Blackout Hangover, Never Again Options

[bat19]

I felt like writing something, this was the first thing that came out. Enjoy.

He wakes up in an empty room, not sure where he is or what time it is. Head throbbing, he’s not sure why. This is his life, and he’s alone. The occasional peek out a nearby window calls to him and every so often he gives in to temptation. Socialization is everywhere, everyone around him is connected through this simple human mechanism. The gears grind too low for him to hear, the displaced air hits him in his solitude.
Another peek. All people of all races living together, eating together, f**king together. His loneliness outweighs his spite. Were he a different man, a stronger man, he would go into their world, experience all those simple pleasures he has sworn to outlaw. Only to himself and to God, who he defies in every other aspect of his meaningless life.
The smell of drugs is in the air. The consequences of the summers of love, the direct result of broader minds now reduced to scum. It once meant something, it once had purpose. “Let the dying hippie breed tell themselves that”, he says to himself, for there’s no one else to say it to.
The appeal of music has left him, now consumed by lust and drunkenness. Where did he go wrong?
“Never again,” he says to a ghost on the love seat, a distant remnant of a childhood he now longs for. Plastic wrappers of cancer ridden food litter the ground, the furnishings, even the very table he sits at now, looking at a cigar that’s no more than ash at this point. A newspaper from months before is splayed out, it’s innards thrown about in his frustration at the simple task of reassembly. “I need a drink” he says to himself, coming to realize he’s already drunk. When did this happen? How long has it been? How long since he’s been outside? How long since he wore fresh clothes, had a haircut, or even brushed his teeth?
His mind is distorted, thoughts in shambles.
Anger rises like a hungry wolf, he can’t complain. “Take more of me, you filthy beast!” An empty bottle is flung at a bare wall, more filth to cover his infested space. How is this not condemned?, he wonders.
His dreams are lost now. He used to pretend to be a writer, who is he pretending to be now? An empty book rests in his lap now. Blank pages stare at him, mock his sadness. When will the right words come out? When will he find his place? When will...what’s that?
A sound? It rises and falls, is this real? No. Just more tricks they play on me. More laughs for the soulless who mock the soulful. “When did I become a f**king punch-line!” he cries. Tears fleck his cheeks, forgetting the feeling. Small wet kisses he won’t find anywhere else.
“Ooooohh......” A small moan escapes his lips. Drops of himself stain the pages. He wishes it was blood. Had he the courage, he’d open up his life, let it all drain away. Into the water, becoming unto himself. Into the water....
The noise returns, dropping and falling. A spark clicks in the back of his mind, a faint recollection. “I know that sound...” Hope rises in his chest. “I know that sound...”
He jumps to his feet, sharp pain shoots through his legs as circulation returns.
On the wall, a vibration from the ring. Hands grasping at anything, he steadies himself and tries to gain composure.
“Hello...” he croaks into the receiving end. When was the last time he’s said anything.
“Dude, whats up.” It feels like hours before he responds.
“Josh, what’s up man.”
“Dude, Im so hungover right now. Argh...”
“Shit man really?” Jealousy hits him, another figure in his life living theirs while his wastes away. “Where’d you go man?”
Silence. Has he lost connection?
“Are you serious man?”
“Um...” Was he?
“Dude, how f**ked up is your house? Did everyone leave yet?”
A flash of recollection hits him like a lightning bolt.
“Erghh....yeah, yeah I think so man...”
“You were so f**kin gone.”
“Yeah, yeah I know man...” The conversation continues. Never again, he thinks to himself. Too much, too much. Beer bottles fill his sink, even more line his walls. The smell of drugs and sweat and sex fills him with every breath he takes.
“...and she hits the f**kin table, almost has a concussion, haha”
“haha, yeah man. Dude, Im gonna let you go. Gonna try to clean up a little bit.”
“I hear you buddy, give me a call when you’re done, we’ll go get something to eat.”
“Sure thing man, later.” He hangs up the phone. Memory slowly returns, sliding through a thick jungle that is his mind. “Erffgh...” he moans, not sure he could even repeat the sound that has just escaped him. A dizzy spell attacks his senses, everything is upside down. He’s walking on the ceiling, hand over his mouth, he must reach the bathroom in time.
He arrives right when it can’t be held back. Retching and coughing and crying. Tears stream down his face again, “What the f**k....wha...” More thickness comes out, splashing the seats and the hard to reach places. Dry heaves now, the worst is gone.
“Ughh....” he moans, lips quivering, saliva dripping off his covered face. “Ughh, f**k...Never again...f**k”

[*Uronacid*]

That was awesome. I never got a chance to read this, but I finally took the time.

*two thumbs up*

I like the part where he's talking to the guy on the phone about the girl who has a concussion. His mind wanders off while the guy on the phone is talking. That was pretty sweet. ;]