Friday, 25 October 2013

Response 3: The hangover

At first, the stabbing pain behind my eyes is all I'm aware of. Then a rising urge to vomit. I fight it because the need to remain perfectly still is greater. Not sure where I am, what happened before. Before? Even the question eludes me.

Small sounds of movement. I manage to open my eyes and unbearable light surges in. I'm on the lounge floor. I can no longer ignore the tide of nausea and run to the bathroom past motionless bodies on floor. Stench of spilled lager and puke.

The toilet bowl is in a disgusting state but I don't care. Cold sweat wets my forehead as my guts heave empty.

A phone is beeping somewhere. My phone. I find it under a pile of female underwear. A text. Perfectly punctuated, of course.

"Dad and I got an earlier flight; we'll be home at twelve o'clock. Love, Mum xx" 

1 comment:

  1. Truly great discription of the hangover from hell. Very graffic indeed!