Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"I guess I'll never learn, I'm sick of being told to wait my turn..." ♫ Fatlip by Sum 41.
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"Birthday party tonight at seven! The meetup address is on the paper. Drinks, dancing, and music. Come by and get absolutely smashed mate, here you go, tell your friends." I shoved a flyer against the chest of a passing by rollerblader and ran down the steps of the skate park, tossing another at a brunette girl with a helmet stuck under her arm.
We took a train to South London where all the party people were, and so far, I'd passed out fifty or more flyers to people of age at day bars, skate parks, restaurants, and college campuses.
We were lookin' at one helluva turnout.
"Come get fucked up! Booze on me, girls'. Here you go, here you go..." I passed out a string of papers to a line of college girls' in bikinis' headed for the local shops.
"Well, I'd need a date." One girl smirked.
"Happily taken, sweetheart." I backed up.
"I don't see a ring." She put her hand on her hip.
"That's 'cause it's on her finger!" I wiggled my own and when her shoulders shrank in defeat, I laughed and spun back around, "Party in Manchester, boys! Take a flyer or fuck off!"
Screaming at people dressed how I was, didn't give off the most cheery disposition or welcoming vibe. I was well aware I looked and sounded like a creep or a psychopath.
Cher had to teach me how to approach people and how, quote 'not to smile like an axe murderer' before we left the hotel. But, she had the same resting bitch face that I did. And if you asked me, hers was even more fierce.
"Alright, alright! Break it up, boys!" I whistled when I neared her crowd of guys, all flocking around her like piss-smelling birds. I stopped a few feet away and stuffed the rest of the flyers into my butt pocket and then crossed my arms.
The crowd broke up a bit and I saw Cher leaned against the half-pipe, passing out a few more flyers with a cigarette perched between her lips. They were chatting her fuckin ear off.
"So, you'll be there then?" One blonde flirted unashamedly.
"No..." Cher said sarcastically, "I'm just passing out flyers to a party that I'm not going to."
He laughed it off, "Well, I love a girl who likes to party."
"And I love a man who doesn't speak," She snatched his flyer away, "You're blacklisted. Do me a favor, and ask Santa for a brain this Christmas. I'm sure the world will be better for it."
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
I was proud of myself for keeping my composure.
Before, I would've wanted to grab one of their skateboards, rip it in half, and hit them with it until they were crying on the concrete, covered in their own blood because, why the fuck was he talking to my Cher? Who was he? Where was he from? What did he want? What was he really thinking about and what was he gonna do to her if I wasn't there to protect her from the threat he could pose--
