Chapter 5, by popular demand
I am starting to run out of pre-written chapters for this novel. I will need to start being creative soon.
In other news, lots of things are happening in my life, but I am too lazy to post about them all.
I am guessing that musically, I will use Youtube to get stuff rolling, and I promise to embed stuff here as it happens.
Had a couple people ask about the next chapter, so I figured I should keep going. Wasn't sure until they said so. I think this is a funny novel, but I have a weird sense of humor.
Chapter 5
========
There was thunder in his head before the lightning. The low rumbling seemed to surround him, and yet emanated from him. He felt it in his head, and he felt it in torso. He felt the vibrations all around him, and the lightning hurt him. It seemed to pierce his skin, especially at his eyelids, and deep into his eyes and rattle off his brain. He was floating on a gossamer cloud, with light pouring over him, through him, and the incessant rumble like a choir of biker angels, revving engines and banging lead pipes against giant trash cans filled with baseball bats. The pain was all too imaginable. And he smelled like puke.
It took a full minute or so before life not only made sense, but seemed worth living again. The lightning sorted out first. Sunlight. Curtains had been opened, by a dark figure being silhouetted against the noon sun streaming through a large window at his feet. His feet. He was lying down. The gossamer cloud was a comforter on a bed, one of the most comfortable he had ever slept on. Now to sort out the sound. I must be hung over, he thought to himself. So, a headache could be a source of the thunder. Sure enough, his temples seemed to be punching each other to death right behind his eyes. But there was more. He was hungry. His stomach seemed to be a rowdy crowd rooting his temples on in their fisticuffs. But, yet, there was more. He felt the room chilling. And a garbled voice. Could be English. He couldn't be sure, though. The accents seemed all wrong, and his head was still sorting out basic non-euclidian geometry to be able to decipher language. He tried sitting up.
"What are you doing, senor, wait, wait, I help you..."
"Yarf...."
Ok, sitting up was a bad idea. But language was coming around. A woman's voice, hispanic, mature, almost motherly. His eyes worked harder to make sense, but kept failing. He decided to redouble his efforts by just using one eye. Much better. A pair of warm breast, spilling gently from the top of an official looking maids uniform, were inches from his face. They retreated and were replaced by an attractive brown skinned face, smiling warmly but worriedly at him.
"There, no more disgusting shirt, Mr. Kelly. I will wash this for you. Let me get those pants, now."
He felt his legs lifted and then go cold. The cool air brushing over his exposed arms and legs made him feel good and want to puke all at once. This was strange, since he was already starting to smell less like puke. His head was thinking a little clearer now, and he came to the realization that the massive cloud of noise he woke up to was dying down in his head, and in fact was the air conditioner. The kindly hispanic woman must have turned it on. He looked around, still with one eye, to see where she was. No sign of her in this room, but then he heard the rush of water hitting porcelain, and he deduced she was running a bath for him in the attached bathroom. He closed his one eye, tightly, letting the maze of lights inside of head burn out and go black. Then he opened both eyes. Seeing the room in true 3D now, he was surprised at its size. He'd have to thank his travel agent, since, for the price he had paid in advance, this was much bigger and posher than he had seen in the online brochure.
"Senor, let me help you up. You need a bath..."
He had barely noticed the maid's return. She helped him stand from the bed, showing surprising strength for someone her size. Leaning on her shoulders, madly shuffling one foot in front of the other, he made it to the bathroom. And what a bathroom. Gleaming mirrors, lots of marble, almost the same size as his apartment in NY. The antique porcelain tub was filled with warm sudsy water, and looked awfully inviting. Before he had a chance to react, the maid ripped down his underwear and he stood naked, quivering, and unsteady before her. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he figured it took a lot less hangover to care about such things.
"Into the tub, senor. Careful... thats good. Feel better, senor?"
As Jupiter sunk into the water, feeling the layer of bubbles on top tickle and tease his skin as he got warmer and warmer, he let out a deep satisfied sigh. His eyes closed, and his bladder opened. He had never felt such relief in his life. He slid lower into the tub, dunking his head below the water. Exhaling fully, he mentally reset his mind. The headache was slowly releasing it's stranglehold on his thinking. He raised back up out of the water. The maid was there looking at him, patiently waiting to talk. She had a small folding table set up next to the tub, with a silver platter on top. On the tray was a large coffee mug and an envelope. Jupiter smelled coffee. And scotch.
"I said, feeling better, senor?"
"Very much so. Thank you."
"Very good. I brought you coffee, to help you wake up, and I added a bit of something to ease your hangover."
Jupiter smiled brightly. He was in heaven. He could get used to this lifestyle. The maid continued.
"There is also a note from Senor Hernandez. My name is Dulce. You can reach me on the phone in the other room if you need me. Your bags are in the front closet. Enjoy your morning, Mister Kelly."
With that, she turned and left the bathroom, and he heard the door to his suite open and close. He reached languidly for the coffee cup, inhaled deeply on the fumes of pure black coffee mixed with scotch. He drained the cup in one gulp, placed the cup back on the tray, glanced at the envelope, deciding against reading it yet, and slid back into the warm water, slowly letting the bubbled cover his face and head.
In other news, lots of things are happening in my life, but I am too lazy to post about them all.
I am guessing that musically, I will use Youtube to get stuff rolling, and I promise to embed stuff here as it happens.
Had a couple people ask about the next chapter, so I figured I should keep going. Wasn't sure until they said so. I think this is a funny novel, but I have a weird sense of humor.
Chapter 5
========
There was thunder in his head before the lightning. The low rumbling seemed to surround him, and yet emanated from him. He felt it in his head, and he felt it in torso. He felt the vibrations all around him, and the lightning hurt him. It seemed to pierce his skin, especially at his eyelids, and deep into his eyes and rattle off his brain. He was floating on a gossamer cloud, with light pouring over him, through him, and the incessant rumble like a choir of biker angels, revving engines and banging lead pipes against giant trash cans filled with baseball bats. The pain was all too imaginable. And he smelled like puke.
It took a full minute or so before life not only made sense, but seemed worth living again. The lightning sorted out first. Sunlight. Curtains had been opened, by a dark figure being silhouetted against the noon sun streaming through a large window at his feet. His feet. He was lying down. The gossamer cloud was a comforter on a bed, one of the most comfortable he had ever slept on. Now to sort out the sound. I must be hung over, he thought to himself. So, a headache could be a source of the thunder. Sure enough, his temples seemed to be punching each other to death right behind his eyes. But there was more. He was hungry. His stomach seemed to be a rowdy crowd rooting his temples on in their fisticuffs. But, yet, there was more. He felt the room chilling. And a garbled voice. Could be English. He couldn't be sure, though. The accents seemed all wrong, and his head was still sorting out basic non-euclidian geometry to be able to decipher language. He tried sitting up.
"What are you doing, senor, wait, wait, I help you..."
"Yarf...."
Ok, sitting up was a bad idea. But language was coming around. A woman's voice, hispanic, mature, almost motherly. His eyes worked harder to make sense, but kept failing. He decided to redouble his efforts by just using one eye. Much better. A pair of warm breast, spilling gently from the top of an official looking maids uniform, were inches from his face. They retreated and were replaced by an attractive brown skinned face, smiling warmly but worriedly at him.
"There, no more disgusting shirt, Mr. Kelly. I will wash this for you. Let me get those pants, now."
He felt his legs lifted and then go cold. The cool air brushing over his exposed arms and legs made him feel good and want to puke all at once. This was strange, since he was already starting to smell less like puke. His head was thinking a little clearer now, and he came to the realization that the massive cloud of noise he woke up to was dying down in his head, and in fact was the air conditioner. The kindly hispanic woman must have turned it on. He looked around, still with one eye, to see where she was. No sign of her in this room, but then he heard the rush of water hitting porcelain, and he deduced she was running a bath for him in the attached bathroom. He closed his one eye, tightly, letting the maze of lights inside of head burn out and go black. Then he opened both eyes. Seeing the room in true 3D now, he was surprised at its size. He'd have to thank his travel agent, since, for the price he had paid in advance, this was much bigger and posher than he had seen in the online brochure.
"Senor, let me help you up. You need a bath..."
He had barely noticed the maid's return. She helped him stand from the bed, showing surprising strength for someone her size. Leaning on her shoulders, madly shuffling one foot in front of the other, he made it to the bathroom. And what a bathroom. Gleaming mirrors, lots of marble, almost the same size as his apartment in NY. The antique porcelain tub was filled with warm sudsy water, and looked awfully inviting. Before he had a chance to react, the maid ripped down his underwear and he stood naked, quivering, and unsteady before her. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he figured it took a lot less hangover to care about such things.
"Into the tub, senor. Careful... thats good. Feel better, senor?"
As Jupiter sunk into the water, feeling the layer of bubbles on top tickle and tease his skin as he got warmer and warmer, he let out a deep satisfied sigh. His eyes closed, and his bladder opened. He had never felt such relief in his life. He slid lower into the tub, dunking his head below the water. Exhaling fully, he mentally reset his mind. The headache was slowly releasing it's stranglehold on his thinking. He raised back up out of the water. The maid was there looking at him, patiently waiting to talk. She had a small folding table set up next to the tub, with a silver platter on top. On the tray was a large coffee mug and an envelope. Jupiter smelled coffee. And scotch.
"I said, feeling better, senor?"
"Very much so. Thank you."
"Very good. I brought you coffee, to help you wake up, and I added a bit of something to ease your hangover."
Jupiter smiled brightly. He was in heaven. He could get used to this lifestyle. The maid continued.
"There is also a note from Senor Hernandez. My name is Dulce. You can reach me on the phone in the other room if you need me. Your bags are in the front closet. Enjoy your morning, Mister Kelly."
With that, she turned and left the bathroom, and he heard the door to his suite open and close. He reached languidly for the coffee cup, inhaled deeply on the fumes of pure black coffee mixed with scotch. He drained the cup in one gulp, placed the cup back on the tray, glanced at the envelope, deciding against reading it yet, and slid back into the warm water, slowly letting the bubbled cover his face and head.