Young lolita, Rosey McNaire, has spend the past three years of her life as an outsider for wearing what she loves. On one Saturday evening, her usual laid-back life suddenly gets exciting
Friday nights have never been exciting for me. While other teenagers in my school were most definitely at Connor Skurry's house party getting drunk, sweaty and sick: I was sat in my lavishly decorated bedroom creating an impossible shopping list on Closet Child. Friends often encouraged me to join them at their barbaric get-togethers but for me, the idea of someone throwing up on a £200 limited edition jumper skirt from Angelic Pretty makes me want to cry just thinking about it.
'Puss, puss, puss.' I cooed at my creamy-white Persian cat, who I had dubbed Mana in honour of the man I considered something of a God. She stared at me with her icy blue eyes like I'd said something insulting. Shrugging, I turned back to the steadily rising price on my computer.
I pressed my lips together and pressed my laptop screen shut. I leaned back onto my elbows and stared at my ceiling, on which I had stuck lots of little pink glow-in-the dark stars.
It did get a little lonely at times when you only had three friends and all of them were, in turn, friends with the type of people I find despicable. I didn't have any lolita friends, and I am currently convinced that I'll never find a friend to share my soul with.
I sat up and beckoned over Mana, making noises which could be interpreted as words on some level. Again, she looked at me, disgust twisted in her smushed-up face. After Mana decided to slouch off again, I decided to do some slouching of my own and trudged over to my bed.
It was nine thirty on a Friday evening and I had nothing better to do than embroidery. I was definitely born two hundred years too late. As I carefully wove the needle through the fabric, I was pleased to see a delicate garden scene coming together nicely.
'Oh shit, ouch!' I yelped as the needle pricked my fingertip. I glanced up at the culprit of my sudden jolt; a small trinket filled with beads had just fallen off my desk.
Fallen off the middle of desk? I felt my feet go cold, I've never been good with creepy stuff.
I hopped off my bed, leaving behind my creation. I entered the living room, and I think my wig might have been wonky.
'What's up, Rosey?' Asked my brother, tugging down one side of my wig as he entered the living room.
'My beads fell over.' I explained, 'and Animal Rescue is on in ten minutes.'
I didn't want to go back up stairs; I shuddered. Too creepy for me, thank you.