Darius

Darius groped around in the dark, hand brushing against the dimpled wall of the bedroom while he tried to reach for the light. The alarm clock across the room was flashing twelve; the power must have shut off during the morning. That would account for the lack of air conditioning, he thought. His hair, thick with sweat, stuck to skin where skin was available. The light flicked on and he put a name to the what was making that horrible nose–burning smell. He could practically taste the alcohol mixing with the smell of vomit–he had dropped a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the floor last night. Rather, this morning. Very early morning. He was surprised he made it to the bed this time.

“Shit.” Whether it was about the loss of a good bottle of Jack or the mess on his floor, his expletive could go either way.

He welcomed into the world that day a very deserved hangover, but the effects would be over quickly. Comparatively, this year that was comprised of what most people would see as a complete and utter breakdown is nothing but a speck in his mind, a second making up what he felt was a long and laborious life. Not everyone could agree with him on that matter though. And one of those somebodies was thumbing through a magazine looking incredibly bored and irritated while sitting on his couch. He snorted in the brief glance away from the magazine. Definitely irritated.