The greatest junk I have ever written
It's 12:01am. Our van's high beams shoot out into the gaping darkness as if to say, "Is there anyone there?" It's 12:05am, no answer. We arrive at our destination in the midst of God's sand and rock playground. The house is already alive with the taste of Jamaican lager and the treble of forty voices. Inside this desert fort are creamy brown tinted walls. The unwavering smoothness of the marble floors assuage the austerity of outside’s howling winds. The carpet is quicksand, easily shaping itself around the outline of our feet. Its soft embrace we will need for the coming night. 12:23am.
Alcohol, weed, nintendo. The pool's water is warm, cooling off from the day's brilliance. The Jacuzzi is bubbling with cold bodies yearning to emote its sentiments. A blister in the shape of the nintendo controller's "Y" button has formed on my thumb. Three wins, and five losses (two on the account of “bullshit!” and “you are soooo fuckin’ cheap”). A flickering light on a nightstand repetitively cautions that it’s 3:03am. Despite the warnings, I naively move forward into the endless night.
Whispers traverse the hallways. Laughter fills the backyard. Yells occupy the kitchen. 4:42am. The voices begin to recede back into the space from which they instantaneously materialized from. Without any particular sign - a flash, bang, or poke - the night has ended. I illuminate the bedroom’s darkness with the LED of my mobile phone. The phone is almost out of batteries. I situate myself in-between the immense Victorian dresser and the screen glass door. A perfect fit. I use my phone LED once more to catch a glimpse of the clock nearby. The light fades. I pull my pillow under the back of my neck. Take a deep breath. Close my eyes. 5:22am.
Alcohol, weed, nintendo. The pool's water is warm, cooling off from the day's brilliance. The Jacuzzi is bubbling with cold bodies yearning to emote its sentiments. A blister in the shape of the nintendo controller's "Y" button has formed on my thumb. Three wins, and five losses (two on the account of “bullshit!” and “you are soooo fuckin’ cheap”). A flickering light on a nightstand repetitively cautions that it’s 3:03am. Despite the warnings, I naively move forward into the endless night.
Whispers traverse the hallways. Laughter fills the backyard. Yells occupy the kitchen. 4:42am. The voices begin to recede back into the space from which they instantaneously materialized from. Without any particular sign - a flash, bang, or poke - the night has ended. I illuminate the bedroom’s darkness with the LED of my mobile phone. The phone is almost out of batteries. I situate myself in-between the immense Victorian dresser and the screen glass door. A perfect fit. I use my phone LED once more to catch a glimpse of the clock nearby. The light fades. I pull my pillow under the back of my neck. Take a deep breath. Close my eyes. 5:22am.