Thomas 1
(this is the beginning to a story. i dont know where this is leading but i hope that this is the start of something good. thomas seems to have an interesting life.)
Thomas rolled out of bed and wiped the
sand from his eyes. The first taste of blood, stale cigarettes and the dry grainy aftertaste from the cheap liquor from the night before reminded him that today was Saturday and he still had one more night of hard drinking before him. The headache hadn’t come yet but he walked to the bathroom and popped a few aspirin to ease his way into what was sure to be a bad one.
The clock on his bedside table glowed 9:13 in the darkness of his room. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. He had lived in this apartment for two years and knew it by heart. As he pulled the shades and walked out onto the balcony, the soft rain tapped his forehead and ran down into his eyes and the cold wet wood froze his feet then warmed under them as he stood rapt in the sensation. The day was going to be a gray and quiet one. How much did he spend last night he wondered as he looked out on the parking lot onto the rain washed cars. For a second he smiled at the contrast of the bright, almost iridescent green of the grass and the pale gray of the concrete, and then turned back inside.
What did I do last night he asked himself as he mixed another screwdriver and started a pot of coffee. The night was a blur. They all were a blur lately. Each day faded into the next in a warm fuzzy alcohol and caffeine blanket. He had only slept for four hours this time. The insomnia is getting worse. Thomas spent most of the week awake save for a very few hours. He closed the curtains and flopped down on the couch. As he balanced the Cup of Life in his hand he searched his mind for a memory of what happened 12 hours ago.
His bare toes wiggled in the soft carpet as his mind kept drawing blanks. Sometimes the night kept a longer hold on him then most. The earthy scent of the strong coffee percolating and the sweetness of the OJ mixed and brought memories of the countless mornings before but none of the night. The dark room was silent except for the soft bubbling of coffee percolating. He couldn’t even hear himself breathing. With a sip of the screwdriver, he got up and headed to the bedroom.
He walked with his eyes closed to test his senses and memory. His legs touched nothing but air as he went.
The monitor was off and the tower’s green blinking on light was the only light in the room next to the clock. The air smelled old but he didn’t want to open a window until the coffee was ready. With the push of a button, the room was flooded with the pale blue light of the screen. Nothing was opened, no clues there. He didn’t meet some girl off the net this time. So why did he go out? He had more than enough booze to last him the night.
Ah, fuck it. It didn’t really matter in the end, he thought. He was home and not any worse for the wear. He clicked his computer to standby and went out into his living room to pour himself a cup of coffee.
The warm earthy aroma almost sobered him up but the floor refused to stop moving under his feet after his first few sips. He waited till he killed the full cup of that warm brown bitter drink before he dared to walk again. Finally, as the last of the brown burning swill was drained from the last of his cup he began to feel better. Focus came slowly. Thomas knew now that he stepped out because Farhyde, one of the people he worked with, had asked him too.
This was a rarity because he rarely made contact with any of his coworkers outside of the job. He ground his thumb and forefinger into his temples to try to work the memories from his head. His hangover was coming on so hard he could feel each ridge in his finger print as he rubbed his head. His head felt each tone as the phone abruptly rang.
Thomas leaned over the bed and yanked the phone off of the receiver to stop that painful sound. A dull hullo was all that he said and all he heard was Johnson and 101st. He knew it was time to work again. If they called him on the weekend it must be important. Dropping all other thoughts, he downed another cup of coffee, made himself a thermos of screwdrivers and headed towards the door. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought as he dashed out the door.
Thomas rolled out of bed and wiped the
sand from his eyes. The first taste of blood, stale cigarettes and the dry grainy aftertaste from the cheap liquor from the night before reminded him that today was Saturday and he still had one more night of hard drinking before him. The headache hadn’t come yet but he walked to the bathroom and popped a few aspirin to ease his way into what was sure to be a bad one.
The clock on his bedside table glowed 9:13 in the darkness of his room. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. He had lived in this apartment for two years and knew it by heart. As he pulled the shades and walked out onto the balcony, the soft rain tapped his forehead and ran down into his eyes and the cold wet wood froze his feet then warmed under them as he stood rapt in the sensation. The day was going to be a gray and quiet one. How much did he spend last night he wondered as he looked out on the parking lot onto the rain washed cars. For a second he smiled at the contrast of the bright, almost iridescent green of the grass and the pale gray of the concrete, and then turned back inside.
What did I do last night he asked himself as he mixed another screwdriver and started a pot of coffee. The night was a blur. They all were a blur lately. Each day faded into the next in a warm fuzzy alcohol and caffeine blanket. He had only slept for four hours this time. The insomnia is getting worse. Thomas spent most of the week awake save for a very few hours. He closed the curtains and flopped down on the couch. As he balanced the Cup of Life in his hand he searched his mind for a memory of what happened 12 hours ago.
His bare toes wiggled in the soft carpet as his mind kept drawing blanks. Sometimes the night kept a longer hold on him then most. The earthy scent of the strong coffee percolating and the sweetness of the OJ mixed and brought memories of the countless mornings before but none of the night. The dark room was silent except for the soft bubbling of coffee percolating. He couldn’t even hear himself breathing. With a sip of the screwdriver, he got up and headed to the bedroom.
He walked with his eyes closed to test his senses and memory. His legs touched nothing but air as he went.
The monitor was off and the tower’s green blinking on light was the only light in the room next to the clock. The air smelled old but he didn’t want to open a window until the coffee was ready. With the push of a button, the room was flooded with the pale blue light of the screen. Nothing was opened, no clues there. He didn’t meet some girl off the net this time. So why did he go out? He had more than enough booze to last him the night.
Ah, fuck it. It didn’t really matter in the end, he thought. He was home and not any worse for the wear. He clicked his computer to standby and went out into his living room to pour himself a cup of coffee.
The warm earthy aroma almost sobered him up but the floor refused to stop moving under his feet after his first few sips. He waited till he killed the full cup of that warm brown bitter drink before he dared to walk again. Finally, as the last of the brown burning swill was drained from the last of his cup he began to feel better. Focus came slowly. Thomas knew now that he stepped out because Farhyde, one of the people he worked with, had asked him too.
This was a rarity because he rarely made contact with any of his coworkers outside of the job. He ground his thumb and forefinger into his temples to try to work the memories from his head. His hangover was coming on so hard he could feel each ridge in his finger print as he rubbed his head. His head felt each tone as the phone abruptly rang.
Thomas leaned over the bed and yanked the phone off of the receiver to stop that painful sound. A dull hullo was all that he said and all he heard was Johnson and 101st. He knew it was time to work again. If they called him on the weekend it must be important. Dropping all other thoughts, he downed another cup of coffee, made himself a thermos of screwdrivers and headed towards the door. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought as he dashed out the door.