At the first sign of daylight, he roused, or rather scrabbled frantically around his bedroom floor, searching for anything that vaguely resembled a cigarette. A soggy packet of Marlboro lights sounded the rescue, nestled under half a pizza and a pair of silk (and bolognese sauce) boxer shorts. The pile of clothes in the corner paid tribute to the carnage that was last night. Thankfully there was no evidence of any other human life present. Which given past dalliances with the evil beast liquor, was really quite remarkable. 1
So, cigarette lit, he retreated to the paradise more commonly known as 'bed'. The mother of all headaches kindly stamped all over his protesting mind. It always amazed him the clarity that came with inebriation (or rather with its after effects). Drunken musings cleared slowly to reveal logical conclusions that, even in this half suspended surreal state, made perfect sense. It was his firm belief that Einstein must have had one hell of a hangover when he discovered the theory of relativity. Obviously this meant it was his DUTY to the human race, to consume copious amounts of alcohol, if only to maintain his current level of genius. His mothers questionable but somewhat watertight opinion on the subject managed to penetrate the unbreakable barrier that was his conscience. Alcoholic? Ludicrous. Just ludicrous!! She also liked to remind him (at regular intervals) that the many 'JD and cokes' he drank, would more likely kill an inordinate number of brain cells, than speed his acceptance to MENSA. Intelligence Schmelligence was his HIGHLY mature answer to that. The truth was, life was a bitch to him 99.999 per cent of the time. There really was no getting away from the reality. Alcohol merely offered a helping hand to guide him through (or was that into?) the darkness. 2
He yawned.3
God it was hard being a complex yet equally gorgeous young thing. (Self appreciation had never been a talent he lacked). Even red eyed and pale skinned, he knew he had enough sex appeal and animal magnetism to make the ladies hearts flutter. Yet physical appearance bored him. A slave to the flesh as much as the next man, he basked safe in the knowledge that the key to the heart lay deep in the mind.4
Somewhere out there lay his muse. In a perfect world, she would be by his side, loving everything about him, hanging on his every word, spoiling him with his hearts desires. In a realistic world he'd be happy if she went down on him once a week!?!?!5
Shaking away the fog of daydreams he grabbed the bottle of 'JD' last seen keeping his socks company. Liquid comfort spread quickly and held on with vice like grip, smothering the numbness that threatened to invade his calm. It seemed rude not to smoke in the company of such serenity, so he quickly lit his second of the morning. Beggars cant be choosers echoed around his mind as his body embraced his addictive yet fickle mistresses. 6
Lying back he closed his eyes and floated, his last thought before sleep carried him away.7
Sometimes life was GOOD.............. 8
Author notes
Okay I really REALLY want some help with this. This is the first short story I have dared to post. Didnt know what theme to put it in, as I wasnt sure which it fitted. Maybe young adult? ANY advice critical or not is most welcome so please comment!!!
Lisa x
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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good
You must know the characters personally,you nailed it? -
I was going to say my kinda guy, but coke in JDs no bloody way straight or not at all, and as for the once a week thing
nowhere near enough
or is that me dreaming out loud again lol
and if Einstein was hungover what about Freud?
What can I say hits very close (perhaps too close) to home,
are you stalking me? LOL
Jules. -
All right. You suck. I've been trying to write something of this nature that flowed this well for literally years. Really, years. I have made several attempts at prose / short stories, but they've all come out choppy and, while forceful, forceful in all the wrong ways. This, to me, was as comforting as the Jack Daniel's whiskey your character consumes with such alacrity. I can't imagine doing something to change this. It's absolutely brilliant, and though I tend to be nice with my comments to those I like, I really do mean it this time. It's better than anything I've done as yet, and with my ego, that surely means something. Thank you very much for setting the bar...I will try to top it one day.
-Z/A -
something like punch drunk love almost...
But hey waking up feeling like you're on medicine isn't always a bad thing
I remeber a hang over, never had a drink that Id idn't like...
But this was sucky...
I hated it, not your poem, but being hung over..
Not like that has the least bit to do with it, but yeah. -
There is a paragraph right after "He yawned." that somehow, well nevermind. I thought it was funny and liked it almost too much.
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I really like this. It is real - i swear i know this guy! I dont think you need too much help with it. But i dont think it needs a sequal - it stands well alone! Well done
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Dean Koontz shift over theres a new writer in town.
This is really good Lisa, I like stories that get me into it with in the first few lines. You have a good idea here, hope that there is more to be added. If so lemme know will ya??
Natalia -
EXFANTABULOUS
Heh! This is actually quite alarming. Although it's entirely brilliant at the same time. The whole piece has such an easy flow to it and the self-relflection makes him seem so much more selfish. I know we all reflect on 'self' from time-to-time...some more often than others...but only when you realise you're doing it does it truly became something that you're aware of.
I'm only learning the 'skillz' myself at the moment, so I can't really give you any hugely justified criticism. But then, there is none that I can think to offer that would change this for anything other than the worse - it really is good Lisa.
Though I think that one nice touch would be to continue this trend of feminising EVERYTHING that is the character's because it only helps to make him seem more 'up-his-own-arse' in the sense that he requires something female 'round him at all times...Poor bleeder - I can sympathise with him
Only thing I WILL say is that, again, I find this very alarming...:~ -
i thought you did a great job with this. im certainly no expert on story writes, but the imagery and flow seemed to work well here. the beggars cant be choosers line seemed to not fit in. i cant offer anything better in its place, but it just struck me as out of place. could be me though..
as for categories, how about autobiographical??? seems i have heard this story somewhere before
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Hee lisa...
This story made me laugh cos... Ya know you write good poetry when you're drunk, but the self assured cocky man-ness of the story reminded me of Antmonkey. Muahahaha.
Tis very well written, I would help you but there's nothing to do but write part 2 but not before you help me do part 3 of 'The Self Proclaimed Genius' as i have reached a somewhat dead end with it....
Hmph.
well done missybutterflypants!
Jadey xXxXx
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Great
Wow, you got the skillz, lass. The reality of it, and the images it tosses in your skull are quite fresh. I really enjoyed the way you put things together, personifying the objects of his life. Very good.
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