Dream
Lyle couldn't remember where the hell he had been last night. This wasn't an uncommon feeling for him but being wet and completely blank, that was something new. He opened his eyes. He was in a park of some kind, not the house he had started off partying in last night and a soft rain was falling down around him. Lyle raised his head and winced as he felt blood drip from his nose on to his t-shirt. There was already a bloodstain on his shirt along with something else, probably vomit, he figured, feeling a bit disgusted with himself.
Slowly, Lyle aware of a dull throb in his arms and stomach and looking down he found his arms covered in scratches. He winced, and realized that there was blood under his finger nails, it was obvious that he had done it to himself. What the hell had happened last night? The world still seemed to be in a haze as Lyle began the slow process of making himself stand up. His jeans were torn and his knees as bloody as the rest of him, but he managed to stand and turn around to look at his surroundings. His breath caught in his throat.
A large cross atop a memorial stood before him, the city of Belfast and the rising sun framed behind it in almost surreal holy manner. Lyle could already make out the words dedicated the victims of the 2297 bombings in the early sunlight. Making a strange choking noise, he stumbled backwards. "Fucking-irony!" He choked out, half stumbling and half crawling backwards away from the monument, feeling like he might puke again. How had he done so much to forget, only to end up here?
His body trembled and he collapsed in the grass, the cold was starting to get to him. Lyle vaguely wondered if anyone had noticed he had gone from the party, unlikely considering he couldn't remember leaving himself. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to be worried or scared. There was no emotion to assign to this incident, that's all it was, an incident. As far as he was concerned, it didn't take away from the high the cocaine got him.
Lyle reached for the phone in his pocket and turned it on with trembling fingers as he wondered who to call. There were no names on his list, just the numbers of the people he knew from school, who were all numbers to him anyway. Then the scroll hit a name; "Neil". Lyle stared at the name and couldn't stop staring. Neil would always help him...but that would be asking Neil for help and Lyle wasn't willing to stoop so low. He was brought back to reality by his name.
"Hey, Dylandy! Is that you?" One of the boys from school was walking down the street with a few other of his classmates, none of their names Lyle had cared enough to learn. "Man, we finally found you, we've been lookin' all night!"
Lyle shoved his phone back in his pocket and stood up, clenching his jaw to stop himself from being sick. "Mmmyeah, what happened?" His voice was causal, like talking about the weather.
"You tweaked out, mate. Started yelling about bugs on your skin and ripping at yourself and then you took off. You must have ran at least a mile."
"I see." There wasn't anything else to say. And then someone was putting a blanket over his shoulders and telling him they had to hurry up and go because someone had borrowed their brother's car to come look for him. Lyle obliged and didn't give the memorial a backwards glance. He figured he'll have forgotten it by the next party anyway.
[Lyle is silent as he stares at the entry, wondering how the the hell he'll explain this to everyone else.]