CHAPTER THREE
It’s easy how desires can change while sitting on such a fickle platform. With her car parked and her front door abruptly opened this rang true. She embraced her flat. She didn’t love it or hate it, quite frankly her disposition towards the place was mainly derived out of necessity. She tried to make the best out of it, the unintentionally patterned wall, the depressed couch and the sexually frustrated bed. Despite what you might think Susan did attempt to clean the flat on occasion. Even though patches of filth were prominent, the main social areas were dressed well with empty tables and surfaces. Every so often an orgy of food would compile on the kitchen bench, but it would be eventually thrown away by Susan. It’s as if the place was in a constant conflict between the generic filth one would see from a fool, and the clean flats that leave a very empty and missing maternal feeling.
Susan didn’t mind the contrasting nature of her flat. In her head it created a small ecosystem that played with itself whenever she wasn’t looking. Something along inanimate lines.
She fumbled around the place in the same routine she did every day. Almost to the point that her boots created a leathery road from the fridge to the couch to the bed. Every inch of her movements were dictated by the prospect of the party. Her heels raised high lifting her body to a more condescending position. Shifting like a cartoon swan she went into the bedroom dropping all of her daily concerns. All that was left was the carnal lust for food and that itchy desire to join the party before it died from funding, but that didn’t seem too soon.
Each piece of furniture had some form of memory greased into the material leaving various stains in the same vein as birthmarks or wounds. A shadowed figure made out of alcohol printed itself into the folds of the couch embracing its foetal position. Every time her eyes swept over the darkly beige cushions soft memories re-ignited within her bones. Those thoughts always made her elbows quiver. She didn’t know exactly why. Perhaps because the stain looked so much like an actual human being, in turn she had to keep reminding herself that it was as hollow and empty as a photo. It was physically unpleasant for her yet she never felt the need to remove the stained cushions.
Not knowing who or what the indulgent party was for made it all the more tantalising. While pondering the possibilities she peeled a few layers off until she was in a comfortable skin dipped with pink perfume. The bedroom was decorated from what remained of her carefree attitude, which turned out to be an astounding amount. With the window open the room breathed in methodically brushing up against the faintly skin coloured curtains. The carpet was reasonably clean apart from an attention seeking whore of a stain situated right of the bed. There was a row of overtly sexual Russian dolls placed on the window sill embracing the erotic nature of their wood. The foot of the bed had a clear direct view to the front door of the flat, protecting the extension of her mind from intruders armed with brushes and home refurnishing catalogues.
Giddy with mature excitement she released it upon her movements. Eventually she decided to start at the wardrobe, obviously the arched establishment wouldn’t allow every Dick and Harry to roll in with cool cigarettes in hand. So she whipped the doors of the wardrobe open and revealed a dark and small collection of clothes including jeans and a few introverted tops. There was an immediate lack of colour to the clothes. A few of them even had holes sprinkled across the cloth.
A fine cut dress with money jizzed over every grain of the material is exactly what she needed. She only had one dress of that description. It was purple with white stripes sliding down the sides accentuating her healthy curves. A v shaped neck line eroded into the left shoulder leaving nothing but skin. It looked defined and proud, igniting anyone’s attention dragging it along the bottom of the dress.
She actually found the dress in a bargain bin at half price. It was hanging over the edge of some bucket filled with men’s summer shorts and sandals. She had no idea how it got there. Susan always liked to imagine it had some interesting story to tell. It was in a pristine condition further begging the question as to where it came from. Back-stories aside she plucked the dress from the railing and laid it out like a silky corpse onto the bed. Car alarms and barking played as the music to her very short dressing montage,
Next on the bucket list was food, which she entirely neglected at first. Resting her “expensive” dress on the couch she dug into a cereal. She didn’t usually need TV or anything else to distract herself as she ate. It’s not as if she had much to work with anyways. The internet was a reincarnation of a tortoise with erectile dysfunction and the TV was closely related to the cardboard box family. That family was always known for having a lack of ambition “sure if it’s the same shape it’ll do the job just fine.”
Three pairs of shoes in total allowed them to form a tight click between one another sharing the daily adventures of Susan and her toe ring. They weren’t particularly fond of the ring for it felt painful on particularly long walks. Her leathered boots got the most time with her, slowly being built as the leader of the small group.
There was a pair of generic sneakers whose scene consisted of parties and just generally social water hole gatherings. So in turn they spent most of their social life working with the vestibular system to maintain a passable amount of balance. Her regular black boots felt an immediate sense of loss when Susan put her high heels on and left the flat.
The car slid across the road simulating that of sliding down a wet mountain. Susan knew that the opportunities of the party were gradually preparing to return home. So she pressed harder on the car squeezing more speed out of the metal. As she neared the venue the street lamps brushed over her pale forehead. She let her hair hang loose over her shoulders pretending to be stiff with deathly fear that she would be singled out. She attempted to slaughter the fear in her head. All she wanted was to crawl beneath the wealthy sheet of the party and be unknown to interested stares.
The sound of the party bounced through the street. She decided to park the car a fair distance from the venue, as to not raise any suspicion. There was nothing of value in the car and it didn’t advertise itself as something to bother with which would have made it stand out a mile if she had arrived front and centre with it.
She found a shady spot to the left of a building ruptured by fantasies of the seventies. The car and the dismembered wall were placed with photogenic notions next to each other. If a camera had been present it would have made for a very interesting photo of Susan climbing out of the car. Probably even placed in some pretentious restaurant for the costumers to ingest as they looked at their food.
With only a few steps away from her night, she focused on the hits of her shoes as they reluctantly marched forward to the wealthy venue. Natural nerves emerged from her skin shaking her like a freeze. When the place was in full sight desire paraded through her skull with determined marching drums. They motivated her pace. Before she knew it she was walking past all the fanciful heads and facing the entrance.
Tail Page 3
