Hung Over

April 22, 2009
By Anonymous

The morning sun beaks through the blinds at around two in the afternoon. His head is throbbing as he rolls himself slowly out of bed. He realizes he is fully dressed with his favorite Levi jeans and a shirt which says, "Want to be my First?" on the front. Slowly he creeps down stares, trying to remember where to find the Tylenol to calm the hammering of his skull. Nobodies home, but this was typical with parents who are usually busy playing tennis or golf whenever they were not working. After a lengthy search for the pain killers; he begins to pour himself a glass of milk from the refrigerator. A car honking startles him, and the counter floods with the soft, white liquid. He takes a glance outside while going to get the paper towels, no car in the neighborhood. He figures it's just his head playing tricks on him. The television comes on depicting a picture of a man walking alone in pouring rain, black skies above him. This bores him, so he flips to Comedy Central. He begins to recap his previous day. It was a Saturday which meant there must have been something exciting going on. He remembered one of his buddies from the football team was throwing a party because they had just won their first playoff game in the State Tournament. He was a tight end, fourth string, but it didn't bother him since he was only on the team to pick up on new girls. Guys at school respected him for the girls he got with, but friends were tough to come by with him. There was only one girl who never gave up on him, she was always telling him he was a terrific person, just bad at showing it. He liked her. A quick image of her yelling at him in the passenger seat of the car flashed in his mind. He ignored the thought, and went back to focusing on the television while hot pockets warmed in the microwave. Goosebumps covered his body because of the cold, fall, Chicago day that foreshadowed the coming of freezing temperatures and the shoveling of driveways. Time was moving very slowly, the Tylenol did as much good as the Maginot Line. Thinking of the Maginot Line reminded him of homework. Ugh. He decided he would play sick on Monday to avoid the burden of homework because why do today what you can do tomorrow? The microwave beeped, so he got up off the couch and walked back into the kitchen. Starving he eagerly dropped the first hot pocket into his mouth. It burned him. While spitting it out the thought of a glaring red light startled him for a split-second; he needed to stop thinking so much. Deciding daytime TV was a waste of time, he grabbed a house control pad and put his Ipod on shuffle, Wonderwall by Oasis soon flooded his ears. He loved the song, but disliked the way it always made him think of her. She was a little angel who always played by the rules, why would he want a girl like that? He played by his own rules and loved the thought of being a rebel, breaking the law just gave him this ecstasy that came from nothing else. His brain continued to wander and he wondered if she liked him too. She was always going to parties and hanging out with him, even though she did not drink. Drinking! This would explain the headache and sleeping till two in the afternoon, he had a hangover. He had them before, but none of them were ever this awful. On the counter there was his ticket for a red light he ran a few weeks ago, the picture was taken just as he crossed the intersection. He was lucky no other cars were at the intersection. After flipping through Saturday's mail (nothing for him) he decided to go check the phone to see if anyone had called. He went into his room and noticed that his cell phone was not where he usually had it. A rigorous search for the missing item soon followed as he took off his bed sheets then looked through most of his drawers. His room was very tidy, but this was only because the cleaning lady had fixed up his room on Friday and he had not been home enough over the weekend to mess it up. After fifteen minutes he gave up on his expedition with a decision to check the house phone for any missed calls. He went back downstairs again once again trying to remember what he had done yesterday night. As he struggled to figure it out, images of red and her rushed through his mind while the sound of a horn repeated. He got to the phone and noticed seven missed calls, all from her house phone. He knew calling her would make him feel better, she always knew what to say to set him straight again. The repetitive horror movie continued to play, but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the film would not stop. A mother wailed in pain on the other end of the phone, he was going to ask what was wrong when… it hit him.

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This article has 1 comment.

on May. 11 2009 at 1:30 am
i really liked it, the mood is so depressing the whole way through and the ending is really deeep


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