So I wrote this for my history class this past semester, and I liked it so much that I decided to post it here! :)

There's some phrases in there that I found off of Tumblr, that were supposedly used by flappers. I'll put them down at the bottom so that you can know what they are!

The wind was bitingly cold the moment she dared to step out of the house, as if it was her punishment. Her punishment for going against her parent's wishes, for lying to them; it was as if it was nature's choice of retribution. Sticking to the shadows she huddled further into her shawl, inwardly cursing her stupidity at not dressing in something warmer. So what if the style was to wear dresses that only went to their knees, with sleeves that were practically non-existent? Why did that mean that they couldn't find a nice, comfortable wool sweater?

The moment that thought penetrated her mind the young girl stopped short. It was thoughts like those that her parents were trying to drill into her head. Those were the thoughts that the older generation was trying to get the girls to believe so strongly, that they were so vehemently rejecting. They did not understand it was as simple as that.

With that thought in mind she nodded to herself, checking both ways before crossing the street. She was going to meet up with a group of her friends, and they were going to one of their favorite haunts: Gregory's, one of the swankiest speakeasies in town. Just the thought of being among her peers, the excitement of breaking the law and getting away with it was enough to bring her out of her momentary funk and help her to forget about just how cold she was.

"Come on, where are you?" she muttered quietly to herself, watching with vague interest at the puffs of air that appeared each time she spoke. In an effort to keep herself warm the young girl began to bounce in place, slipping her feet as far forward in her shoes as she could so that her heels rose out of her shoe each time she rose. That way, the heel of her shoe would not make unnecessary noise each time she landed.

Hearing a honk she quickly spun in place, a smile lighting her face the moment her eyes lit on the familiar car, the backseat already almost full to burst. "Jeane! I need to see a man about a dog! Hurry on in!" her best friend exclaimed from the front seat, clinging to the arm of her boy of the week as she leaned as far out of the car window as she could. Said girl shook her head at her antics, a light laugh escaping as she squeezed herself into the back seat.

"What took you so long, Dorothy?" she asked after acknowledging the others in the car. Her friend turned in the seat to grin at her, kneeling in the seat and draping her arms casually across the top of the seat, her arms from the wrist down dangling over the edge.

"We weren't that long, Jeane. What's the rush?" here her grin took a teasing turn, causing the other to stifle a groan. They both knew what it was she was insinuating, and it was not a conversation that she wanted to have yet again.

"Don't be sill. It's just a cold one tonight." Jeane said in defense, trying to play it off in a way that would not garner the attention of the others in the car.

"Oh, I'm sure that's it." Dorothy stated, and it was clear in her tone that she was saying so just to placate her. Jeane glared at the girl, a move that didn't faze her in the slightest. It just prompted the other to burst into a fit of giggles, turning quickly in her seat and sitting correctly. Jeane shook her head at her, glancing out the window to try and determine where they were—it should not take them too long to reach Gregory's from where they had picked her up.

Her thoughts proved true for minutes later they were pulling up alongside an abandoned building, which served as a parking lot for those who chose to go. Jeane always wondered how a multitude of cars parked outside of a building that others new to be empty wasn't suspicious, but chose not to dwell on it to long because why tempt Lady Luck to turn the luck out of their favor, and into the cops? As she slid out of the backseat, a hand instantly going to smooth the back of her dress down, the young girl looked around, taking note of the others that were also just arriving.

Grabbing onto one of her many acquaintances hands she let her tug her along, leading the way across the street and into the short line that ran along the edge of the building, blending in with the shadows and hiding them from view of the street. It didn't take them long to get in; Dorothy was popular with the men, and not in a good way. The promiscuity of the girls of her generations was surprising. Though it was 'in style' to be wanton and free with her body, hooking up with random strangers that she would most likely never see again was not something that Jeane wanted to do.

It may be old fashioned of her, but she wants to be intimate with someone that she has feelings for. Her older sister, Joan, was a lot like Dorothy—though she did her flirtations to make someone jealous. It did work, eventually, and now she was happily engaged to be wed, though still going out to a speakeasy almost every night.

Their parents didn't know that Joan was doing that; all they knew was that she was doing what good girls did and had a diamond on her finger. In their eyes, Jeane was the bad child. They knew that she was going out and doing things she shouldn't, but they couldn't prove it. And without proof, they could not accuse her justly. Her dad was a lawyer, and believed rather firmly in the innocent until proven guilty claim—not that that stopped him from getting her in trouble, of course. He may believe it, but he was still first and foremost her father.

The moment they entered the room a swell of voices hit them, their visibility instantly diminishing thanks to the smoky haze that permeated the entire room. There was a multitude of bodies; some at the bar, others at tables, and still some on the dance floor in front of the stage, where a band was always playing. Jeane had been here often since it opened a year ago, and it never failed that that band, with the same exact players, would be playing what seemed like an endless set list. She had wondered a time or two if they ever tired, but she figured they must not since they're always there. What other reason would they always be playing for?

Following her large group to the bar, she waited patiently for her drink to make its way down the bar to her; Dorothy never failed to order the groups drinks for them. The short haired blonde said that if they ordered for themselves, they would get something disgusting. It was best to 'leave it to the pros', something she said with a wink that always left Jeane curious as to just how she became a pro. Growing up, that girl was the most well behaved, goody two shoes out of all of them.

Smiling in thanks at the bartender she accepted the drink he was handing to her, taking a slow sip as she looked around the room. Most of the people she knew, by face if not by name. There was one person in particular that she was looking for; he wasn't the reason she wanted to get there early, like Dorothy had so teasingly implied—it really was just that cold outside!—but that didn't mean that she couldn't look to see if he was there.

His name was Alfred. Jeane didn't know his last name; it had never made its way around the gossip mill like his first name had. He was tall, blonde, blue eyed—all a stark contrast to her own short, darker colored self. She had inherited her dad's hair and eye color—brunette with hazel eyes—unlike her sister. Joan was that blonde haired, blue-eyed beauty that seemed to attract men like flies. She didn't resent her sister's looks, she was happy with her own. But she couldn't deny how bothered she became when her sister was able to get away with things just because of her looks.

A delighted grin seeped its way onto her face and into her eyes the moment she spotted that dirty blonde head, her eyes drifting to take in his suit, his matching fedora held in hand as he talked to two other men in suits. Now Jeane never wanted to be a moll, but she couldn't help but be drawn to the man. She knew she wasn't the only one who felt this way; she had talked to other girls and they all described their feelings in such a way that matched hers.

It must be how he became such a well-known Gangster in their neighborhood; so known that he had upstaged the group that had been here before. From what Jeane had heard it had been a violent affair. Of course, her source of information was Opal, and she was known to be a gossip—a very imaginative gossip, at that. One never knew if they could believe what came out of the red heads mouth or not.

Looking away so as not to be spotted she tried to find Dorothy; noting that she was nowhere to be seen she figured she must have found a struggle buggy. Just the thought had a light blush blossoming on her cheeks and she downed a gulp of her giggle water, wincing a moment later. She still was not used to the stuff, and already she could feel her head spinning. Setting the half empty glass on the bar counter behind her Jeane made her way out on to the dance floor, intent on dancing her thoughts away—it was her favorite way to just let go.

Time passed quickly while she danced; she was so lost to the freeing feeling of it that she failed to notice the tension that was slowly filtering in to the air, causing most everyone to tense. If she had bothered to pay attention she would have noticed the arrival of the rival gangsters, the way they not so subtly placed their hands on their guns, letting everyone know that they weren't afraid of using them. That they weren't afraid of hitting one of the stray innocent people that were just enjoying the night—people like Jeane.

She danced in ignorant bliss, not noticing the first drawn gun. Not noticing the way it was aimed towards that man she so longed, the look of hatred on the two men's faces. No, Jeane noticed nothing until the first shot rang, that loud scream sounding as the thud of a body hitting the ground rang through the now complete silence. There was a moment of shocked silence as everyone's attention was drawn to the two men, the sight of a man bleeding out to his death lying in front of them—a man they all recognized as Alfred's right hand man—a sight that made her feel sick to her stomach.

No one moved for a minute, though to Jeane it felt like eternity. Then there was a scramble of movement, screams resonating throughout the room accompanied by the heart stopping sound of a gun being shot. Bullets flew as bodies sought shelter, cups breaking and tables being sent to the floor. Jeane was almost to the door, so close that she could taste the freedom, see those stars shining almost teasingly—when a body slammed into hers, sending her flying off course and into the bar just to her right.

She gasped as she hit the counter, the edge of it digging sharply into her side. The small girl shrieked as a bullet whizzed past overhead, hitting one of the abandoned cups of giggle water and sending glass to shatter, raining down on the bar and over her. As she scrambled under the bar, doing her best to get away from the men that were so steadily making their way her direction, she had to bite back a gasp as one of the larger pieces of glass embedded its way into her arm, blood slowly gushing out.

The pain was overwhelming—how could something that small hurt so bad?—but she kept quiet, having to watch as more people fell. Looking away from the horrific scene she kept her gaze on the floor surrounding her, noticing to her dismay the blood that was slowly making its way to her. She could only watch in a sick sense of fascination as the blood and alcohol blended together, the loud noises of the building slowly dimming in volume, until all she could hear was the sound of her own decreasing heartbeat.

As her vision swam, tears slowly escaping and rolling down her cheeks, her body falling limp as it slumped against the wood behind her, she couldn't help the thought that she had brought this upon herself. She could almost hear her mom's voice, the sharp, far from gentle tones. She could just about hear her telling her that it was her own fault for being a hotsy totsy. As the blackness slowly seeped into her vision, that lovely thing known as unconscious calling to her, she could not stop the upward tilt of her lips. Whatever was calling her was no escape, but…it sure did bring her a feeling of weightless peace.

Okay! And here are the translations :)

Swankiest/Swanky: Classy

I need to see a man about a dog: I need to get wasted

Don't be sill: Don't be stupid

Moll: A gangsta's bitch

Struggle buggy: A car you had sex in

Giggle water: Beer

Hotsy totsy: A slut

Okay, so that should be all of them! If I missed any please, let me know! I realize the way it ended was...suddenly angsty, but it's what happened while I was writing it. I also did not notice at the time that I had used quite such strong...well, I probably should have paid more attention to the phrases I was using considering I turned this into my

Thanks for reading, and I would love a review! :)