250 Words: I go humble

Dancing and sweating and drinking it all in, the floor bobbed and weaved as the tracks blended together to ensure the excitement continued at its peak.  Sticky underfoot and in my stomach, I got bored of moving bottles to the edge and left the others to it, bought a drink and returned to the booth we were based in.

Which was where I was introduced to her: a pretty, drunk waif with a mild obsession for the fudge she offered all who sat at the table.  I was enamoured with her pretty quickly, was keen to impress.  She threw up the ball, asking me where I worked.  I told her with a certain amount of pride (I had spent years trying to get a job there, after all).  She said she thought she'd heard of it.

I really enjoy being knocked a little, having that sense of pride knocked from its pedestal.  A little smile is raised within me and I feel washed clean, fresh, alive.  It’s like a detox inside and out, washing away all of the dirt that can be accumulated along the way, getting rid of all that is a scourge to the soul along with its bile gunk.  It flows away in an instant so you feel kind of empty inside- in the most glorious way.

And so I grinned a little to myself and continued to talk while slowly eating a piece of fudge, a wee smile inside for the knock taken by my pride.