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littlegothdog · 4 months ago

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The Goth Club

Although to some, the blanket of darkness draping itself upon our desolate town meant it was time to settle down, to slumber through the night with no second thoughts- for us, we came alive. There we were, the vampires of the night; with our hair, back-combed to hell and back and omitting the unmistakable stench of Got2b, we were ready to convene for our seance. It was truly a remarkable feeling, when the streets that were otherwise so lifeless were filled with the laughter of leather-clad young adults, faces plastered in a pasty white and echoing the lyrics to the likes of The Cure. For once, it seemed nothing in the world mattered, for it all became an alcohol-induced blur.

I had spent all day anticipating this night- in fact, I had spent my life anticipating it. Having moved to university, I essentially became a shut-in, not of my own volition. To some, I was too vulgar; to others, I was too weird-looking- there was always something, something that made people weary of me, of seemingly no fault of my own. Regardless, I had become looped in with a small group of goths, through a mutual friend who talked about Doctor Who a bit too much for my liking, but who’d been the first goth I really met on the campus, the two of us bonding over our love for The Smiths in particular, but also goth culture in general. It was with him that I would go on to attend my first goth club night, alongside some acquaintances who I grew to care for more than the man who introduced me to them.

I’d done his makeup to the familiar sounds of Andrew Eldritch’s growls, and as Eldritch hissed those notes, and as the hours passed, the sky began to sink to a deep, rich prussian, symbolising to me, at least, that our night was beginning, the night where we, the vampires, the blood-suckers, would stalk the streets, and meet in a gathering of sexual depravity, alcohol, and strangely, friendship.

For those few hours, we’d throw our heads back as the familiar warmth of vodka hugged our throats, guzzling it down with cheap sodas from the store around the corner. On the vinyl player, sat neatly surrounded by shot glasses and glass bottles, familiar classics spun and filled the room, providing a haunting soundtrack to our chatter, which, on the contrary, was lively. Every face in that room bore a smile, for tonight, there was nothing else, just us.

It felt like that. As if, we were coming out of hiding, and we could finally be ourselves, freeing ourselves from the constraints of the world. Although all it was was a pair of fishnet tights, snipped in the right ways to hug my arms, it felt like an act of rebellion, telling the world beyond me that no, I won’t do what you want. Tonight is my night.

Before we’d head off for the journey, in my drunken stupor, I’d created a concoction that would be sure to knock out even the strongest alcoholic, blending together whiskeys and gins, vodkas and rums into a sludge coloured potion to power us through the journey. After that, we set off. The night was black as ever, and I was ready to take it on. Of course, there were some mishaps- although we weren’t quite teenagers anymore, we weren’t quite adults, chained to the expectations that come with such a title. We peed in bushes, we hurled alcohol onto not only eachother, but whatever was unfortunate enough to be in our path- and it was beautiful. A display of carelessness, from a group of people who feel like they always cared too much.

Eventually, we made it to the club. The room, as expected, was dark, only illuminated by an ominous purple, and by the signs of the various alcohols available at the bar. It wasn’t the biggest room, but that was okay, because it didn’t matter. I’d been too transfixed on the music- oh, the music. As London After Midnight’s Sacrifice flooded the room, it was difficult to not be swallowed by it, by how those stunning chords flowed into eachother, by how it just felt like they took you to another world. Truthfully, the club hadn’t been the most popular; I could only really see about 20 people, but with the size of the room, we were pushed together, drenched in sweat and swaying side to side as the music took over us, hurling us into some frenzy of ridiculous dance moves and continuous drinking. There was nothing quite like it- like being in a room full of people who came here for a common goal, a common interest… To embrace their inner darkness, and to have it on display for all to see. Whatever path had caused us to end up in this room together seemed redundant, as we had each other’s backs tonight, and we were family.

That family tree, of course, included the bartender, and I’d made them very aware of that fact. Me and my friend had been chugging shots practically from the moment we’d landed through the door, and eventually, the bartender had to announce she’d ran out of shot glasses. Fear not, we were able to persuade her into using plastic coffee cups, avoiding putting our binge to an end. The music had melted away all of my concerns, all of my worries about tomorrow, about my bank account, about my future and my present, and replaced it all with a need to live in this moment, for, for the time, I felt at ease, and as This Corrosion blended into Monolith, I made sure to do just that.

My picturesque night had been shattered with the knowledge my best friend had essentially hurled his guts out on the rooftop. We’d already been at the club for hours, throats going hoarse from exclamations of ‘I love this song!’, or anything similar to that. See, I believe you don’t truly understand goth music if you don’t appreciate it in the environment it all began in, and that’s the club; without it, you can’t fathom how the bass just shakes the room, or how the melodies just make you itch to dance. I’d been in a hypnosis of my own until I’d seen my friend, stumbling over with an arm thrown around a security guard much more competent than him. Following them downstairs, it had dawned on me how much we’d drank- and the dread of checking my bank account began to rise. In a way, the illusion had been broken, the illusion of never leaving, of spending the rest of my days in this goth sanctuary, where we all pretended nothing existed. I’d called a taxi, deeming the night to be over- really, I had no choice. Had I left him by himself, he’d probably have passed out, whether it was in the club, or in a street he couldn’t recognise. Forcing him in, the driver commenced the journey, as my friend shook with the sharp turns of the vehicle. It had been evident he was going to throw up, and it had been a matter of when, not if. Unsurprisingly, I had been praying it would be outside of the car, but nothing could ever be guaranteed. It seemed, that the driver had also been praying for the same thing, as the car came to an abrupt halt just short of my address.

“ I’m going to need you to get out. I can’t have your friend throwing up on my car seats.”

“ I don’t know where we are!” I responded, reaching over to the front seat, from which he’d already ejected himself from, and opened the door besides my friend- who’d began to topple out of the side. The driver didn’t seem to give two shits, as he waited with the door open.

“ What if I get raped out here?” I then went on to exclaim, which was a perfectly reasonable question within my drunken mind. Again, the driver didn’t seem to register anything I was saying. Either he was deaf, or he didn’t care, and the latter seemed to be the more likely of the two. Swinging my friends arm around me, I tugged him out of the car, and before I could even chirp a final ‘fuck you’ to the driver, he’d already sped off, likely to pick up his next client, who was probably as drunk as we were, considering it had been 3am on a Friday. My friend, however, had made it hard on me- for he had fallen onto the concrete, and showed essentially no signs of life. 20 minutes passed, and even my relentless pep talks didn’t seem to bring him back, until I coaxed him into getting up through the promise of letting him stay at my flat. We must’ve looked crazy- smothered in white face paint and black eyeshadow, platform boots and mini skirts, stumbling around like maniacs.

My first goth night solidified a lot for me- my love for this subculture, in particular. I’d never been surrounded by people like me before, and for once, I felt togetherness. I felt completion and utter joy. I still feel the same each time I go.

#goth #80sgoth #tradgoth #writing #getting back into writing #I haven’t written anything in literally years #sorry #gothic #autobiography #author #writer stuff #writers on tumblr #writers and poets

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