Wednesday, 25 January 2017

The Morning After

For audio click here 
This story carries a green warning, don't read and eat.

Rhys groaned. He desperately needed the loo, but he knew any movement might kill him. He groaned again. It was no use; he’d have to move. He hauled himself up, his head flopping around like someone had wrung his neck. He stood still for a moment deciding whether or not he was going to vomit and a wrecking ball came crashing through his skull.
One step,
two steps,
reassess, he felt he could make it. Three steps, four steps, his stomach flipped. Deep breath, deep breath. The demolition ball was swinging around again. He managed to get to the loo just in time to get his head down the pan and throw up what looked like the remains of a hastily eaten pizza while simultaneously wetting himself.
Wetting yourself in your normal clothes is one thing, but wetting yourself when you are dressed as a giant bottle of beer is another. Rhys heaved up the last of the pizza and beer and flushed the toilet. He then tried to pull the foam costume over his head, smearing his own wee all over his skin.
Pizza? he thought to himself as he stood under the shower. He couldn’t remember eating pizza. The thought of it made his woozy all over again. He fixed his stare at the shower curtain and told himself he wasn’t going to be sick. Then, he bent double and heaved into the bath tub. How much fucking pizza?
When he stood up he realised the water was hurting his hands. Why? He looked at the skin on his fingers and saw red blotches - blisters. What on earth?
Looking at his memories of last night was like peering through a dirty, shattered window. He could make out bits and pieces. He’d been playing drinking games at Mike and Suzanna’s with Batman, and then tried to get off with Harry Potter, until her pirate boyfriend had come over and marked his territory. He vaguely remembered dancing in the club with Lucy but she wasn’t in costume, and he had no memory of getting from Mike’s to the club or getting home.
Despite being clean and dry, cleaning up the mess in the toilet, and putting the costume in the washing machine, he could still smell pizza and the wrecking ball was still doing its thing.
He sat on the sofa, pecking at his tea; maybe Facebook would shed some light on how the evening went. His phone was nearly out of battery, but he didn’t want to move to find the charger. He scrolled down Facebook, one hundred generic happy new year messages and then he saw his face. It was not exactly how he expected to see it. It was a not taken on a mate’s camera phone, or by the club’s photographer but by a security camera. It wasn’t on Mike’s timeline or Suzanne’s but on a link shared by the local newspaper. No one said great night last night Rhys, the headline read.
‘Man dressed as beer bottle wanted for alleged Pizza theft.’

Before Rhys could read the rest of the story, his phone died.

In case you are wondering, that was a real Headline from the barry and District News Website.

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