Zach LarkinsOne man's journey...
Sunday's morn brings unwanted rays of light, piercing our protagonist's eyes and managing to infiltrate his skull. Stirring rumblings of consciousness he suddenly feels uneasy. The begginings of a head-splitter become more and more evident. If the people of Pompeii had such a warning, maybe some would have escaped the ash that led to their inevitable demise. Although he knows its onset is nigh, there is little he can force himself to do.
Rising from his cradle the sudden change of head position acts as the catalyst his brain matter needs for the erruption to take place. In a raspy hoarse voice he manages a phrase that shall be his reason for changing his ways, committed to the cause of never consuming a drink again...but only for today. "I'm Fucked!" But the true meaning and extent of its pain shall be forgotten in time, time enough for next weekend's proceedings.
He knows that nobody can see him like this, he is in a bad place and the reputation that preceeds him cannot be tarnished. He is shrouded in events of awesomeness from many a night out. This can't be the end...can it? He ponders, and will continue to assess his place in life for the rest of the wretched day. He enters the five day week tomorrow where his mind will be forced to wander elsewhere, consumed with work it will save him from guilt lurking in mind's abyss. For the onset of guilt is rife, the headache remains but not at the forefront. The effects of the alcohol have fully worn of, all that remains is his deep descent into the pitt of soberdom. Beginning with cotton mouth and ending in hop-scented pores. He has even more time to think.
What's it all about Alfie? Are we all but self-obsessed narcissistic heartless beings, operating only on a level of instant gratification? But what of the good times and merriment that come with the alcohol drenched bonding of friends in social outings. We live to fight another night, get in a fight, drink another drink till we spew in the sink.
It was a good night though, if my memory serves me correctly!
Rising from his cradle the sudden change of head position acts as the catalyst his brain matter needs for the erruption to take place. In a raspy hoarse voice he manages a phrase that shall be his reason for changing his ways, committed to the cause of never consuming a drink again...but only for today. "I'm Fucked!" But the true meaning and extent of its pain shall be forgotten in time, time enough for next weekend's proceedings.
He knows that nobody can see him like this, he is in a bad place and the reputation that preceeds him cannot be tarnished. He is shrouded in events of awesomeness from many a night out. This can't be the end...can it? He ponders, and will continue to assess his place in life for the rest of the wretched day. He enters the five day week tomorrow where his mind will be forced to wander elsewhere, consumed with work it will save him from guilt lurking in mind's abyss. For the onset of guilt is rife, the headache remains but not at the forefront. The effects of the alcohol have fully worn of, all that remains is his deep descent into the pitt of soberdom. Beginning with cotton mouth and ending in hop-scented pores. He has even more time to think.
What's it all about Alfie? Are we all but self-obsessed narcissistic heartless beings, operating only on a level of instant gratification? But what of the good times and merriment that come with the alcohol drenched bonding of friends in social outings. We live to fight another night, get in a fight, drink another drink till we spew in the sink.
It was a good night though, if my memory serves me correctly!
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