Your Life Bores Me
A
heady atmosphere tainted with hashish and cigarette smoke worms its
way up my nostrils, down to my lungs, into my bloodstream and up to
my brain. The girl lying across the sofa next to me is
catatonic and breathing heavily onto the gaudy fabric of the tatty
piece of 80s memorabilia.
I forget who’s party this
is; perhaps Nick’s girlfriend’s… cousin’s… friend’s party
or something. They all merge into one lump of forgetful faces,
alcoholic hazes and drug tinged interiors. No one cares that
I’m here. I brought Vodka.
“Have you seen my
cat?”
A small button nose and eyes wide like plates
look up at me in sweet confusion.
“His name is
Roland,” her voice wavers with concern, “and he has a blue
collar.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t. Why don’t you
have a look outside,” I say, feeling disjointed from my
words. They hang in the air like a speech bubble.
She
shuffles quietly away and I decide the whole episode has left me
unsettled so I head for the bathroom, tripping over the hunched
bodies of drunks expelling their excess on the threadbare carpet and
walking past rooms occupied by drug sharers and copulating couples
making the air thick with the stench of cum and disease.
The
bathroom, however, is free. Funny, I think.
Feeling
unwell I slump to the ground which seems so much closer than it
looked. The sink looms over me like the desperate despot that
it is, gurning at me like a cunt, and judging my paranoia.
Roland
the cat takes one look at me and pukes out of the window.
Bio: Sarah Dalton is a 26 year old writer from Sheffield, England. She graduated from Sheffield University with a BA in Psychology. Although primarily interested in the macabre Sarah is known to dabble in a bit of Sci-Fi.