It may have been a slap, it may have been real. It could have been my mind returning to reality. I saw Adrian’s mouth moving, but only bubbles came out. The air that escaped was haloed by a smoky cocoon, holding in the sound and dulling the world. Ryan spoke as well, his words also captured. The bubbles floated upwards and watched on in silence as they wafted towards the ceiling light.
Then the heat from light exploded the smoke rings and the sounds fell about me, garbled and on top of one another. I made out nothing. The sound made me recoil, the assault aural and physical. And I could smell the smoke – it smelled like Tina.
My eyes closed again, multiple voices talking over one another as the sounds fell on me – an over-riding wail the constant backdrop.
Time passed I think…
My chest ripped in two…
My legs ached as if I had run three marathons, my skull hammered away more fiercely than any hangover dared to attempt. Fuck you hangover, grief has made you its bitch!
My throat was full, breathing almost impossible. My eyes refused to open. Was it guilt, or shame?
Writing Crash Page 15