bitterdiva

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He warily awoke, his tongue unfavorably sticking to the roof of his mouth. The taste was absolutely horrible, thinking that this must be the taste of a small animal dying in one’s mouth. The haze still clouded his eyesight and could feel the slime and crust caked on his lashes, lids, and the corners of his eyes. His head pounded and could hear every beat of his heart in his ears. Hangovers, this must be what they’re referring to when they speak of one.

He closed his eyes, mentally taking note of each extremity. He wiggled his toes, his fingers, flexed the muscles in his calves, thighs, buttocks, forearms and upper arms. His body was awakening and his mind shifting from the dream state to current consciousness. He was definitely not a well man this morning. He ran through his memory, trying to recall the previous nights events in search of reason for his decrepit physical state. There was none.

He couldn’t recall being out at a bar, nor being at a party. He searched for something early in the night, perhaps television or dinner, or of the slight chance a phone call, but there was nothing. His stomach pained, a drawn out twinge screaming for some nourishment. He draped an arm over his abdomen, feeling the taught skin and ripples from the perfectly formed muscles underneath.

08:09 AM

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