[When’s the next party?, 545 words, Genre: Realistic Fiction]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
They had all grown up along the coast of Victoria in Australia. In a small coastal town, that was surrounded by other small towns, that all went to a single school. Over the high school years all of the students of the same year level would host parties for all of the other high school children. Every week, or fortnight, the students would congregate at one another’s household, have drinks and cause a ruckus. They would all drink to excess and cause mayhem throughout the neighbourhood.
One night they were all drinking together. Discussing irrelevant shit. The kind of shit that doesn’t mean anything in the larger schematics of things. Talking about who was dating who and who was doing what. Drivel, absolute drivel when compared to the grand philosophies and equations of higher intellects and possible undertakings in life. However, those possible undertakings… Those things that were accounted as drivel meant something to these people. These people who grew up in small coastal towns talking about surfboards and other hobbies and tasks. In the end, it would be presumed, that it could hardly be accounted for drivel at all. What it would be assumed is that everyone doing their own separate things really did mean something. Because, as is perspective, the higher intellects and the undertakings taken on by those of the supposed ‘intellectuals’ were the ones who were producing drivel. They, the working class, the individuals who were responsible for placing bread and butter on their children’s tables. They were the ones who were living life. And living life to its maximum capacity.
In amongst the drinks and sharing cigarettes amongst one another. They would partake in drug use. Crystal methamphetamine was a past-time that individuals enjoyed. More so because the drug dealers in the area would push the drugs onto them. Everyone had to make a living. And who could argue about that which was a suitable role in society where one confronted a dog-eat-dog world? Well, probably a lot of people could. But there is very little one could say when confronted with an irrational argument such as that.
So the high school students grew up in the same area. Drinking and becoming increasingly more belligerent than the last person. Belligerent is as belligerent does. Every time they had a party they would partake in arguments with one another until the arguments superseded one another and the party-goers would coalesce into a ram-buck mix of fists and feet.
What would cause the arguments? Some off-hand comment. Something better left unsaid between sealed lips that would otherwise be considered in a state of sobriety.
Something along the lines of, “What did you say about my sister?”
“I didn’t say anything about your sister.”
Then BAM! It would all break loose, hell, that is. Eventually, as the kids of the coastal towns asked one another, “Right, who’s having the next party?”
The prudent reply in regards to such a sentiment would be, “Fark no! I’m not having the next party. Did you see what they did to everyone else’s house? Did you see what was happening? The police, ambulance and fire department had to be called in at that party. Who the fark are they going to call next? The bloody riot squad?”