Meat

A man who holds the highest degree of worth, a miscreant and one who boasts of his prowess, these men are amongst many whom I notice at the party. I proceed aimlessly through the throngs of faces, some faces not all together unpleasing, and notice with innocent delight that I am one of few woman at this gathering; therefore I hold a certain mesmerism; a curiosity.

With insistent rapidity I begin chatting with these men, batting my lashes at them; sounding false, seeming sincere and interested.

Stiff conversations here, a roar of laugher there and me; rooted to the spot where I stand, surrounded by the more negligible sex, sporadic glances from mine.

I look around and search facial expressions, and eyes, collecting thoughts; tallying up.
I see raised eyebrows, arrogant smirks – the worst kind.
I watch body movements, the unspoken language, and the obviousness of it; if it weren’t so vile it might be almost pure.
My delight disappears instantaneously and instead of feeling like the prize, I feel like a whore.
I’m on display, on show; on sale to the highest bidder, and the madam of the house is me; the boss and the goods.

The air around me begins to smell; it begins to reek of something meaty, something unclean and unromantic.

It stifles me and I push past the large bodies, stepping on a few toes along the way, and I bump straight into a man so spectacular looking, yet I see a look behind the magnificent colour of his eyes and suddenly he is repulsive. I push him out of the way, in desperate need to escape this cliché.
I can feel the disgusted expression on my face taking form, holding firmly in place as I pass man after man after woman after man. I can tell freedom is just up ahead as I feel less of the heat created by the bodies and the breath and more of the cool night air streaming in from the entrance way.

The pungent smell of desperation leaves my nose as the night takes its place. I am alone on the street amass with revellers and out here it doesn’t seem so bad.

A shiver makes its way down my spine as I blow into my hands in an attempt to warm them. The night is over for me; a few things are over for me in this moment.