Wednesday, November 21, 2012


Light, not the light he moaned, wondering what time

Of day had arrived, his eyes yawning, half open and

trying to focus. He covered his head with the duvet,

his eyes closing again, trying to avoid the morning

glare. Still it pierced the bed clothes.

“breakfast will be ready in five minutes!” she shouted.

He heard the bedroom door close seconds later. She

left the drapes open, forcing the morning sun on him,

praising his hangover. Did his head hurt, thumping

his skull and brain, hard swollen from the after

affects of a bottle of wine and a few miserable

whiskeys, never again he swore. Warning labels,

water bottles, help, there has to be a tablet for this

he thought. Oh man, give me something, just ease my pain.

Christ couldn’t she have shown me some mercy, but to

leave the drapes open he thought. It was time to emerge

from his temporary coma. It was pain he felt as soon as

he lifted it off the soft pillow. Lowering it slowly,

he rested it, afraid of movement, just be still he

thought, this too shall pass. He’d read that

phrase in mary’s alcohol book, women and booze, fuck,

he hadn’t time to think. The one bright spot was the

drawer to his left hand side. Your not that drunk

he thought. Slowly, he eased himself to the side,

reaching into it. Heaven had arrived in the form of

an unused joint, which he now held in his hand.

The lighter was in his trousers, but first he had to

get out of the bed. Tip toeing over to the curtain, he

pulled them closed, finding immediate relief. At least

now he could open his eyes properly. Where are they,

they were not on the floor, his movements were slow and

deliberate, no jerking whatsoever. The shower he thought,

they had to be in there. Damn you tom Clancy, damn the

world, damn everyone, oh what a mess he sighed. 

Strewn all over the bathroom floor, socks, shirt, under

pants, even coins, what have I done, help me. This can’t

Be happening he thought, as he picked his favourite

trousers out of the bath, damp wet, what was I doing.

He felt the leg, the seat, before inserting his hand into

the pocket. Damp but not destroyed, the dry cleaners will

sort this out he thought, buoyed up a little, now that he

had his much needed lighter in his hand, and it worked.

I can concentrate on recovery now, his first smile of the

morning wide across his face.

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