Goths in Denim (I only dress like a Goth!) (1/5) By Jason Ince

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

'That can't be the time!' I scream, staring at the clock-slash-radio-slash-CD player. This is the last time I try a DVD marathon within one day, I'll kill Stanny for suggesting it to me. The phone starts to vibrate before the ringtone kicks in. It's Clark's tone...again, 'damn you, Clark!' I charge across the room and leap over the chair and snatch the mobile. 'Yell-o?' I ask down the phone, I don't know why I ask it, just the first thing I say down the phone sounds like a question. 'Freddy, you still coming tonight?' he asks, again! 'Yes, Clark, I am, and stop calling me Freddy.' I end the call before slamming my phone on the bed, why does it never bounce?

Ignore that, I need to get ready. Where are my jeans? I slam open the cupboard, where's my jeans? Black jeans, slightly baggy and plenty of space in the pockets, best put my phone in one. Oh thank god, I'm wearing them. Why do I keep doing this? Luckily my jacket is clean, for once. Long, black leather with silver buckles. Each one of my friends would easily kill for this coat, I'm sure Clark did. It's great to be wanted.

So after I slip into a T-shirt, that's truly dark, I have to fiddle with my hair. I turn to the spot on my TV where I keep my wax and it's empty. IT IS EMPTY! I'm going to kill her.

I charge into my sister's room and stand in front of her, blocking her view of the TV. 'Get out Franz!' she shouts at me, throwing her head about trying to see TV around me. 'Where's my hair wax, Steph?' I bark just as loud at her. 'Come on big bro, you know where it is by now.' I snatch the wax from the top of her TV and start to stomp out of room. 'And don't call me Franz!' Everyone has their name for me. Hopefully I won't hear my mam's this evening.

So the hair, let's spike it in all and every direction possible. Ever since the hair cut though it has been quite hard. I'm running out of wax, I'll have to buy more when I find a free moment.

Now the make up, I'll go for something subtler tonight. Dark blue lipstick and eyeliner will be fine. My sister steals my hair products but not my make up, something strange there. The big-ass Goth boots are the worst, ten buckles a piece, and stiff leather, but they do look astonishing on me. Note to self: stop sounding camp. 'Dang!' I exclaim staring at the clock, ten minutes until my taxi and my mam's still got my wallet. I've got to stop letting her look after it, wait, no I don't. Lord knows what I'd do if I had free reign with my money. I snatch my coat and bound down the stairs with the taxi driver outside, early for a change, bibbing his horn in time with my first few steps.

Continued... Next Page (2/5)

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