Where Did the Party Go? by Ben Hayward

We pushed him home in a shopping trolley.
He was choking sick and bile in to a bottle.
Interrupted by quiet whimsical humming.
Oblivious to the twitter of morning song

We came across a heap of trash
And took to decorating him.
Naturally we brought the camera out.
Laid him on the trolley, for the world to see.

The shopping trolley squeaked and whirred
As the drunk slowly rolled away.
Pushed by the force of gravity
In to some black ravine, never to be seen again.

Where Did the Party Go? by Sara Travis

She stumbles out the front door, unsure of whether the pounding in her chest is from the music or her heart. She shakes her head to steady her vision, and watches the gatepost dance in front of her. The nausea has subsided for now, but her anger is starting to boil over. She staggers down the path, reaching into her bag for the car keys.

“Don’t do this,” he calls after her, and she whirls around the spot. He’s leaning heavily on the doorframe, struggling to stay upright, his shirt unbuttoned and his flies undone. Despite the booze and God-knows-what-else in her system, she’s finally seeing clearly.

“I’m not doing it! You did!” She screeches. He winces. She sighs.

“You know what, just forget it. I’m not even mad at you, I’m mad at me. I should’ve known better. You and me, we’re just … we’re not … it’s a jigsaw, you know? And your piece doesn’t fit mine. And that’s fine. It’s fine.” She feels the bile rise up in her throat, but she swallows it down. She’s pretty sure that made sense. And that she didn’t slur at all.

“You can’t … look at you. You can’t drive. I’m sorry, ok? Come back inside, please.”

“No. I don’t want to stay, not now. You’ve ruined the party.” She gestures back towards the house, and loses her balance, twisting an ankle. He moves to help her and she shrugs his hands off. “Don’t touch me! Don’t – touch me. I’m fine. I don’t need your help. Go back, enjoy the party. She’s waiting for you.”

He steps forward. “I am not going to let you drive home. Come back inside and I’ll call you a taxi.”
She takes a few steps back, tripping over the paving slabs. “Why would I need a taxi? I’m not drunk, I had like, two drinks. I’m fine. Now fuck off and leave me alone.” She turns and aims a kick at the gate post as she passes. She misses, and ends up kicking herself in the shin.

He follows her down the path, tucking his open shirt into his jeans. “For fuck’s sake, just come back inside. You’re in no state to drive.”

She spins again on the spot, her hair whipping around her face. As she speaks she steps back. “Oh, I’m a state, am I?! I’m a state. Is that what you think? Poor little old me, not pretty enough or smart enough or nice enough to hold onto her fella. Well, fuck you! I don’t need you! I’m fucking fine!”
She steps off the kerb and into the road, swinging her handbag in his direction. For a split second his face changes, from anger and guilt to desperation, panic. She doesn’t even see the car as it ploughs into her.

Where Did the Party Go? by Solomon Blaze

You think you have so much; all of your little sticker books, cuddly toys, rare clothes, limited edition books, entire comic collection, the list of things I used to own seems endless...

My house burnt down, exactly a month before my eighteenth – it was very much my own fault.

I’d literally just held my first ever – and very successful I might add – BBQ at my place the day before; my parents had finally agreed to leave me alone in the house, after years of pleading I could handle it.

So this day, I woke up in a predictably stupendous mood.

I wanted to get stoned and just relax by myself for the day...but I had no lighter...

So I used a tea candle. I put it on the windowsill of my bedroom window and used the flickeringly evasive flame to lift my weary spirits, as my lack of worries went up in smoke.

I closed left the candle (lit) on the windowsill – opening my window to air the sickly sweet smell of grass out of the house – and closing the curtains (fuck knows why).

So, I’m downstairs on my computer listening to ‘Break Ya’ Neck’ by Busta’ Rhymes...when I smell burning...

What the hell, I thought in my stoned hip-hoppin’ head, the BBQ definitely ended yesterday...

I get up from the computer, taking my headphones off and don’t hear anything suspicious (believe it or not, I’d taken the batteries out of my smoke detectors).

At the bottom of the stairs, I look up to the top – as you do before you climb the stairs – and what do I see?

Thick black smoke, flooding the entire upper level of my house.

I run.

Up to the landing and through the smoke - which is already both blinding and suffocating me and grab the handle to open my bedroom door.

- Obviously the handle is scalding hot and I recoil the instant I touch it, my hand searing with pain and adrenaline now tearing through my veins; I’m subconsciously running through every single possible outcome of what I’m about to do...

I kick the bedroom door open, diving to the side to avoid the inferno that explodes out of the room, desperate for oxygen to keep it ablaze and alive.

The room is completely incinerated. Y TV has exploded and is melting all over the chest of draws that contain every novel I’ve ever collected, every photograph I’ve ever printed and every item of clothing I’ve ever bought.

The curtains are a wall of fearsome fire, roaring at me as I meet its gaze. Fucking hell, not again! – yes, I had set my old house on fire once, when I was ten years old...but not like this.

I immediately grab the first things that come to my mind: my phone, charger, Astrojax and of course, my cuddly rabbit that I have had since birth.

Then I move. I blast out of the bedroom, through the smoke and down the stairs.

‘MEEEOOOOW!!’ I hear suddenly pierce through the dense atmosphere; Oh shit! George! – my mum’s cat sleeps in her bedroom and the door was closed.

I sigh with frustration and drop the stuff I’ve saved, run back up through the now flaming landing, rip open the door and enter the very nearly smoke filled room. I throw my body onto the floor and peer under the bed, seeing two absolutely petrified eyes that call to the part of me that adores animals.

Despite his redundant clawing attempts, I managed to pull him out from under the bed, wrap him in my shirt and run back through the flames and into the back garden – where the cat promptly ditches my ass and I’m left alone again.

My cat, Toby, is sat on the garden bench, with no clue as to what’s going on; he yawns when he sees me, ignorance really is bliss eh?

I go back in, quickly grab the stuff I’d dropped on the bottom landing floor, go back outside, sit down with my cat and pull out my phone.

I ring the fire brigade first, of obviously, then my best friend Steve...

*ring*...

*ring*...

*ring*...

‘Hey bro, what’s up?’ says Steve nonchalantly.

‘Hey buddy...don’t be mad, ok...?’ I say sheepishly.

‘Why? What have you done this time?!’

‘...I did it again...’

‘What?!’

‘I’ve burnt my house down...’

In the distance, I can hear the sirens...

Where Did the Party Go? by James D. Irwin

The party didn't go anywhere. The party ever ends, it never moves. We just change places, spinning and spinning like a carnival carousel until you get thrown off. Sometimes you jump back on, sometimes you don’t want to. I don’t think I want to. My heart isn't in it any more. I'm tired. I'm tired of the games and the riddles and the threats. I'm tired of teapots. I'm tired of being suppressed. I'm tired of being tired. I’ll sleep when I'm dead, and I’ll be dead when I sleep. I'm changing places one last time.

Where Did the Party Go? by Lesley Whyte

I stumbled out of the bathroom. The doorway was a lot narrower than when I'd gone inside and I whacked my shoulder as I left. Actually, I hit my shoulder and bounced, thereby smacking the opposite elbow against the frame. More bruises to add to my ever-growing collection. I headed back down the stairs, gripping the stairs in case one of them moved again - I don't care what anyone says, sometimes they move.

The music was quieter now. In fact, I couldn't hear it at all. I could still hear the clinking of glasses and bottles, the hum of voices, but no music. Weird. Maybe someone was changing the track. The whole house stunk of sweat and sex and spilt drinks. There was a fug of smoke clinging to everything as well.

I went into the living room, tripping on the torn edge of the carpet - I really ought to fix that - and found my guests sitting on the furniture or standing in the corners, grim-faced. None of them were drinking or dancing - though there was still no music - and they weren't exactly dressed for a good time.

"Hey, where did the party go?" I cackled and made to put on some music, but someone caught my arm. I looked up and found my mother, grey and tired.

"Honey, this is an intervention."

Where Did the Party Go? by Nick Trussler

Empty slogans and meaningless banners,

Badges that once had pride of place,

Now have little worth.

Capitalism now dominates the hearts and minds,

The populace is seduced by the things they don’t need

And now those whose heads were once filled,

With dreams of a better future,

Of working for the greater good,

Now ask themselves,

Where did the Party go?

Day Ten

And today's prompt is...

Where Did the Party Go?