Normal

Enter a room.

The ivory tiles underfoot glisten with a fresh wax by underpaid workers. Smeared across the walls is top quality gold and flowing beside the windows is velvet softer than a kitten’s fur, ruby in colour. Caterers with tight smiles and crisp suits litter the floor; carrying platters fit for any king’s head, reflecting the exquisite chandelier suspended above all the pretty little faces.

There are an abundant amount of people lingering about. Inside is lush with Gucci, Versace, Armani and Chanel. Luxurious women and magnificent men exchange words, laughter spills like wine and eyes sparkle like champagne.

Everything appears quite normal.

Off to the left corner stands a woman, idly chatting with others of her kind. Silver dabbles across her throat and cherry stained lips are stretched into a smile. A wedding band adorns one of her delicate fingers and by her side stands a seemingly distracted husband. Even though, her eyes like magnets are drawn to the relaxed man lounging across the way. Their gazes meet for a moment and her grin widens ever so slightly, indulging in a private joke, a just between them sort of matter. For it is quite normal every Thursday night to see that particular man. While her spouse played poker with the men from work, she would find herself enjoying the company of his brother. Enjoying it quite well, in fact.

Her gaze breaks and she rubs her husband’s shoulder affectionately.

Not only five feet away is a tall man, clad in a sharp black suit and the silver watch clutching to his wrist worth more than a life. Soft chocolate hair, his dark eyes twinkle with a natural sort of charm. A look closer, scrutinizing, there is a spot of red tainting the milky skin just behind his right ear. Tiny, just a speck of previous encounters, the blood of another who would never see the rising sun again. However, he chuckles smoothly and toys with one of his cuffs, relaxed, conscience undisturbed by even the slightest ripple.

To this man, it is quite normal to exterminate any threats to his prized possession: his company. Much too mundane for nerves, always one step ahead from everyone else.

And with that he casts another pleasant smile to the woman across from him.

Now much farther than the previous two, near one of the grand window panes by the back, there is another woman. Fiery red hair cascades in elegant curls. Skeletal fingers are placed gracefully on a jutting hip, cloaked by midnight silk. Marked upon her face is some sort of dainty expression, conveying what seems to be delight. A step closer and there is the faint stench of bile, masked by a minty fresh scent.

To her it is in the utmost normalcy, routine, for this woman to make frequent visits to the porcelain throne. The contents of her stomach never forgot to make an appearance, of course. Her throat tickles in the smallest way, right in the back.

She ignores it though, another chuckle rolling off her tongue as a man tells her a joke only the rich can understand.

Just a little bit further, near the entrance, there is the last man. Stress has carved into his withered face, but he manages to pull himself into a smile. He hears the words being spoken without really listening at all, glances thrown his way begging for approval, desperate. He nods slightly when it's his turn, swiping another glass of champagne from one of the many trays. In his being the last couple he’s nicked are mingling with his blood, a soothing sensation burning within.

This feeling is all too familiar, too normal, as much as nursing a bottle of his dear old friend, vodka, in the comforts of his office is not a foreign concept.

He feigns interest though, the young boy grovelling for his appreciation appears ecstatic.

And every one of them, from the first to the last, resemble everyone else. There is nothing remotely unique or special about them. They posses the accustomed mannerisms and their attitudes are quite the usual, their appearances easily blend in with the rest. Another piece of society, another stranger walking down the street. Simply four quite normal individuals.

However, there is a waiter, in the heart of floor, surrounded by all these normal people. With shaggy blond hair and an inviting grin, just another boy. Paying his way through college and trying to dig up some side cash for his girlfriend. But a second is granted, this whispers rise; my, what’s this?

Why, his left pinky- there in plain vision. It seems that half of it is missing.

Now, that’s not very normal at all.