On a fiction kick nah’mean.
Danny drank too much. He wouldn’t describe himself as an alcoholic but it was definitely above average. On this particular morning, he found himself stumbling out of his friends house at 10 am after a particularly turnt evening. He felt a full body exhaustion and his right hand was sore. “It must’ve rained last night…also this is definitely Ben’s shirt,” he thought to himself. The streets were damp and while it was still relatively early, the temperature was already getting uncomfortably warm. A thick fog covered the street while the humidity made his skin feel a little moist. The hangover combined with the fog made the streets he knew so well feel foreign. He looked left, then right and determined the red car on the corner looked more familiar and went that way.
As he slowly walked he determined that he was probably still drunk which is actually terrible when you don’t want to be. A rough day will follow when the hangover hits in earnest midday. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Whoever needed him at that very moment can definitely wait, he determined. Arriving at the corner with the red car he realizes that he went in the wrong direction. As to not look like more of a fool, Danny pulls out his phone and swiftly turns around as if his change in direction and the information on his phone are related. What he sees on the phone does surprise him though. “U owe me pal!” the text reads.
“Who is this? Wat are u talking about?” Danny responds. Like the weather, the events of last night are extremely foggy. At this point, he has made it to the correct block and he is racking is non functioning brain for clues as to what this mysterious text means. His phone buzzes again. It’s a picture message. Danny furrows his brow, opens the message and barfs immediately. It’s all over the sidewalk, gross brown and clear liquid. It got on his shoes. A kid down the block quickly turns and walks away with some audible disgust. The picture is the back of man whose body seems familiar stabbing another stranger in the face. The scene was in what looked like to be a yard which also seemed vaguely familiar. It was a bloody, gory, drunken mess.
“Wtf is this?!? WHO ARE YOU?” He was texting surprisingly well considering his current state. Danny looks back at the picture and realizes the person wielding the knife…How does he not remember this? Is that why he’s wearing a different shirt? Does that explain the pain in his hand?
In his drunken and now terrified state he does not see the metal pole and slams his head into it. Everything comes rushing back as he starts to fall; feelings of rage and then paralyzing fear before collapsing onto the pavement. Danny’s phone buzzes as a call comes in next to his immobilized body.
Just This Thing 