So it’s prom night.
And there you are, all pretty and primped, all ready to rock, gonna get your groove on and party to the beat all night long. And maybe you’re gonna sneak in a mickey of vodka because you like the taste on your tongue, and maybe you’ve got the key to a hotel room pressed into your palm so hard it’s like a tell-all brand, yeah baby I’m getting laid tonight, and maybe you don’t have a date and man doesn’t that suck, doesn’t that just mean you’re the pinnacle of pubescent failure?
But that’s okay, that’s totally fine. Know why?
'Cause this story ain't about you.
It’s about this place, not just the school but the town. It’s about the people who’re ten steps shy of learning the finer points of hell up close and personal-like. It’s about the soccer moms, the cops, the kids, the hobos on the corner who freakin’ ask you for change and who you step around and ignore every day of your life.
We all like to think that when faced with disaster, we’d Do The Right Thing (and ain’t that quaint). We like to think we’d Step Up To The Plate, rescue that lady’s old cat, save that kid from a burning building. Give that kidney to a stranger.
And maybe you would. Hell, maybe you’d do it and give a fancy speech later about how you don’t see yourself as a hero, about how anybody would have done what you’d done, about how…
Give me a break, man. Just stop talking right there, a’fore I shut you up for greater justice, sort of a talk-to-the-hand-that’s-smacking-you-upside-the-head dealio. Heroism is selfish, you get it? And if you’ve done what I’ve done, seen what I’ve seen, walked the path down, darkening into hell, you’d agree. Number one, man. You gotta watch out for number one.
You might not believe me, and that’s cool, that’s fine. I don’t expect a lot from greenhorns, you’re all wet behind the ears but you’ll learn. Fast, slow, hard, easy, might mean taking a bullet for a stranger, might mean seeing somebody eaten alive, or maybe you’ve been waiting for this all your life, waiting, hoping, and now it’s here and damn don’t you feel that rush, that adrenaline thing that’s letting you know, here and now, that you’re alive. But you’ll change. A-haa, yeah, you’ll change.
When it’s here there be monsters, it’s every man for himself, but what they don’t tell ya in the fine print is that men are just monsters waiting to happen.
So it's prom night, and the world goes to hell around you. How about them apples, huh?
OoC: posting is now a-go, ladies and gents. Keep it clean and have yourselves a blast. Now there's no weapons allowed on prom night, so you kinda gotta improvise. The punch bowl, folding chairs and anyone small enough to swing are all up for grabs. ... Also: The zombies bust in while the DJ was being a smartass and playing the song 'monster mash'. Feel free to start your log prior to the prom and work your way up to it for any prerequisite cuteness you want to get out of the way.
Have fun and happy posting!