off the floor, we all got against the wall and talked about our experiences from the previous night. I heard some pretty stupid stories considering about 4 of the wall-people were on Ecstasy the night before. As they told their stories, I drifted off, and contemplated how sad it must be to need drugs to feel adequate and good, but I guess I wasn’t much better myself, relying on hugs from girls and a beer or two. Ok, maybe a beer or SIX, followed by a couple of shots of harder stuff.
Happiness in a pill compared to happiness in a glass. I guess there are different sorts of happiness. I realized this fact that night. Different people need different things to be happy. They use the excuse of “experimentation” but in reality, they are trying to find inner peace, even if it’s only temporary. Some people need a glass or two of beer, and some need 10 shots of Jack Daniels, washed down with a beer or two. Some people need a joint or two, and some need acid, PCP, LSD, angel dust, cocaine, crack, mush, special k, mescaline, and sometime even heroine. Some people need a kiss, some people need a hug, and some people need sex. A lot of people mix these “solutions” to try and be ultra happy, but the problem with that is that: “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” That basically means that the people who drink their alcohol, wake up with a hangover the next morning. The more they drink the worse the hangover. The people who consume their drugs end up on a HORRIBLE down. The more they consume, or the more potent the drugs, the worse the down.

Now here’s the thing with sex. You have sex, and you feel great having it, and after you feel all calm and careless, and you just want to fall asleep. Here’s the problem though; if you don’t always know whom you’re having sexual relations with, you could get fucked over for life. One great night of sex can give you a lifetime of pain and suffering…YAY!!!

Basically, my theory is that “no happiness in life is sacred anymore.” Maybe it never was, but if it was, we screwed up big time. Here’s another theory, “All happiness comes with strings attached. Strings of sadness. So basically, all happiness comes with sadness attached.”

I realized all of this that night, while I sat against that wall and stared blankly at a spot of dry puke on the wall across from me. It took about 14 minutes or so for the puke-cleaners to realize I wasn’t even listening to them, and try and snap me out of my daze. Since my spider-sense seems to have been a little off that night though, let’s just ignore it. One of them snapped her finger, and I kind of flinched back to reality. They all smiled and little miss snappy-fingers made some smart-ass comment like “welcome back Mike.” I sighed and grabbed a rag to wipe the dry puke off the wall. I grinned and said, “We missed a spot.” They all laughed, and we all helped each other off the wall, so we could walk into the basement living room. We all wobbled there on our weakened legs, and all plopped onto the couch.

Chapter 4 – The next morning

I was the first person to wake up from the sleep that lasted about 5 hours. That’s right, even after a night so crazy I still slept a hearty 5 hours (note the sarcasm). As I awoke I had what is called a “hang-over”, because everyone including me, took shots of good old Jack Daniels whisky before bed. Hangovers in general are INCREDIBLY horrible experiences that can cripple even the most physically powerful man. Yeah, that’s right, and I thank god my “hangovers” only last about 10 minutes. After my 10-minute recovery time, I took about five more minutes to “scan” my surroundings. I didn’t really look around; I basically stared at the ceiling, while I felt everything within the vicinity of my arms. I felt an empty glass, a strange rubbery ball, and a plastic 2-litre bottle of something or other. So I gathered all of the strength I had, and lifted myself up to drink from it. I almost cried I was so happy, because it was 7up, or whatever was left of the 7up from our drinks the night before. I took a large gulp from the bottle and not only was the 7up warm; it was flat. I groaned at the sugar water I had just swallowed. This obviously created a ruckus of some sort, because I heard a ruckus of some sort, because I heard one person flop over onto his stomach and lift himself up. Then I heard him clear his throat and scream “WAKE AND BAKE!” Wake and bake is yet ANOTHER term made up by the hormone-driven, puberty infested, pot smoking, pill-popping, joint-rolling, teens of today. It’s generally used when someone wakes up at a party, or with a group of friends. It’s usually screamed at the top of one’s lungs to inform everyone in the direct vicinity that they should “wake up and get baked.” Getting baked, getting stoned, getting smoked, toked, fried, and sometimes even frosted.

These terms all applied that morning to about 13 people; I counted them as they walked outside. They didn’t really care what time it was, they just wanted to get baked. Again.

Of the people who hadn’t quite woken up yet, despite the loud yell, I woke up my friend Jenny, whose name was changed for purposes of privacy. We talked for a little while, and then decided we would play some great prank on the heavy sleepers. Jenny got out a permanent marker from her bag. We opened the black “sharpie”, and started to draw all over everyone’s faces. If I remember correctly, the funniest thing we drew was on this guy, who must have been the heaviest sleeper there. We kind of joined his eyebrows together with the permanent ink, and gave him one of those curly French moustaches. The thing that topped it all off though, was the little, and occasionally big, black freckles. We drew over it all 4 times, and all I really remember is after he woke up, everyone was holding back the urge to break out into laughter. Luckily, no one did break the silence, even though most of them were so stoned they laughed at anything and everything anyways. Anyways, about an hour after he had woken up, mister heavy sleeper decided he had the urge to “empty the faucet.” We all looked at him and snickered silently, knowing there was a mirror in front of the bathroom bowl. I can still remember it all in incredible detail. In fact, it went something like “WHAT THE FUCK!!!” At that exact moment, we all exploded into laughter. So much so, that people rolling on the floor bumped into each other. He tried to take it off with soap and water, but he ended up using steel wool. I can remember watching him walking out of the bathroom, his face ALL red.

By now as I looked around the room, I saw teenagers sleeping, and teenagers awake. I also saw people kissing, people groping each other, which led me to ask myself what the hell went on while I was out like a light. There were people sitting on the couch, and others lying on the floor, so I decided to join the people on the couch, because my ass hurt. When I got there, I realized that they were picking up the beer bottles from the night before. So I helped them out with the bottle picking, and once I finished, I got three smiles, a thank you, and a high-five.
Ah, the high-five, the symbol of acknowledgment of a job well done. It is also a symbol of happiness, or of agreement. This symbol has so little real meaning, that sometimes if I meet a random person in the street, I will sometimes get the urge to lift my open hand in the air and say something stupid like “gimme five!” People use this slapping together of palms in different ways. Different gangs use different hand-slap-shakes to identify each other. Some people say hi, with a “hand-slap-props”. Props, is the knocking of fists against one another, which is also known as a “fist-bump.” In fact I’m not even sure what “props” stands for.

Chapter 3 – The rest of the night

It was about 9 o’clock at night when I passed out, and I don’t exactly know this for sure, but I have a strange spider-sense sort of thing when it comes to the time. Well, if I go according to my spider-sense, I woke up at about 11:30, and I felt some sort of dead weight all over me. I decided to open my eyes, which seemed like a good idea at the time, until I actually opened my eyes to light. Oh, the agony it caused. Like my head was going to explode into millions of little pieces. With time it passed though, and I woke up completely. I decided to get my lazy adolescent head up a bit, and looked around me. There were three girls piled on top of me, as if I were going to be their bed, all of them were cuddled up against me. Bloody, hormone-driven teenagers. I shook them awake one by one, only to realize they were in the same condition as me. About a half an hour later, we walked into the room next door to find two people playing guitar. I saw there was another guitar not being used, so I grabbed it, and as I did so, the others stopped playing and stared at me waiting, as if they were expecting something incredible to happen. In my horribly disgusting state, I wouldn’t have even thought it possible to play “smoke on the water” by Deep Purple, but somehow, I pulled of a more personalized version of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” I’m pretty sure I remember a couple of people fumbling for their lighters. All I really remember was the completely euphoric and erotic sound emanating from the three classical six-string guitars playing a drunken-teen’s version of Stairway to Heaven.

After a couple of songs, and a couple of empty butane lighters, we went to sleep. According to the spider-sense in my head, it was 1:30 in the morning, yet according to the CLOCK, it was about 4:00.

Chapter 2 – something new

I didn’t really turn down her offer to “snuggle.” I put my arm around her, and reached for her vodka to see what it was like. It was pretty disgusting. I almost spit it out all over her, but I swallowed it instead. My face cringed as I felt the warmth of the alcohol killing all of the bacteria in my throat like a disinfectant. I liked that sensation, but hated the taste, so I laid her down on the floor, which was easy because she was asleep. She passed out because of the four vodkas she drank previous to the one I tasted. I went to look for a bottle of vodka so I could make my own little cocktail of vodka and some sugary substance. This cocktail that would make a bittersweet mix of happiness. Happiness in a glass; it’s what I’d been relying on lately, and now I found a faster and more potent way to make it work.
I found a glass half-full of vodka, so now all I had to find was a bit of 7-up…the only carbonated drink I liked then. After a couple of hours and a couple of “vodka-ups,” being the name a couple of friends and I came up with, I decided to take a rest on the couch. Well, I say decide, but actually, my body was the one to decide to take a rest in the living room after about a minute of having finished my last beverage. The last thing I remember was seeing the hallway’s walls on either side of me. The funny thing is, even after all of this alcohol on my blood, I still remember things enough to be able to vaguely tell little side-stories from the party, such as the drunk headstand competition, which led to about 2 litres of puke to clean up.
I collapsed in that hallways on my way to the couch, because I guess my body changed its mind about the whole “go to the couch and lie down” idea, and said “SCREW IT!”

LE PARTAY - Chapter 1: The initiation

first of all i would like to say that this is actually a period of time of my life that i wrote about, and i actually regretted incredibly, therefore i had decided to write a story about it. Whether you agree or not with the opinions stated from here on is not important. Just please read it as a short story (that isnt really so short), and gimme feedback on writing techniques and the such, constructive criticism is very appreciated. Oh, and please no comments like "well for someone who hates drugs you arent so innocent yourself eh?!"... i know i wasnt the brightest of the bunch back then but shite has changed, either way... enjoy!

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LE PARTAY

I remember it like it was yesterday, up to a certain point anyways. I got out of my dad’s car, and kind of waved a lazy goodbye to him. I scurried as fast as I could to the front door of the haven I was about to enter. The teenager’s haven full of alcohol, drugs, guys, girls, music, guitars, candles and the unforgettable sound of that one person “deflowering the puke virgin” for the night. I got inside, took off my washed-out now light blue converses, and the smell of freshly burned marijuana, probably inhaled by about five people, hit me in the face. I knew from that moment on that this was going to be a crazy party.
I went down to this basement, party central, the hangout, where we all got drunk, and some people fried their brains on hash, weed, speed, and whatever else they had.
I remember looking in the corner of the room, and seeing what must have been 7 cases of 24 beers a piece. They seemed to glow as if surrounded by the brilliant halo of an angel. I grabbed a beer out of the top case, and cracked it open. The “pshhhht” sound made by the bottle opening was the initiation of what was going to be my inebriated happiness, and extreme carelessness. About two beers into the night, I was watching the party progress, and two of my friends, both of the female persuasion, came to sit next to me. One of them asked me “what’s up?” I wasn’t too sure what to answer to this. In fact, I’m not too sure anyone ever really does know what to answer to these two words used so disgustingly often by the puberty-infested, hormone-driven teenagers of today. After about 5 minutes of contemplating the stupidity of this question, I answered, “I dunno.” The one who asked me the question got up and left, sort of stumbling as she walked away. My other friend put her vodka & ice down on the floor, and put her arms around me.
I felt what I think was “happy.” I guess I couldn’t recognize the feeling, because I hadn’t felt that damn think in so long. Well, I guess this is the reason for which I had to come to this party in the first place, to try and be happy.