It wasn't upon entering the ballroom that I felt an instant surge of loneliness; but rather upon entering a crowd of familiar faces that I felt instantly on guard, and at the same time, defenseless. It is so, as I have conditioned myself in such a manner, that I retreat into a particular character while surrounded in rooms full of people. That character has many perceptive inclinations that may betray themselves at any moment. I see a girl near the bar in a turquoise sweater holding her drink level at her waist, so low and at such a downward angle that it is nearly spilling, that I assume the personified mindset of the floor below her, rather than the physical being that I temporarily occupy. I look up at her glass. I observe the swishing of the liquid through the crystal and instantly feel the despair and shame I have undergone after having drinks spilled upon myself in the past. The stains they have left on my freshly pressed shirts and dry cleaned suit jackets; the embarrassment that ensues after all eyes became fixed on the incident that has occurred. The spill-ee, at most, offers condolences. Sometimes they will attempt to dab at the spill with any cloth nearby to absorb some of the liquid, but mostly, they just apologize and continue on with any conversation or movement they were partaking in prior to the spill. So observing the girl at the bar spilling bits of her drink onto the freshly polished floor, thinking of the time it took to make the floor presentable enough for such an upscale gathering as this one, I cannot help but feel despair projecting itself over my white wall of sympathy.

Generally upon entering a crowded room such as the one I had found myself in, I make one of two choices; leave, or stay. As forward and blunt as those choices seem, fundamentally those are the choices I must first deliberate. To leave is to give in to loneliness. Generally, I accept that if I'm in a room full of people there is no fun for me to be had, but on particular occasions I forge vague potential occurrences, and am thus predisposed to stay. These potential occurrences range anywhere from meeting a girl to getting blackout drunk, and usually the occurrence at the forefront of my mind if the former. To meet a girl at a crowded gathering such as this one seems fairly easy-there are hundreds of girls, most of them already drunk, thus more vulnerable to my lacking charm, thus more likely to give way to my passings-but generally my attempts at courting a woman are to no avail. Upon arriving at a crowded room, it is likely that everyone has already picked the group of people they will be spending the night in conversation with, and they have already formed an impenetrable circle, all standing shoulder to shoulder, barring anyone from penetrating their wall of camaraderie. Circles like these are why gentleman like myself never get laid. The men in the circle immediately take on the roles of protectors. If one man is to approach a woman in their circle and ask her to dance or if could buy her a drink, he is immediately confronted by the alpha male, and then surrounded by the lower ranking males (the ones with less perfect jaw lines, paler colored eyes), and then questioned on his intentions. These men don't even have to know the girl, or know her for more than twenty minutes, for once she is entwined in their circle of camaraderie, she is theirs to protect. I have come to terms that no man on this planet wants me to get laid. No one wants anyone to get laid besides themselves. Not me. If I am engulfed in one of these said circles, I offer up any woman I don't have my eye on like a lamb to a wolf. I hope he ravages her and reaches the level of satisfaction he was aiming for. I hope his orgasm is magnificent. I though, am not like other men, I suppose.

On appearance alone, I have it in me to court a young woman. I have the jawline desired for mating, the blue eyes, the bloodline and perfect health-but these are not the characteristics which predispose one for sex while at a party-it is often the intangibles that lead to the seduction and affair. These intangibles are always changing, and vary based on the girl you approach. I lose my cunning upon entering conversation with a female. I lose my intelligibility, my desire, my words. I step upon the stage and someone drops my pants and someone rips of my shirt and there I stand; naked, bruises, hairy thighs, strange toes, crooked teeth, and everyone looks away. It is when their eyes are no longer fixed upon me that I feel free to express my being. It is then I recognize the nothingness. I no longer see a crowded room. In their faces I sense sympathy such as my own-such as my sympathy for the floor and for the dirt and children and everyone I know. I feel sorry for everyone and I shouldn't because at that moment, I don't even feel sorry for myself. At once I take part in everyone's circle of camaraderie. I am the chain that links them all together. Without my loneliness they have nothing to be happy for. That in itself is enough to make me smile, and go home feeling less alone.
Last edited by rushmore at May 9, 2011,
Damn. Up until the last paragraph, I was really honestly bored by this because without that last paragraph, this is boring. It all wraps up nicely though, right there at the end. One complaint I think is that the diction here is uncomfortable in places, perhaps a little too elevated, I mean elevated is alright, but in places it gives the vibe that you're trying way too hard. But then again the contrast between that and the use of the term "laid" is an entertaining little quirk.

In the end though, I also applaud this. The ending makes it worth it.

I have a piece posted, "Air Bud's application to Made", feel free to go read it if you have the time.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
Thanks (dick). I agree that it's boring up until the last paragraph (and awkward in places). I'm basically just writing longer pieces like this to exercise my descriptions and imagery in practice for writing a novel/novella.

I think it's more so that I'm not trying hard enough, and that's how it comes across a bit clumsy. I don't revise or rethink (at least not in this piece) and stream of conscious writing isn't always the most coherent.

I agree with your critique though, and you're not really a dick.

I'll check yours out right now.