30 minutes have stretched into a week in my brain as I sit, immobile, across the old interviewer in the blazer. He keeps looking at me with skeptic eyes, of constant disbelief of what he’s seeing across him. I know his image of me. Void black, messy hair is most likely code for “secretly commits murder”. The Birthday Party shirt I’m wearing means I’m a cultist who sold her soul to Lucifer through my first rock vinyl. And oh, those fishnets? Those mean my veins are seasoned with drugs and booze.
“Can you show me the tattoo on your arm?”
I’m woken up from my trance for a second, just to move my body aside a bit. In my arm, Musidora as Irma Vep is immortalized, her arms stretched to the air.
“What does she mean to you?”
“...She’s just beautiful. Have you seen Les Vampires?”
He shakes his head silently.
“Have you ever considered the violent iconography of the musicians you follow?”
He starts flipping a clipboard full of examples - half of which are metal bands I’ve never heard of. What the hell does Judas Priest even have to do with this, I ask myself? I hear him spew “witchcraft” and “vulgarity” and “suicide” as he flips through album covers. I crack a smile to the cover of Siouxsie’s Juju album, which gets him saying:
“Do you sympathize with all of this?”
I stare at him for a few seconds before he turns his head away. I doubt what I meant is clear.
Gosh, dude. What a joke.
“That brings me to my next point, actually. Could you try to actually answer a bit more this time?”
“I guess…”
“Okay then… Do you believe that, uh… Since becoming a part of this subculture, your psychological state has been affected?”
“Oh, definitely.”
He stares attentively this time, and motions to ask for more words.
“Yeah, I believe I've been. Because now, I get bullied every time someone in my class catches me outside of school, and my parents keep yelling at me that I should dress proper and cover my skin and whatnot, and old ladies keep stopping in the street and talking some stuff about the end times and everything and… Well, guess it does affect me cause now everyone wants me dead, including myself, but that’s not my fault, is it?”
“But you do admit-”
I stand up angrily. “Ugh, goddamnit. How does this even help your article, dude? Just say I eat babies and spray me with holy water, will you? I’m done with this crap.”
I hear the interviewer call my name as I go to my room, as well as Mom rushing to the living room as I close the door. I can hear her saying “I'm sorry about her”. Hell, I can imagine the man’s article’s words. Something, something, devil worship, goths are crazy, kill ‘em all. I bury my head in my pillow as I realize this changes nothing.
stranger_loves t1_jbranpv wrote
Reply to [TT] Theme Thursday - Journalism by AliciaWrites
30 minutes have stretched into a week in my brain as I sit, immobile, across the old interviewer in the blazer. He keeps looking at me with skeptic eyes, of constant disbelief of what he’s seeing across him. I know his image of me. Void black, messy hair is most likely code for “secretly commits murder”. The Birthday Party shirt I’m wearing means I’m a cultist who sold her soul to Lucifer through my first rock vinyl. And oh, those fishnets? Those mean my veins are seasoned with drugs and booze.
“Can you show me the tattoo on your arm?”
I’m woken up from my trance for a second, just to move my body aside a bit. In my arm, Musidora as Irma Vep is immortalized, her arms stretched to the air.
“What does she mean to you?”
“...She’s just beautiful. Have you seen Les Vampires?”
He shakes his head silently.
“Have you ever considered the violent iconography of the musicians you follow?”
He starts flipping a clipboard full of examples - half of which are metal bands I’ve never heard of. What the hell does Judas Priest even have to do with this, I ask myself? I hear him spew “witchcraft” and “vulgarity” and “suicide” as he flips through album covers. I crack a smile to the cover of Siouxsie’s Juju album, which gets him saying:
“Do you sympathize with all of this?”
I stare at him for a few seconds before he turns his head away. I doubt what I meant is clear.
Gosh, dude. What a joke.
“That brings me to my next point, actually. Could you try to actually answer a bit more this time?”
“I guess…”
“Okay then… Do you believe that, uh… Since becoming a part of this subculture, your psychological state has been affected?”
“Oh, definitely.”
He stares attentively this time, and motions to ask for more words.
“Yeah, I believe I've been. Because now, I get bullied every time someone in my class catches me outside of school, and my parents keep yelling at me that I should dress proper and cover my skin and whatnot, and old ladies keep stopping in the street and talking some stuff about the end times and everything and… Well, guess it does affect me cause now everyone wants me dead, including myself, but that’s not my fault, is it?”
“But you do admit-”
I stand up angrily. “Ugh, goddamnit. How does this even help your article, dude? Just say I eat babies and spray me with holy water, will you? I’m done with this crap.”
I hear the interviewer call my name as I go to my room, as well as Mom rushing to the living room as I close the door. I can hear her saying “I'm sorry about her”. Hell, I can imagine the man’s article’s words. Something, something, devil worship, goths are crazy, kill ‘em all. I bury my head in my pillow as I realize this changes nothing.
Gosh… What a joke.