Title: Untitled Party Exercise Author: Phil Trimble This work and more can be found at http://www.warbadger.com. This work is licensed using a Creative Commons license. Please see the end of this document for more information. -------------------------------------------------------------- The smoke in the basement room was thick and the floor was littered with cigarette butts and empty plastic cups. The atmosphere was buzzing with conversation and the booming bass from the music playing upstairs seemed to give the air an almost physical feeling. Steve looked down towards his shoes, shifting his weight slightly and feeling his feet sticking to the floor. He was amazed that people actually lived here. The place looked at risk to be condemned, and yet some people called it home. ‘I guess frat guys aren’t generally lauded for their intelligence, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised’, he thought, and took a sip of beer from the plastic cup in his hand. Disgust washed over his face and he felt his gag reflex kick in before he was able to regain control. After verifying that no one had seen him he sighed and allowed his watering eyes to wander over the smoky room. The basement room was completely full of students that were in the various stages of drunkenness. Several kegs stood off in one corner, all already tapped, and the teeming mass of people surrounding it were held in check by a small contingent of fraternity members that were basking in the glory of being in charge of the beer supply. Steve watched for a moment as a drunken girl ran her hand down the front of one of their pants in an apparent attempt to gain access to the keg behind them and then quickly looked away. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ he thought, mentally kicking himself for the hundredth time that night for not having a better grasp of the social situation around him. He had been barely able to hide his surprise when Matt had invited him to this party earlier in the evening. After months of gracefully turned-down invitations and valid-sounding excuses, Steve had figured that everyone in the dorm had realized he didn't want to be a part of their social scene. Almost everyone else had just given up, not even bothering to ask him anymore. Matt must have missed the message, though, and Steve knew he was trapped as soon as the question had been posed. He had quickly consented, afraid that a refusal would damage the small positive reputation he had managed to build up, and resigned himself to his fate. As soon as they had hit the front lawn of the frat house Matt had disappeared without a word, off to find the latest girl that was the object of his lust. Steve had lingered outside for a few moments, unsure on whether or not to proceed. If Matt had asked him about it later he could have just made something up. Matt would never have to know that he was a coward. But indecision had unexpectedly gripped him as he stood at the outer edge of the maelstrom and watched the people streaming in and out of the house. He had stood with his feet glued to the grass, listening to the music emanating from the guts of the building before him, with his eyes closed tightly and his heart thumping in sync with the beat. After a few agonizing moments the loud bass had caused a heavy object inside of his stomach to tumble and shift his weight, pushing him towards the front door. He had moved quickly and paid the doorman before he had a chance to change his mind. Once inside he had immediately regretted his decision, of course, but he had felt like it was the right choice overall. He felt like a hypocrite, but he felt good walking in and out of various rooms while occasionally taking a drink from the cup in his hand, even though he hated the taste of beer. It was as if he had gained access to a new area of life, an area where all the cool kids hung out, one where he wasn't afraid to join in on the fun. Within minutes he had shifted back to hating the people around him and wishing he had never left his room that day, but for a few moments he had felt like he had belonged. After wandering around and trying to avoid looking lost, he had settled in the area between the impromptu dance area and the beer pong table, his back up against a concrete wall, and struggled to regain the feeling that had left him grinning at the people around him rather than scowling. And now here he was, mingling with sweaty frat members and berating himself for not having the self-esteem necessary to do whatever you wanted regardless of the social impact. Steve turned his attention to the beer pong game that was going on to his right and attempted to figure out the rules. His eyes widened temporarily as he viewed the construction of the table with a grudging admiration. The table looked in stark contrast to the shabby house around it. The corners seemed sharply cut and the top was clean and level. He was completely surprised that something in this house was so well constructed, but his admiration quickly disappeared when he realized that it was just another tool for drinking. The rules seemed simple enough, but then again they couldn’t be too complicated or the drunken participants would never be able to finish. A new game was just starting, and so players filled ten plastic cups with beer and placed them on opposite each end of the table in a similar fashion to bowling pins. Each team of two had two ping-pong balls, and the teams would take turns attempting to throw them into their opponent's cups. Any throw that was successful meant the receiving team had to drink the beer in the cup and then remove it. You apparently won by making your opponents drink all of their beer, after which they have to chug all of your remaining cups. The entire point of drinking games such as these was to get drunk as fast as possible, and so Steve despised it. He drank the final bit of liquid from his cup as he watched a drunken player launch a ball towards one of the cups on the opposite side, completely missing the table and hitting one of his equally drunken opponents in the face, sending him reeling backwards in surprise. Laughter erupted from the mob surrounding the table as Steve contemplated heading towards the door. By the time order had been restore and the game had continued he was already starting to weave his way through the crowd and towards the stairs. Halfway across the dance area he froze; he saw Matt leaning against a wall near his destination, flirting with some girl who may or may not have been the one he was babbling about on the walk from the dorms. His position meant that Steve would not be able to walk up the stairs and to the exit without being spotted. Unsure on how to proceed, Steve hesitated for a moment and then quickly walked over to the kegs and paid for another beer before returning to his previous spot. Adrenaline and anger were mixing inside of his chest as he looked around the room for another exit. His heart was beating wildly, thumping against his ribcage and threatening to drown out the bass in his ears. Realizing he had no way to escape, he looked down at his cup. The foam on the top hid the piss-colored underneath, and he studied it with disgust. ‘This fucking sucks’, he fumed, and then without thinking he brought the cup up to his lips and started to drink. After the third gulp his eyes were watering and his throat was burning, but he kept drinking. Something felt weird inside of him, a feeling he hadn’t felt before. He felt wild and out of control, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do next. For a moment conflicting emotions washed over him, fear and anger and wild energy and crushing anxiety all fighting for control over him. He nearly crushed the cup in his hands before deciding to get it refilled instead, and he started to work his way over to the kegs one more time. His steps felt unsteady and every time a female body brushed up against him, his mind reeled and he felt an overwhelming urge to stay and keep brushing up against her over and over. He quickly moved on each time, scared to death at what he was feeling but not wanting it to stop, not ever. After returning with another full beer he came back to his spot, but this time much closer to the beer pong game. He was swaying a little at this point and relied heavily on the tightly-packed crowd for support. The game seemed much more interesting once you were closer and cheering with the mob and feeling the hive-mind luring you to empty your brain and yell indiscriminately. The crowd almost moved as one with each toss. It was scary and exhilarating. His beer was half-gone when the current game finished. It was a completely lop-sided victory, with the winning team still having seven of its original ten cups on the table. The losers groaned, visibly distressed that they would have to drink their opponents beer. Both had eyes that were already unfocused, and smaller of the two was swaying heavily as he stood near the end of the table. Steve watched in fascination as he seemed to burp, his eyes still glassy and his face completely without emotion. He burped again, and his body started to convulse and he nearly toppled backwards in an attempt to get away from the table. He barely managed to make it to a conveniently placed trash can before he began to wretch. The crowd hooted and hollered as he vomited and Steve joined in, unsure as to why they were cheering but doing it anyways. After the player had finished, he stood up unsteadily and smiled weakly. Steve could see flecks of vomit on his face and his skin looked pale. The player half-raised his thin arms in acknowledgment and then quickly moved into the crowd and away from the table. He was absorbed and had disappeared before anyone really protested his abandonment of the remaining beer, and a look of complete anguish washed over his partner’s face when he realized that he alone would have to pay the price for their defeat. He desperately began sweeping his flat, unfocused eyes over the crowd for someone to help him share the burden. Steve had moved himself closer and closer to the game as it went on so he could see better, and was now in the front row of the mob. As Steve’s eyes locked with the remaining player, the sounds of the party behind him seemed to fade to indistinct murmurs and a chill went up his spine. Nausea washed over him, and he knew in that instant that he would be selected and forced to take the spotlight. Beads of sweat popped into existence across his brow and down his back and he visibly jerked as the player pointed at him and then offered one of the remaining cups. Steve’s mind went blank and he froze, refusing to acknowledge the cup in front of him or the person holding it. For a fleeting instant, when no repercussions came of his refusal, his mind cried out in unthinking joy and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. Then reality came crashing down with unyielding force as the crowd, already becoming exasperated with the stoppage of play, began to push against him. Steve felt a multitude of hands grabbing at his shirt and pushing on his back. He reluctantly went forward, stumbling into the center of the ring of people and wishing he had never been born. “Come on, man, I –whoa. Shit, I am so fucking drunk,” the player laughed. He was slurring his words and making it very hard to understand what he was saying over the sounds of the throng surrounding the table. His large, broad shoulders and square jaw marked him as a football player or wrestler, and the tattoo on his arm matched the one Steve had noticed on the arm of the doorman and various other fraternity members throughout the night. “I can’t finish all of these things. Take it!” Steve was in a trance, his face impassive and his body refusing to acknowledge any commands to grab the cup and drink. He felt his arm start to rise to accept the cup as if someone else had grabbed his elbow and performed the action for him. “The name’s Doug,” said the player in a garbled tone. He slammed the first beer into Steve’s outstretched hand, causing it to slosh over the edges and cascade down his fingers. Steve stared at it, uncomprehending, as Doug quickly drank the next in the remaining pack. Steve realized that each cup only contained maybe three swallows of beer, and as Doug was drinking his second he quickly raised the cup to his lips and drank. He felt the fluid traveling down to his stomach to join the rest and slowly brought the cup down after it was empty. Unfamiliar feelings cascaded over him as cheers rose up from the crowd, and he moved with more conviction as he accepted another cup from Doug and drank that as well. After more cups and more cheering Steve’s part was finished. His head was spinning and his legs felt decidedly unsteady. His thoughts were pushing against each other, vying for control over his body. He eventually took an uneven step to merge back with the crowd when Doug’s large, meaty hand grabbed his arm. “Come on, man, I need a partner. You can’t bail on us like Terry did,” he whined. He sounded genuinely worried that Steve would abandon him and leave him alone with the crowd. At that moment, Steve realized that Doug was just as much of a slave to the party around them as he was, and for some reason this epiphany calmed him. He took a step towards the table as Doug clumsily set up the cups for a new game. Feeling numb, Steve watched blankly as Doug worked. The crowd around them seethed and wriggled as if it was a living thing, a single unit emitting almost intolerable heat and stale breath that was both his judge and jury for the foreseeable future. Steve blinked and the game was ready. He looked down at the orange ping-pong ball in his hand, wondering when he picked it up. He was only vaguely aware as Doug made his first attempt, missing badly and turning towards him with an expectant look. Steve scrunched his face, struggling to focus on the dancing cups at the opposite end of the table. He raised his hand in preparation and then hesitated. The only thought he could conjure up was how normal he felt. He threw the ball. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ An hour later Steve was sitting on a curb a few blocks from the party. The sweat coating his body was quickly drying in the cold night air, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. The air around him tasted terrible and the vomit on his shoes and pants meant that the stench would follow him wherever he went. No one had trailed him out of the building after he had puked, which both upset and relieved him. Once the moment had passed he was just another face in the crowd again. Feelings of relief and crushing loss washed over him as he returned to his natural state. Lifting his head slightly he looked around. The area around him seemed to look sickly and dead, painted as it was in the yellow light emitted from the street lamps. Bugs swirled around him, buzzing angrily, biting him, and reminding him that he should head for home. He had realized some time before that he had no idea where he was. After leaving the frat house he had just walked, wanting to get as far away as possible. He knew the dorms were within walking distance, but they might as well have been a million miles away. He slowly stood up and then waited for the nausea to pass, eyes closed tightly and unmoving even as he felt vomit slide down his pants and onto the pavement. With unsteady steps he set off down the street, hoping in time to get his bearings and find his way. -------- Creative Commons License Deed Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported You are free: * to Share — to copy, distribute and transmit the work * to Remix — to adapt the work Under the following conditions: * Attribution. You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work). * Noncommercial. You may not use this work for commercial purposes. * Share Alike. 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