Tag Archives: drama

The Rooftop Getaway

The party, her party, was in full swing, as they say. Hundreds of her friends, her friends’ friends, and many complete strangers showed up for her food, her booze, to abuse the pool and the rest of her mansion. She felt like someone was secretly filming her and she had to escape.

The living room was full, as was the billiard room, the sauna, and all of the thirteen bedrooms. The foyer was full of coats and hats, the library was strewn with half-full cups hanging dangerously close to the edges of tables, threatening her aged and antique books. People had even spilled into the butler’s quarters, vacated for the weekend by her parents’employee for a trip.

She really only had one place to go, her secret place. She trudged up to the third story and unlocked the attic door, passed piles of vintage expensive furniture hiding under old sheets, passed the old moose head and stuffed bear her grandfather had shot decades before, to the oversized window that led to the roof. She pushed it and relaxed a bit as it squeaked open.

As she stepped out onto the roof she found that some of the balloons had gotten away from the guests and somehow landed here. She stepped onto the sill and stretched, her elbows rubbing the red brick walls, making her wince and check them for blood. No blood. Just a bit of red irritated skin with a little brick stubble mixed in. She would live.

She walked onto the roof toward the slanted shingles and began tidying up by picking up a bunch of the balloons, and then she stopped and sighed. Her odd neighbor always showed up handing out random balloons to guests, the reason something she could not fathom.

She never understood how these parties happened, what led all of those people to her home when her parents were away, but they always just seemed to know. They would come, abuse her home and her family money, and then go, leaving behind a mess that would take days to clean. And the damage…if the house weren’t so big her parents would notice, but these days they didn’t seem to notice anything.

She walked to the edge and looked down at the party, then walked to the other side and peered over the slant roof down into the rectangular pool that went unused for the past few years, ever since they had the endless pool installed on the other side of the house. Captured in the water were a few more rogue balloons floating slowly around the glass-like water, and past the pool a bit was the odd neighbor, still holding a bunch of balloons.

She returned to the wall next to the window and leaned against it, sliding down until she landed on the shingles under her and she sighed, holding the balloons, waiting for the party to end.

Photos by Geraldine, who has a Flickr. The model is Manon, and this is her blog. The concept for the photographs was a collaboration of the two.

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Barbecue From Hell (A Flash Fiction Story)

“You don’t eat meat? What the hell do you eat then?” asked my host, wearing a shirt that said democrat for the ‘irony’ of it, as he explained it to me upon my arrival.

Here we go, I thought to myself. How do I answer this? All eyes turned to me, all strangers, me in a place where I just DO NOT belong.

“It’s a choice. I choose not to eat it.”

“Why the hell not?” said another, bigger man with a shaved head and a wife-beater.

“Um…”

I don’t even know what to say. I feel ridiculed, scorned, picked on. This is the first anyone has talked to me at this party, and I don’t even have a response that they could possibly understand. And I can’t REALLY stand up for myself, because she works with some of them, most of them in fact, considering this is a company picnic. I hate Fourth of July.

Last year, I went to my friends’ house, a nice couple I’ve known for years. I was single, they were having a small get together, and they were all-foods friendly. They even had a small extra grill for the Vegans who wouldn’t even let their veggie burgers touch something that touched meat. These were my people.

I thought if I stalled long enough, this particular group would suddenly forget what they were talking about and move on to some other topic. After suggesting tying me down and shoving food down my throat, the wanted distraction appeared.

“Can you believe what that <insert the n-word> in the White House did this week? It’s called the White House for a reason.”

Good God. Where in the hell am I? And where did my girlfriend go? I look up the hill where she disappeared with her cubicle-buddy ten minutes ago and try to psychically call her.

“Bullshit. Utter bullshit. Do I really need this Obamacare crap?”

“And you know, I got into a line for it the other day, and I had to wait thirty minutes! Thirty!”

“Me too!”

So they hate it, yet still are already trying to sign up. Nice. I can’t believe this. I could be with that same couple from last year. They invited me. Or my parents’ house. Or sitting alone at home reading a book. Even diarrhea would be better than this. No lie.

I guess I must love my girlfriend for letting all this happen without a peep. Maybe I should tell her. Maybe I should wait until after this travesty in case I change my mind.

“Oh did you see my new bumper sticker? It’s genius, absolute genius.”

Oh no, what now?
“I saw it!” said one of the women as her face lit up. “It says-“

He cuts her off. “You’re in America. Speak American!” They all start laughing.

I wasn’t aware American was a language. I thought about saying so, but figured if I wanted to get out alive, I should probably just keep my liberal mouth shut. They were, after all, already onto me.

“Brilliant!”

Is it?”

“Best sticker ever!”

I actually even think the My Other Car is a Nimbus 2000 Harry Potter sticker is better than that. Even a Twilight sticker is better. I was always a fan of Mr. Yuck as well.

A man in an apron with the body of a naked woman on it (and I don’t mean the bikini-clad woman, I mean naked) came in and said, “The pig’s roasted! Burgers are ready! Come and get it!”

The host started ushering people towards the pavilion. As they all left, I was only one left behind with him.

“Hey, buddy,” he said to me. “Want some pig, or a burger?”