Unanswered prayers

This one doesn’t come from a creative writing group, it was just something I knocked together when I was bored the other afternoon. It’s very short, again, but I hope you like it all the same.

The pills made a satisfying ‘plop-fizz’ sounds as they dropped into the waiting water, but I was in no state to appreciate it. My head was throbbing, my eyes ached, and my nausea was so great that I had to remain hunched over for fear of losing all my stomach contents should I straighten up too much. My hands, actually my whole body, shook uncontrollably. It took all my concentration to raise the glass to my chapped, dry lips without spilling and, still trembling like a blushing bride, I downed the elixir in one almighty gulp.

It didn’t help. I suppose you have to give these things time to take effect though. I grunted unhappily and hobbled back to the front room. Gently easing myself onto the impressively soiled couch, I tried to push all thoughts of the previous evening’s festivities out of my head. In fact, ‘evening’ was pushing it; the new day was well under way by the  time our raucous celebriations finally wound down.

In spite of my efforts, the images began to flash, unbidden, through my suffering mind. I groaned in agony – mental this time – and closed my eyes. Why on God’s green earth would any of them speak to me again? Sure, I’d been inebriated – ‘absofuckinglutely pollustered’ had been my precise words at the time – and they’d all laughed along…but how much of the laughter had been genuinely mirthful? Maybe their innate politeness had forced them to, or perhaps they didn’t wish to risk antagonising me by responding with disapproving silence?

Yeah, that was it. I shook my head to erase the memories and was immediately overcome by the physical torture that result. Well that was dumb. ‘Argh‘, I mumbled, articulate as ever. Oh sweet Lord of all creation, I thought penitently, please please PLEASE don’t let them remember any of what I said, what I did, last night.

That’s how I know there is no God.

Or if there is, he is one stone-cold bastard.

Solidarity brothers & sisters…



About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Gibberish, Neology, Philosophy and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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