Sumbitted over 5 years Ago
Day 02 - Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Garrett clutches his forehead, trying unsuccessfully to prevent the tectonic movements pulling his head apart. He begrudgingly opens his eyes and begins to migrate toward the bathroom.
The first corner in an ascending series of smooth soft edges snaps out like a snake and grabbed the front of his right shoe. Stumbling forward, his palm slaps the crown of a protruding tile block before him. A sharp jolt of pain fires up his wrist as he catches his fall and slams his teeth together. After an unneeded moment of preemptively bracing for second impact, Garrett relaxes his tensed jaw and resigns himself into a seated position on the stairs.
He would think that after twenty four years of residence in his childhood home, he’d be able to find his way upstairs without nearly breaking his neck, but alas - his current predicament proves otherwise. Garrett faces the room he just tried to exit and attempts to survey the damage. Bewildered, Garrett asked himself the age-old question, “What happened last night?” At least his sight and smell were more reliable than his recollection of the night before. Even with his warped, oblong eyes, he could rely enough on his nose and ears enough to mash together a couple pieces of the puzzle.
A single, deep sniff is enough to detect the location of a small town square, constructed solely out of cheesey-tomato flavored cardboard boxes, General Zaroff’s dream collection of rare wildlife, and last but not least, the once-overflowing, now-putrid, swamp-like Bellagio Fountain of beer.
Garrett shudders then pricks his ears.
Is that the snoring of two… no, three overweight potatoes sprawled throughout his parents’ house? It also seems like a pair of big, strong, persistent bumblebees have taken up residency in his ears. And… oh yes, the cool sound of flowing water rippling across a tile floor.
Garrett shudders again.
He reaches for the bridge of his nose, resulting in an unsatisfied impulse to prop up his glasses. Abstract blurry shapes meditate deeply, sitting across the floor in no discernible pattern. Garrett thinks that one over there is his couch, and he begins to lean toward it as he shifts his weight onto his feet. He touches the wall on his right for balance and completes the shamefully difficult process of standing. Yep, still drunk. The epic, 6 minute long quest to find his glasses remains glaringly incomplete. Admittedly, most of that time was spent distracted by the even more urgent journey to reach the itch in the middle of his back.
Garrett has been nearly blind for most of his life, so wandering around in unfamiliarity feels strangely familiar. A sudden bolt of either genius or sobriety flashed through Garrett’s aching skull, and he reaches into his pocket. Ah ha! He pulls his glasses from his pocket like the Hero of Time pulls the Master Sword from its scabbard, and places them gingerly into his face. Freshly bespeckled, he sets his righteous gaze upon this great planet with gracious pleasure.
Oh shit this isn’t my house.
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