Shit’s always chill with your friends around. Partying and what not, personally I feel as though it doesn’t get better. How could it? What more do you need than your friends and a nice bottle of booze?
Everyone was at my house. Everyone was always at my house. It was the place to be eight of the seven days a week. It was like that because I always threw bomb ass parties. There was always liquor for days, close friends and more often than not plenty of tail. I didn’t have a large house, what I did have was a house though. Being a twenty something with a lot of friends that was all you needed to host a good time.
I had a shanty little 3 bedroom, one bath, single story house with a garage to smoke in. I have room in the kitchen for beer pong and room in the living area for dancing. It was a pretty regular thing to have ten or fifteen people over. I worked a decent job in construction, 7am-4pm each day so I had plenty of money to afford the shit I needed to throw down, and that’s precisely what I did. Every day I got home from work, took a shower, then it was time to hop on the phone and get the boys over.
Tonight was going to be a good night; it was Friday, which happens to be the best night of the week to party fucking hard. I’d already let everyone know I was home and it was time to head over. The next step for a solid Friday night is to see how many bitches I can bring over. I was in the process of texting and calling all of the usual ladies. More often than not I didn’t have much trouble getting them to head over because as we all know EVERYONE loves free drinks.
With the influx of people and the habit of drinking heavily that we all had; there was always a shitload of booze at my house. This meant that with the amount of partying I did, with the amount of people I did it with, I had built up a stock pile. In my garage sat two extra refrigerators; the first was completely full with beer and the second halfway there with its contents consisting strictly of liquor. It was to the point where I had legitimately contemplated investing in a third.
So far the guest list was made up of roughly 12 people. Nothing too serious but the number always grew a little after the night started. Living where I lived was convenient because the space between each home was large enough that noise never became an issue. Sometimes the party would move itself outside depending on the season… sometimes not if we were going hard enough.
Everyone had started making their way in. the friends, the friends of the friends and before I knew it there were twenty people in my house. Everyone had come to chill and have a good time. I still to this day can’t decide if that lifestyle was more awesome than depressing either way I came to find that good things never last, but the direct cause of dissipation would never seem real. To this day it doesn’t seem real.
Party. Fucking. Hard. That was our philosophy and we held to it. Beer pong in one room, strobe lights and dancing in the next. I had myself a part. I enjoyed poking my head between areas. It was almost as though watching other people have a good time was the immediate cause of my enjoyment. I was watching some random kill it on the pong table. He hit fire and was rolling into his final cup when it happened. Something you only see in bullshit Hollywood movies but now something I had seen the real side of.
I heard the sound in the distance, it was faint but the volume increased rapidly. The best way I can describe it is as though it were a whistle. Not one you would hear from a person, the kind you hear a car make when it isn’t running properly and it multiplied in volume exponentially, very quickly. What came next was the shattering of glass and what could only be described as an explosion.
There were at least 10 people in the kitchen watching the pong game when it happened. I can almost see it in slow motion when I think back on it. The table came off of the ground with the cups still perfectly in place all the way up to the ceiling smashing each individual cup. While this was happening I was airborne, covering the 5 feet between myself and the wall, less than excited for the coming impact.
As I hit the wall and slid down it onto my ass I was looking around the room at the people that had been there with me. The Michael Jordan of beer pong was face down with his neck at an angle that can only be described as awkward. His opponents head assumed the shape of something I would call cartoonish and these were the first two things I could actually take it. With a more prolonged survey of the kitchen I could see the body parts that had separated from their owners. There was an arm here and a leg there with appendages sprawled across the floor as frequently as glitter.
Those few moments felt like hours. In those moments I also realized that where I was also happened to be separated from the actual blast by a wall and I almost couldn’t bring myself to look at the carnage that had to be in the other room.
Submitted August 21, 2015 at 01:22PM by SayLem37 http://ift.tt/1TXkrMq shortstories
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