fic: End of the Year
I wrote this from a prompt on
all_unwritten- End of the year. It's an old prompt, but I wanted to use it anyway.
This is original fic - just a sad, lonely man who wandered into my head when I read the prompt. I don't know his name or anything else about him.
All around him, people are cheering and laughing. They're making toasts. Friends are hugging, couples are kissing. Others are blowing on noisemakers. On the TV the ball has dropped, and outside the window fireworks are going off.
He raises his glass and takes a gulp. She once told him that champagne was not meant to be gulped, but rather meant to be sipped. Savored. You were supposed to let it roll over your tongue, sink into every taste bud, fill every corner of your mouth. Like sex, she'd whispered in his ear, her smile captivating, drawing his mouth to hers like a siren's call.
It was the end of the year, and what had he done? He had lost. He'd lost a whole lot - nearly everything, in fact. Everything but his friends, who clung stubbornly to what he'd been, trying to bring back his smile, put the light back into his eyes.
Stupid friends. If it weren't for them, he wouldn't even be at this damned party. He'd be at home, watching their wedding video or flipping through the photo album.
He had no resolutions - except maybe to survive the coming year, which might prove to be difficult. His limbs were heavy and he felt so, so tired. It wasn't the kind of tired that a good night's sleep would banish.
So tired.
He took another swig of champagne.
"Happy New Year."
all_unwritten- End of the year. It's an old prompt, but I wanted to use it anyway.
This is original fic - just a sad, lonely man who wandered into my head when I read the prompt. I don't know his name or anything else about him.
All around him, people are cheering and laughing. They're making toasts. Friends are hugging, couples are kissing. Others are blowing on noisemakers. On the TV the ball has dropped, and outside the window fireworks are going off.
He raises his glass and takes a gulp. She once told him that champagne was not meant to be gulped, but rather meant to be sipped. Savored. You were supposed to let it roll over your tongue, sink into every taste bud, fill every corner of your mouth. Like sex, she'd whispered in his ear, her smile captivating, drawing his mouth to hers like a siren's call.
It was the end of the year, and what had he done? He had lost. He'd lost a whole lot - nearly everything, in fact. Everything but his friends, who clung stubbornly to what he'd been, trying to bring back his smile, put the light back into his eyes.
Stupid friends. If it weren't for them, he wouldn't even be at this damned party. He'd be at home, watching their wedding video or flipping through the photo album.
He had no resolutions - except maybe to survive the coming year, which might prove to be difficult. His limbs were heavy and he felt so, so tired. It wasn't the kind of tired that a good night's sleep would banish.
So tired.
He took another swig of champagne.
"Happy New Year."