A Matter of Style or Death

- or: definitely NOT pretty in pink

By: Darkamber

Infernal chimes drag me brutally out of my blissful sleep. It takes me a few seconds to realize it's not Hell's Bells I'm hearing, but the doorbell.
I fumble around on the bedside table for my glasses, muttering grumpily to myself - shitty, unstylish, student type glasses, I really hate them, but can't afford new ones, and I'm blind as a bat without. Praise the gods for contact lenses though; you can't look cool and gothic with glasses on, especially not these kind of glasses.

"Yeah, yeah! I'm coming!" I yell as I stumble out of bed, my feet still half tangled in the sheets.
Gods, it's freezing in here! The central heating must have conked out again; it always does in January the stupid thing. I grab my favourite, knitted jacket and throw it over my shoulders, then shuffle in my slightly too large night socks towards the door. My nose feels like an icicle, and starts running. Bugger.

The person out there is still leaning resolutely on the bell.
"Will you stop that, you moron! I'm not deaf!
"Who's there, anyway?!" I demand to know.
"It's me, Shade! Let me in!"
I unlock the five security locks and open the door, grumbling: "What're you doing here, it's not even 12 yet! This'd better be important!"

Shade strides into the hall - perfectly beautiful, stylish and gothic as always - how does he do it, and this early?! It's obscene...
I hear a strange, strangled sound behind me as I close the door, and turn to see Shade looking at me, gaping in astonishment. Then he cracks up laughing.

"I don't" he gasps, "believe it! What're you wearing!? You're dressed entirely in PINK!!!" He laughs so hard he can't stand straight.
I can feel the corners of my mouth turning down. It's too bloody early in the morning for ridicule.
"A fluffy PINK jacket!" he chortles, "and matching PINK socks!"
I just stare at him, sourly; I fail to see the humour in the situation.
"Oh, and I love that PINK night-gown with the baby Mickey Mouse!"
Shade's getting hysterical; I am not amused...
"How adorable! It's just too CUTE to be true!" he shrieks gleefully.
Talk about overkill...thank you, Shade...kick me while I'm down...
"Wait till I tell the others at the club tonight about this!" He collapses to the floor, rolling around and howling.

That does it. If this comes out, my reputation will be vell and truly fucked; nobody will ever again consider me to be the coolest goth in town.

"This is the end of a beautiful friendship," I tell Shade gravely, as I pick up the walking stick with the heaviest handle from the stand, heft it, and calmly proceed to bash his head in.

When he finally stops twitching, I grab his feet and drag him into the kitchen. The cooker is heavy, but I finally manage to pull it to the middle of the floor. Then I open the trapdoor, which was hidden underneath, and kick Shade's remains down the stairs.
Now he can lie there and rot with all the others.
Pity though, he was quite nice - but a goth's got to do, what a goth's got to.

Damn, I must remember to put that mirror up on the front door, so I don't let people in before I'm properly dressed.
After all, there aren't that many goths left in this town...

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