Drunk on Emotions - 1,888 words

Anguish. This was all that he could feel. The very essence of his soul felt befouled. His heart felt cleaved. The news had shot through his being. It was an acidic volt that shredded throughout his body.
“No,” he stammered, “No, you can’t be serious”. His hand whitened as it gripped the mobile phone.
“Linda’s dead, Mark,” calmly repeated Susie. “It was a car accident. The other driver was drunk at the wheel. Linda’s mother told me just now. I thought you’d be the first one to know”.
Silence.
“Mark? Are you there?”
“Y-yeah” He shakily replied. “This is just a shock to me. I...” his eyes started to well up, “I just need some time alone”
“We all might need that time alone Mark. But eventually we’ll need to fall on others to get better, you know? The shock, well, hasn’t really hit me yet. The concept just seems so absurd...”
“I think I’ll go. I need to go”
“Don’t do anything stu-“ Mark had cut her off. Mark looked around. There were too many people in the park. He couldn’t cry in the open. He needed to get somewhere private. A cluster of trees stood to his left. Their hue leaves shook in the brisk wind of late autumn. He moved closer to them and leaved the half eaten sandwich behind on the bench. He stood among the trees. There weren’t enough of them at any good angles to cover him. What was he thinking he wondered? He sat down in the grass, dirt and leaves and dirtied his suit pants. His phone was still in his hand. He could only look at it, trying to distract his mind, trying to get a grip of himself – he couldn’t be seen crying in public.
The phone lit up and vibrated.  It was a message, judging from the one-second sound effect. It was from his best friend:
“Mark, I heard the news. Come around. I’ve got a six-pack”. Mark looked at the message, thinking for a second, trying to clear up his thoughts for a sane rational thought for just a moment, undisturbed by his overbearing emotions.
“I could do with a drink” Mark said to himself, numbed. He turned off his phone.
He unleashed a primeval scream, throwing the mobile phone against a tree and smashing it into chunks of expensive plastic.

“What’s the most potent thing you got?” said Mark to the barman. The barman gave him a funny look. He then sighed.
“It’s the middle of the day, you have no friends and you, uh, you don’t look too good” replied the barman, looking Mark up and down.
“Just give me a” fucking drink, he almost tacked on. Mark took a second to recalibrate. He didn’t want to be refused service. “It has been a bad day. I just need something to calm me down a bit.”
“I’ve seen this before” said the barman, “and it never ends pretty. I would refuse on ethical grounds but my manager is watching, so ain’t anything I can do”. The barman eyed someone behind Mark, but Mark didn’t bother looking to see who it was.
“I just... want a drink. Red Breast whiskey would do. Here’s my credit card.”

It had gotten dark. Mark lazily turned his head to look at the rest of bar again. It wasn’t very occupied at this point. Too early. He sipped his drink. He had been drinking steadily and silently. The barman was still around and was keeping an eye on him. Mark was very drunk at this point but hid that fact very well. Well, enough to hide his drunkenness from the manager, anyway. He felt a soft tap on his shoulder and spun around on his stool. It was a lady.
“Hey” she said, confidently. “I couldn’t help noticing you drinking by yourself. Could you do with some company?” It took a good two seconds for Mark to think of a reply. All he could mutter was a confused “...yeah?” She smiled and sat next to him. The smile reminded Mark of something. They looked at each other for a short moment.

“Well?” she said quizzically. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”
“Uhm. Yeah.” Mark hollowly replied. He gestured to the barman, who had been watching, to buy his companion a drink. The barman grunted and poured a seemingly complex cocktail for her.
“How... did you know what she wanted?” said Mark to the barman.
“She’s a regular. You see, she spots a man using a credit card, and takes advantage of his drinks.” He replied with a wink. The lady scowled but Mark seemed unmoved.
“If she wasn’t pretty it wouldn’t work” monotonously muttered Mark. He then sucked down the whole whiskey glass, despite it being a fresh drink, and slammed it down. He looked at the lady and smiled. She looked at him, puzzled. She then laughed to herself. Mark joined in, although he wasn’t sure what was funny.

They were talking. The alcohol had to be getting to Mark now. He couldn’t remember the last hour. He kept laughing and she kept laughing. That’s all he knew. She was drunk at this point, too. He remembered. He paid off her tab. She was thankful. She made the most of it. Now they are laughing. Mark couldn’t remember her name. She calmed herself down, still with a smile on her face, and sipped whatever the hell it is she drinks.
“Who even are you?” he asked. She broke out laughing again. Her cute little laugh. She prodded him with her handbag.
“You keep asking me that, and I keep telling you. It’s Dee.” She said, gasping for another breath.
“I’ll remember it now” he said. He knew it. She just laughed again.

In a blur Mark and Dee got kicked out of the bar. A bouncer escorted them. Too noisy, too happy, he thought. That bouncer is an arsehole, he thought. “That bouncer is an arsehole” he said to Dee, who was trying to keep steady on Mark.
“He is like, a m-million arseholes. All pooping at once” she said. Mark laughed. She cackled.

  

They were at the beach. Marks legs felt a little sore.
“How far did we walk to get t-to the beach?” he asked Dee, who was now being the support for Mark.
“We walked here because that bus driver wouldn’t let us on. The train security wouldn’t either. They are, like, a million assholes. All peeing at once”
“Pooping” Mark replied. They both laughed again, their throats raw. “They must be the bouncer’s brothers”
“They totally did both look ugly” she replied. “No wonder they’re shit at their jobs”.
“How far did we walk?”
“Uhm. We walked for about two-ish hours now? Hah. I forget” she swung her head around and looked at Mark, an eyelid half-closed. “You said you wanted to see my place. And I guess we walked too far”

Mark remembered his question again. He was lying down on the sand, with Dee’s lips upon his. It felt good. He kissed back passionately. They detached after a bit.
“You need to tell me some... things” Mark asked. “Why would you go for me? I thought... you were like, going to be a whole bunch of arseholes and steal my credit”. Dee laughed. Mark laughed back. “That bartender was a liar.” She said, scornfully. “He just wanted me to have a bad night because I rejected him.” She laughed again. “And now, why did I sit by you?” she whipped her hair out of her eyes, “It’s because”, she looked at him, with a grin, “because I really like you.” There was a pause. A lengthy pause. Dee licked her lips, slowly. “And maybe because loner-types make me so fucking horny” she breathed.

Mark stripped. They were in the bedroom.

Mark felt good.

Mark felt really fucking good.

“Oh, wow” she gasped.

“Uh” grunted Mark.

“Good job, Mark” said Dee, looking over at him. He was lying back under the covers. He was giddy, and he felt great. He felt exasperated. He looked over at Dee. She smiled back at him. Mark observed her smile this time, trying to think, wonder, discover, what the smiled reminded him of.

The smile reminded him of Linda.

Guilt. Mark felt guilt. He felt reality slamming himself in the face with a brick. He felt the same pangs again, the ever powerful sting and jolt of loss and grief. He felt remorse. He shouldn’t have slept with Dee. He shouldn’t have been drinking alone. He shouldn’t have been doing any of the things he did. If only Linda was here to set him straight. He looked over at Dee.
 “I should head home. What time is it? When’s the next train?” he said, keeping in character, reluctant to stammer.
“It’s eleven-twenty at night.” She mumbled, facing away from him. “You’d be able to catch the eleven-forty. The station is just up Heel Road” Mark quickly put on his clothing. He shouldn’t be here.
“Thanks,” he said, as he moved out of the bedroom.
“Are we catching up on Monday like we said? I really like you, you know.” Mark’s heart skipped a beat. “I’d really like to see you again. You’re an ideal guy, you know?”
“Cool” was all Mark could think of. “Alright, goodnight” he said and darted out the room.

Pain. Sadness. Remorse. Guilt. Anguish. It was the inner pain Mark couldn’t take. He sat there, sobbing by the railroad track. His head in his hands, he cried. His tears flowed out. He could not feel one more kernel of joy. He could not focus away these bad thoughts and feelings. They consumed him. He grabbed at his sides, whimpering, the hot tears down his face had long obscured his vision. He felt something in his jacket pocket. 

He took it out. A quarter of a bottle of vodka.

He drank it all.

Mark lay on the railroad track.

He felt a rumbling.

He saw the light.

...

The phone rang, both physically and within Deidre’s aching skull. She rustled out of bed, nursing her head for a moment. Her eyes watered and her mouth was dry. The phone continued ringing.
“Okay okay,” she said to no one in particular. She shuffled over to the telephone and answered it.
“Miss Deidre Wells? This is Officer Slint.” Deidre froze up. Did she do something last night that got her in trouble with the law? Did she hurt someone?

“Y-yes officer?” she stammered back. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Last night, close to midnight, a train killed a man.”
“W-What?” she gasped. “What does this have to do with me?”
“ He carried your ID on him.” The officer calmly replied. “Were you perhaps mugged last night? Do have any break-ins to report?”
“N-no” stuttered Deidre. She sat down on her bed and thought for a moment. “I did go out to the bar, if I recall. I had a bad day at work and” she stopped, “I met someone. We were just having fun. He-” Memories flooded back. She was caught up in a moment, remembering almost everything of her night.
“He what, Madam?” inquired the officer.
“He... I.... I loved him” said Deidre, trailing away.

Anguish. That is all that she could feel.

______________________________

Authors Notes:

Angst angst angst. That is the main theme behind this short. Well, not really. I wanted to write something along the lines of alcohol, regret and being overcome by emotion to such a degree that is self destructive. Well, I wrote it. I'm not all that happy with this story, but I am glad to have gotten it written out and posted. I tend to stay away from the angst-based stuff but for some reason its easier to write. Thus is the lesson I have learned.

The Redemption of William Winchester - Part 1 - 914 words

William ran his hand through his robust facial hair. His great light brown beard was gone, his sideburns were perfected and his moustache, finally shaped after a brief session of grooming, met his satisfied eye in the mirror. William emitted a cheery sound expressing his approval of such a gentlemanly display. His attention drew away from his now defined chiseled face and into the interior of his cell.

The walls were as blank and yellowed as ever. He knew every scar upon its surface, every spot that was more powdery than solid, and every dent he had inflicted in his darker moments. His eyes trialed past the wall and to the window which presented his only view of freedom: a radiant expanse of desert that was detailed with fourteen different dying bushes in his line of sight. What he couldn’t see was the harsh sun hovering out of sight. Frequently he would read a book by its side, any book, given to him by a certain member of the gaol staff. He thanked his stars for such a luxury. More often than not William would admire the setting African sun. He has gained a lot of respect for daylight. Finally, he shifted to observe the rusting metallic bars that were positioned in the very same place since he first entered the gaol six years ago. He would stare past them, year after year, rarely bringing them any attention. However, William gave his well acquainted home a good once over – he sure was going to miss such a room!

“William Winchester?” inquired a familiar voice. William turned to look at the warden. The warden’s exhausted demeanor ever-present. This Englishmen should never have left Great Britain. Then again, his orders are orders.
“I have not gone anywhere Captain Soren.” Moaned William, “The last thing I would want to do is attempt an escape on my day of release! That would surely extend my sentence further and turn me into a wanted man.” The warden sighed heavily and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief, before assuming a more assertive pose.
“It is not your day of release, Winchester! That is not for triple the current time you have served. You have been granted special permissions to have your release earlier than the intended date. I believe either our superiors have finally found a use for you, or perhaps, they maybe have grown sympathetic to barbarians who murder their wives?” Captain Soren paused with a malicious smirk, waiting for William to lash back, as was the usual.
“Do I annoy you so greatly, Captain Soren, that you, in such a flustered state, cannot eschew from using stale retorts?” quipped William, “You cannot bring me down today, sir, for I shall be rid of this asylum and can pursue the true murderer of my wife”. Captain Soren shook his head, smiling back.
“I am going to miss you, dear William, for our banter has been the highlight of your stay at Her Majesty’s Gaol.”  He said, almost nostalgically.
“Speak for yourself, dear Soren. While you could leave for home at the end of your day, I had to sit here in the dark until sleep would take me. While you could go home to your wife and children, I would sit in my droll block of rock, and mourn bitterly at the unjust circumstances that has befallen such a man as I”
“Admit that you enjoyed our conversations on books, however, for I do remember you making such comments throughout our talks. Do so, or I may ‘lose’ the keys to your cell.”
“To not admit such would truly brand me as guilty. However, I should bring up, that, you did give me many books which seemed to have previously been drenched in sweat, and reeked as such!”

“Bah! Be happy for the luxuries that I have bestowed unto you.”
“You only did so because, otherwise, you would not have anyone to talk to! You are such, I daresay, a bad-tempered and fragile individual. So many times, like now, I have treaded around eggshells, only to give up and stomp them all under my mighty boots!”
“You try my patience, Mr Winchester.”
“You should try mine, Captain Soren, for it seems to last one hundred times longer than yours, and more!” Soren let out a deep unhappy grunt to which William harrumphed to in return.
“Are you two done yet?” called a fellow inmate a cell over. His accent was thick with the Scottish tongue. “I’m trying to read one of Soren’s books and you two argue more tremendously than any unhappy married couple!”
“Sorry Bunnings!” Did both William and Captain Soren call out. William paused, and turned his attention to Captain Soren.
“You’ve already replaced me so soon, Soren? With Bunnings? For shame!”
“It takes that man a good day and a half to get through a book, and I thought ahead for tomorrow you oath”. William let out another harrumph, this time, in resignation.
“I think that is enough talk for now” said William rather sorely. “If you would not mind, my dear warden?” William gestured towards the gate.
“Barely gladly” replied Soren, wrenching the keys into the lock. William noticed the bars again. Blast, he thought. Habits surely never let up! The mechanisms inside the lock creaked into a loud cathartic click. The door swung open and William walked out of the cell with a great smile on his face, almost hidden by his moustache.

______________________

Authors Notes:

This beginning of the William Winchester saga had been inspired by my brief reading of the first few chapters of King Solomon's Mines. A literary classic, it follows the adventure of the famous Allan Quatermain who you probably would know from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen as the titular protagonist. I thought the idea of basing ultimately aristocratic Brits in an African setting would undoubtedly be fun to do. And fun was what I had writing this out.

I don't know when I'll pick this up again. Only time will tell.

Story One - 1181 words

I steadily came into consciousness. It is hard to say why. Maybe it is the sharp sensation reverberating within my skull. It is kind of like a hedgehog foetus rapidly maturing inside my brain. Or maybe it was my sensation of alarm, as if I needed to do something immediately. Either way, this sensation of coming to, it’s like one of those moments of realization. You know, that moment when you discover the obvious solution to some seemingly unsolvable puzzle, or when you learn exactly why a cryptic friend has been passive-aggressive with you, that feeling.  I opened my eyes.

Darkness. This is not an entirely assuring signal. I managed to move my aching muscles. It feels as if I had been exercising heavily. Or maybe that I have been lying here for too long. Motivated by the irritant in my head I manage to shift out of bed. I notice the coldness of the night. I suppose it was a bad night for boxers. I reach over to where the lamp is meant to be and swipe my hand through the empty blackness. I don’t find it. Getting up with a sigh I decide to just venture without light. I slowly creep around my messy bedroom, dodging and weaving around solid objects strewn throughout the floor. I manage to get to the doorway and find the light switch. I turned it on.  Wrong move.

I am blasted by the radiance of the single light bulb in my room. I should have anticipated this. I reacted by closing my eyes and murmuring to myself about nothing in particular. I stood around for a few moments, getting used to the piercing effect of the light upon my unprepared retinas. When I could tolerate the light I observed my room. The bed had ragged sheets that show that I have been tossing and turning. The floor is covered in books. I ignored the state of my bedroom and wandered down the hallway to the kitchen whilst passing the study on the way over. I flicked on the light and walked to the bench top. Half a glass of water was waiting for me, as well as a packet of aspirin.

I smiled to myself. It is almost as if I anticipated this moment to come by. I took the aspirin with a mouthful of water. As the water went down into my stomach it was then I realized how empty it actually was. I finished off the glass. I shuffled towards a cupboard to find it stocked with various canned food. Something felt familiar about all of this. I shrugged it off and just grabbed some tinned spaghetti.

I decided to eat in front of the television. I took my microwave-cooked meal to the coffee table and sat back. My headache was letting up now. I slurped the spaghetti down into my hollow digestive tract giving me the sought-after feeling of fullness. Delicious. I was so focused on my meal I forgot to turn the television on. I reach out onto the coffee table and I grabbed the television remote. I pressed down the on switch.

Static. I tilted my head at such a development. I licked away some sauce left on my mouth and continued to flick through the channels. Static. Static. Static. Perplexed by such terrible television reception I instead pressed the play button to see if any video was prepared. The television came alive with the visage of some politician or general. I couldn’t really tell. He had a fat face and possessed a very refined moustache which I almost admired. He sat facing me much like a reporter in the news. He cleared his throat:

“Hello sir or madam.” He said. I knew exactly what he was about to say. “This video is brought to you by Dech Steel, the best distributors in metal and metal products.” I mouthed along, “You have invested yourself in a middle-lower level private bunker and you are now hiding in your shelter until some kind of cataclysmic disaster is over. If you have selected this video, that means you are bored with your existence of mindless quotidian meanderings. At this point you would have read all your books many times, since, well, you could only access this video by answering our extensive quiz.” Memories flooded in of so much time spent with books, memorizing facts and passages. I needed something to keep me focused. I needed something to do. I remember passing the vault quiz. The vault is in the study.  The representative continued. “Due to your selection for a middle-lower level of bunker we can only supply a limited amount of challenges to keep you working and motivated to exist. We apologise for this, but you should have paid more.” I felt pangs of irritation. This was not how I wanted this to go. “We do, however, have kept large quantities of sleeping pills within your bunker. Use these to sleep your days away. It will help you keep your energy. You may only need to eat once a day. Do this until radiation levels, temperature or otherwise return to levels that are not deadly. Check these statuses every day.” I remembered the computer located within the study. It had such programs that told me of the surface temperature and radiation levels. I need to check that out. “We also implore you to take our experimental amnesia drugs.” The man held up a bottle of the stuff and rattled them, “if all else fails, this may allow you to do everything again. But then again, it doesn’t work for everyone. Good luck, citizen. May you survive so that humanity, we, can surv-“ I paused the video. I wandered into the study. The computer was on. I leaned over and looked at the screen.

I sighed. From what I read I learned that the surface is not habitable. I did a quick tidy up of the dishes left over from my meal. I filled up my glass of water half way due to the water filter being slow and sluggish. I should fix that some day. I left the aspirin with the glass and went for the vault inside the study. Inside the vault it contained many packets of sleeping tablets and a couple of bottles of those amnesia pills. I took one pill of each.

I walked into the lounge and rewound the video. I then turned off the television.

I walked into the kitchen and turned off the light.

I walked into my bedroom. I looked at the books. I couldn’t be bothered cleaning them up. I just wanted to sleep. I switched off the light.

I shuffled back into bed.

And as I lay there, waiting for sleep to come, I hoped that maybe this time the amnesia pills will kick in. I hoped that maybe, the surface will be habitable. And I hoped that maybe I’d have something better to do than eat and age and shit.

I slipped into the dark velvet dreamscape.
_____________________

Authors Notes:

Well we are off to a bleak start. Like many other people I am fascinated with apocalyptic scenarios, and I also tend to wonder whether there are any plans implemented by governments or corporations in case such things occur. A lot of people seem to think that surviving an apocalypse would be easy because the protagonist in these many works of fiction tends to survive. Zombies, Tsunamis, Alien Invaders - what have you, the protagonist pulls through easily. And since that protagonist is meant to be easily related to the audience, the average Joe, then people tend to put themselves in the shoes of the winners. If a true apocalyptic scenario occurred everyone would be drawn to self-entitlement, egotism and a sense that they'll fumble their way to success. This is entirely unlikely. Remember, a lot of people need to perish for an apocalyptic scenario to occur and we're quite likely to go to make this happen.

Rambling aside, this short story was meant to entail the hardest kind of survival: that of patience. I always imagined that being stuck in a bunker would be an agonizing experience. You'd eventually run out of things to do, and on top of this you may eventually run out of resources too. The short story addresses the pain of waiting for the dust to settle so people can get to rebuilding again.

If they get the chance.