Gutterflower /2
zero / one
The stupor ended when someone knocked on the door, and he managed to drag himself out from the covers, and pull on a pair of pants. He found he was dizzy when he stood, his legs unsteady and his head to light to focus on anything. He’d somehow managed to have a conversation with the hotel manager, shoving money in the man’s face to get him to go away, another week’s rent silencing his complaints.
He’d slept again after that, but when he woke, he was hungry. Stumbling back into the shower, he gulped down the water as it rained down on him, thirsty beyond belief.
Staring at himself in the mirror after, he wondered what had happened. Wondered when he’d come to this. The person staring back there wasn’t him. Was some stranger, with ribs poking through, skin a sickly pale pallor, eyes sunken and hair a mess. He tried half-heartedly to comb through the knotted strands, but it wasn’t going to be so easily tamed.
Drying himself slowly, he averted his eyes from the mirror, determined not to look at it anymore. Instead, he pulled on clothes, threw a towel over the mess of liquid and glass to make it go away, and found his wallet under the bed and the key jammed down behind the TV. Shakily, he locked up, moving down the stairs at one end of the balcony slowly.
The bright lights of the servo lit up the night, and he walked through the automatic door to the sickly smell of food and air freshener. Willing himself not to gag, he wandered around the few isles, confused and unsure.
Eventually, he dumped an arm full of an assortment of food at the cashier’s desk. The guy boredly began to scan them through. All the while, he stared guiltily, fixedly at the white rack nearby.
At the last moment, he grabbed hold of the smallest bottle of vodka there and slid it across the counter. The guy looked at him a moment, but made no comment and scanned it through a moment later. Money was exchanged, and he left with bags full of food and one of alcohol.
Shuffling almost fugitively back across the street and up the stairs, he locked the door behind himself and fell upon a packet of chips with gusto.
An hour later he was retching in the bathroom, clinging to the edge of his porcelain throne and turning his insides out.
The stupor ended when someone knocked on the door, and he managed to drag himself out from the covers, and pull on a pair of pants. He found he was dizzy when he stood, his legs unsteady and his head to light to focus on anything. He’d somehow managed to have a conversation with the hotel manager, shoving money in the man’s face to get him to go away, another week’s rent silencing his complaints.
He’d slept again after that, but when he woke, he was hungry. Stumbling back into the shower, he gulped down the water as it rained down on him, thirsty beyond belief.
Staring at himself in the mirror after, he wondered what had happened. Wondered when he’d come to this. The person staring back there wasn’t him. Was some stranger, with ribs poking through, skin a sickly pale pallor, eyes sunken and hair a mess. He tried half-heartedly to comb through the knotted strands, but it wasn’t going to be so easily tamed.
Drying himself slowly, he averted his eyes from the mirror, determined not to look at it anymore. Instead, he pulled on clothes, threw a towel over the mess of liquid and glass to make it go away, and found his wallet under the bed and the key jammed down behind the TV. Shakily, he locked up, moving down the stairs at one end of the balcony slowly.
The bright lights of the servo lit up the night, and he walked through the automatic door to the sickly smell of food and air freshener. Willing himself not to gag, he wandered around the few isles, confused and unsure.
Eventually, he dumped an arm full of an assortment of food at the cashier’s desk. The guy boredly began to scan them through. All the while, he stared guiltily, fixedly at the white rack nearby.
At the last moment, he grabbed hold of the smallest bottle of vodka there and slid it across the counter. The guy looked at him a moment, but made no comment and scanned it through a moment later. Money was exchanged, and he left with bags full of food and one of alcohol.
Shuffling almost fugitively back across the street and up the stairs, he locked the door behind himself and fell upon a packet of chips with gusto.
An hour later he was retching in the bathroom, clinging to the edge of his porcelain throne and turning his insides out.