#i will be using this platform for the strike all week. my queue is paused.

[hufflepuffwriter]

some writing

So for my English we had to do some creative writing, and we had to describe a party. I thought oooh what if I do a 1920s one, I’ve been meaning to do a 1920s story for ages, and it’ll be a bit different, but then the inspiration image was from the flipping Great Gatsby! But I stuck with my 20s theme, and I have a whole backstory planned for it. This is one of the first times I’ve really put my writing on a platform where everyone can see it, so let me know what you think!

I throw open my balcony doors, and the sight takes my breath away. The gardens have been completely transformed. The pool is lit up, rose petals scattered abundantly across it, and flamingo-shaped floats bob up and down in the water. The maze is festooned with twinkling fairy lights, creating a path to the centre where a grand piano is set up, and a woman in a beaded dress is playing a passionate piece of music. Among the shrubs, blush-pink sofas and chaises are hidden, where guests are already reclining with a drink in hand. Softly lit round lanterns are strung overhead, on wires so thin it looks like they’re floating. A magnificent cocktail bar is by the poolside, with a gleaming marble countertop, and rows of glass bottles crammed onto shelves behind. The queue for this stretches round the side of the garden to the real highlight of the party - the walled orchard. The trees are hung with ribbons and tiny ornaments, and more lights are twisted among the branches, creating a fairy-like atmosphere. Small nooks and corners are filled with yet more sofas, this time olive-green. In the centre of the orchard, an enormous dance floor has been created, and on a raised wooden stage in the corner, a jazz band are playing, the music thrumming through my soul. 

I pull on my shoes and, with a last swipe of red lipstick, hurry down the stairs, my heels clacking on the marble steps. At the landing, I pause again, taking in the sight of the downstairs. Guests fill the space, a bustling, dancing throng of sequins and feathers and satin. The hallway is decorated with gold. Streamers, balloons, everything you could possibly think of and more. The fountain in the centre is flowing with champagne. An orchestra is set up on the mezzanine, playing a fast-paced song the crowd are loving. Even the glass elevator in the centre is done up with lights. I spot Florence, clad in a daringly short gold fringed dress, in the middle of the dance floor, holding a glass and laughing wildly. She tilts her head back to look up at me. 

“Clara!” she calls. “Come down and join the party!” 

I gladly obey, weaving my way through groups of guests clustered up and down the stairs, until finally I’m with her at the main door. 

“Did you really arrange all this in two weeks?” I gasp incredulously. “It’s amazing!”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Not just me. Marjorie helped a lot.”

I gasp again. “Marjorie’s here? No!”

Florence nods smugly. “Oh, yes she is. I knew you’d be pleased. The whole gang back together at last!”

I smile wickedly. “Well, in that case... what are we waiting for?” I grab her hand and lead her outside. 

We make our way toward the bar, the crowd parting for us, which gives me a little thrill in my stomach. Florence orders, thrusting a pink drink into my hand a moment later. I take a reckless gulp and feel the bubbles rushing to my head. From then on, the party becomes a little blurred around the edges, the colours a little more vivid, but I don’t care. We pull off our shoes and run into the orchard, just as the band strikes up a new song that everyone cheers at, and pushes onto the dance floor. The music is so loud it’s vibrating through the floor into my body, urging me to dance. Florence reappears by my side, not that I’d realised she’d gone, this time accompanied by a head of striking red hair. 

“Marjorie!” I squeal. “You’re back!” 

“And so is Daniel,” she replies, squeezing me into a hug. “He’s with Jack and Oscar, in the maze.”

I look at her fully for the first time in weeks. She’s still as beautiful as I remember, deep green eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion. Tonight she looks stunning in a rose-coloured sheath dress, which shouldn’t work with her hair, but really, unexpectedly, does. Kohl lines her eyes and tiny pink silk rosebuds are pinned above her ear.

“Let’s not go and see them yet,” Florence says. “We’ve only just got here. Come on! Dance!”

We wind our way into the middle of the dance floor, and I feel, tonight, that for once it isn’t just my friends turning heads - it’s me too. We are the life of the party, Marjorie luscious in pink, Florence with her tanned skin and curling dark hair, and me, in a blue and green sequin dress that catches the light like a mermaid’s scales, sending rivulets of gold running through my mousy hair, pinned up with a pearl clip. We can dance until the early hours, we can drink endless cocktails, we can laugh and sing and shout as much as we want, and nobody can stop us, nothing in the world could make us tired. 

Eventually we find ourselves dancing our way out of the orchard, making our way to the poolside where we find the boys laughing and joking, seated on the leather bar stools. Daniel lets out a low whistle when he sees us. His copper hair is made darker by the oil he’s slicked through it, and he’s wearing a moss-green necktie the same shade as his and his twin’s eyes. He’s playing with the chain of a gold pocket watch. Oscar glances up from behind hooded eyes, white shirt sleeves rolled up. He murmurs a greeting, then resumes talking in a quiet voice to the bartender, one dark eyebrow raised. He taps out the rhythm of the music on the countertop. 

I try my hardest not to look at Jack. 

He makes that harder by tapping me on the arm, the light touch of his fingers zinging against my skin. 

“Clara,” he says in greeting. “I haven’t seen you for a while.” 

I stammer a reply, trying to avoid his gaze as long as possible. But I can’t do it. I raise my eyes to his face, taking in his earnest, open expression, his messy dark blonde hair, the hazel of his eyes. Though he’s Florence’s brother, he looks nothing like her, except maybe in the shape of the lips, the set of the chin. 

Marjorie moves silently up behind me, arching eyebrows quirked. “Jack...” she says, in a slow, soft voice. “How are you? I’ve missed you.” 

She reaches forward to take his hand in greeting, and my nails dig into my palm. I turn sharply toward the bar, and ask for another cocktail. I take a long sip pointedly, the headiness of the alcohol turning me dizzy. 

Florence taps her long nails on the counter abruptly. “Enough chit-chat! This is a party, and we’ll have enough time for catching up tomorrow!”

“Hear, hear!” Daniel cries. “I say we get ourselves lost in the orchard, and dance ourselves silly!” 

He moves as if to take my arm, but I dodge subtly out of the way and run with Florence back toward the orchard steps, laughing as my last cocktail takes hold. The pearl clip is long gone. We turn the corner among the trees, and, impulsively, I grab a pear from a branch, biting into the sweet flesh, and flavouring the world with the scent of the sticky juice. Jack follows my example, and so do the rest, until we’re all eating our fill of fruit, dancing around one of the sofas, hearing faint strains of the jazz band and singing raucously along. 

Feverish, we race back to the main garden, and to me there could be nothing more natural than diving into the rippling blue pool. The cool water closes over my head, and I push off the bottom with my feet to rise back to the surface, head tilted up to the sky, rose petals floating around me. My friends follow suit, gasping at the cold. Our eyes gleam. This is what freedom feels like, we think. Everything is forgotten, and we have not a care in the world.

#writing #writer #1920s #story #storyidea #writing prompt