[fictional # 3] Shot Through The Heart.
Sunday, October 9, 2011 @ 5:35 AM
| 0 notes
---
To celebrate my coming-of-age, I decided to go on a trip. The beach was one of the stupidest and yet, the best places to visit this time of your. The cool winds are starting to take over the country and there weren't a lot of people on that beautiful island down south. You being my companion was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. You graduated a couple of months ago and you have yet to celebrate your so-called freedom. Hiding the fact that I'll be accompanied by a guy from my parents, we left the capital at 5 fucking AM.
I secretly hated you for booking an early flight. But then, my anger lifted when you leaned your head on my shoulder and slept peacefully like a baby. There was something oddly comforting about it that I can't really identify.
We did things separately during our 3-day stay on the island. Nothing special happened. Heck, we even slept on the same bed and we didn't dare touch each other. We just agreed that we were two cheap college kids who refused to pay for an extra bed when we can fit into one and still sleep peacefully.
During our last night, we went out together. It was at the hotel bar and it was so packed with people (which was saying something, since there aren't a lot of people on the island). They had a challenge for the night: Down 17 shots of various mixes and if you're still standing by the end of it, you don't get charged for your stay. Again, you were a total cheapskate. I told you to not push through with the challenge. But noooo, you had to show off.
The 17 shots were poured and placed in front of you. You quickly downed them and by your 8th shot, you were already looking green.
"Hey, I can't finish this." you whispered to me with your arms around my shoulders.
The crowd was already jeering you. Somehow, I felt sorry for you and I had to save you.
"Yo, pour me my own batch of 17 shots. Fuck, make it 20? If I can make it, my friend's tab and mine would be on the house, deal?" I said, trying my best to look cool. The bartender laughed at me.
"What the hell are you thinking, you can't finish 20!" you said, your drunkenness suddenly leaving your body.
"Watch me."
I downed shot after shot. Surprisingly, by the time it was over, I was only a little bit tipsy. The bartender agreed to the deal and we were both happy.
You downed the remaining shots that you left for your challenge. You were too drunk to walk.
I helped you walk up until we reached our room. I even cleaned you up despite the pounding on my head. Before you slept, you hugged me tightly and kissed me.
"I love you. I'm sorry if I can only speak when I'm drunk..."
The hangover didn't hurt when we woke up. But you freaked out and asked me if you confessed while you were drunk. It hurts, thinking that you might never have the courage to say anything while you're sane.
We could be perfectly fucked up together, you know.
---Labels: writing
[fictional # 3] Shot Through The Heart.
Sunday, October 9, 2011 @ 5:35 AM
| 0 notes
---
To celebrate my coming-of-age, I decided to go on a trip. The beach was one of the stupidest and yet, the best places to visit this time of your. The cool winds are starting to take over the country and there weren't a lot of people on that beautiful island down south. You being my companion was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. You graduated a couple of months ago and you have yet to celebrate your so-called freedom. Hiding the fact that I'll be accompanied by a guy from my parents, we left the capital at 5 fucking AM.
I secretly hated you for booking an early flight. But then, my anger lifted when you leaned your head on my shoulder and slept peacefully like a baby. There was something oddly comforting about it that I can't really identify.
We did things separately during our 3-day stay on the island. Nothing special happened. Heck, we even slept on the same bed and we didn't dare touch each other. We just agreed that we were two cheap college kids who refused to pay for an extra bed when we can fit into one and still sleep peacefully.
During our last night, we went out together. It was at the hotel bar and it was so packed with people (which was saying something, since there aren't a lot of people on the island). They had a challenge for the night: Down 17 shots of various mixes and if you're still standing by the end of it, you don't get charged for your stay. Again, you were a total cheapskate. I told you to not push through with the challenge. But noooo, you had to show off.
The 17 shots were poured and placed in front of you. You quickly downed them and by your 8th shot, you were already looking green.
"Hey, I can't finish this." you whispered to me with your arms around my shoulders.
The crowd was already jeering you. Somehow, I felt sorry for you and I had to save you.
"Yo, pour me my own batch of 17 shots. Fuck, make it 20? If I can make it, my friend's tab and mine would be on the house, deal?" I said, trying my best to look cool. The bartender laughed at me.
"What the hell are you thinking, you can't finish 20!" you said, your drunkenness suddenly leaving your body.
"Watch me."
I downed shot after shot. Surprisingly, by the time it was over, I was only a little bit tipsy. The bartender agreed to the deal and we were both happy.
You downed the remaining shots that you left for your challenge. You were too drunk to walk.
I helped you walk up until we reached our room. I even cleaned you up despite the pounding on my head. Before you slept, you hugged me tightly and kissed me.
"I love you. I'm sorry if I can only speak when I'm drunk..."
The hangover didn't hurt when we woke up. But you freaked out and asked me if you confessed while you were drunk. It hurts, thinking that you might never have the courage to say anything while you're sane.
We could be perfectly fucked up together, you know.
---Labels: writing
