Another Drink

(…and now something completely different)

Three clicks.  Soft, orange glow. The fan whines, weary of the day’s hard use. Sweat showers down his brow, stinging both eyes – left, then right.  Slowly, he sits, carefully placing his naked back upon the pleather, late 70’s couch.  He knows each sweat-soaked movement will tug his bare skin, exhaling in a low, Velcro-y sound that is oddly pleasant; not because of the sound, but because of the slight cool created when warm, sticky skin is suddenly exposed to open air.  He reaches toward the end table, right hand extended, left hand below, grabbing the warm beer he had forgotten the night before.  One drink.  Then two. Then another, and another.  A sudden cough squeezes up from his lungs, doubling him over while both back and couch skrip violently apart.

Blood on the floor begins to pool while crimson spittle emanates from chapped lips. Whispered curses slip through clenching teeth.  His eyes roll back and forth, side to side, then in wide circles, stopping just long enough for a moment’s focus on the pool of life coagulating on the living-room floor.  Pulsing in time with his own beat, the amalgam coalesces into a tiny, ruby-colored man.  He opens his eyes, coughs twice, extends his right hand, and takes another drink.

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