Day 168 – Lord of the Bees – Part 1 – REG!

Word count: 1025

Airplanes were sonic-booming through his head. Their twin-jet engines were throbbing in his temples; it was awful. His eyes were shut tight to block out all the light. Was it morning, afternoon? Acid was bubbling in his stomach as well. It would not be pretty if he got up now.
Tim lay they for hours in a semi-conscious state of constant pain. His mouth tasted of dry alcohol and his entire body was in meltdown. Sleep was not an option; his brain was too hectic, dashing around trying to repair the brain cells he had so brutally massacred last night.
What a night it had been… what a night it must have been, rather, for Tim’s memory of the evening contained of arriving, something to do with cheese and cocktail sticks and ordering one hundred shots of the blue smoking things… Everything around those two main articles after arriving was a complete blank. How he had gotten home he had no idea, but he did, so he was very pleased. Though, in the morning, he did have to sweep the room with semi-open eyes just to check that he was indeed in his own bed. He confirmed, felt sea-sick and plonked his head back on the pillow to recharge some more.
Outside some birds were annoying the heck out of him. They were tweeting and cawing and some darn ambulances were speeding with their selfishly loud sirens blaring. Why did the city not just keep silent for him? It was a Saturday after all, did people ever just stop? What was with all the racket, the driving, the traffic lights, the birds, the animals, the clanging of dustbins, the slamming of doors, and that blasted neighbour and his cheek to move around his apartment far more often than was required.
From out of the disrupted serenity of his hangover, the flat buzzer screeched him to his fully conscious self; a bitter and twisted man who had been rudely awoken was his usual disposition. Falling out of the bed, he tumbled towards the front door with a look that might kill.
“On a Saturday! How dare they, I don’t even want friends… blasted, bastards,” he flicked the buzzer on the phone to let them in and stumbled through to the kitchen, throwing some water in a kettle and throwing the egg that had been placed by the strangely already positioned on the hob, he fell against the door handle and yanked it open, “Yes, what do you want? Oh you!”
A man of quite the reverse appearance was standing in the doorway, suited up , newspaper under arm and a pleasant expression on his face. Tim, on the other hand, wore an entangled forest of brown hair, a dazed expression akin to someone returning from an unexpected and extended stay in Australia’s Outback, and coughed up a intoxicating fume of alcohol and tobacco.
Tim stared at the visitor as if it took all his energy just to look at him. The visitor bowed his head slightly and entered without verbal permission. Tim was too knackered to care and threw the door back into place. The man was already making his way into the kitchen and assumed control of the stagnant egg in the frying pan, the gas of which had not even been applied. Tim followed his forced guest and collapsed into a chair and rested the upper half of his torso and head on the cool worktop.
“Ahh,” he sighed with contentment.
But the clatter of fish slices on frying pans was the earthquake to his happy moment.
“I suppose you want coffee?” Tim snapped, “Well help yourself…I think the kettle is somewhere that direction,” he flapped his hand towards the sink.
The next moment a plate was placed down in front of his face. He opened up his eyes and his nostrils.
“Oh dear lord yes, yes, yes,” he sat bolt upright and disregarded the need for cutlery and stuffed the egg on toast into his mouth. “Oh god, yes, oh god!” he mumbled, mid mouthful.
“Well,” Tim continued, “I might not remember a thing about last night, save that thing about the cheese, and something about the colour blue, but I’ve just remembered why I like you!”
“I should think so, Tim,” Matthew smiled.
Tim and Matthew were inseparable but entirely different specimens of life. Matthew was a good, clean cut gentleman with a degree from Oxford, completely teetotal and possessed a strong repertoire of politeness, vocabulary and an inexplicably high tolerance. Tim, on the yin side of the yang, was a foul-mouthed, borderline alcoholic, with no income, no education, very little future prospects, no skills, a bad attitude and the only things in his possession he would irrefutably deny to any police officer that happened to ask. Somehow they were closer than brothers, but neither could explain why.
“Have you seen the paper this morning?” Matthew asked.
“Paper? Paper? That’s words isn’t it?”
“Yes, Tim, words.”
“I’ve been ill all morning.”
“Good night, was it?”
“You were there!”
“Well you did seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Did you take me home?”
“And put you in bed and set up the breakfast things for the morning, yes.”
“But it’s afternoon!”
“But morning to you.”
“Ah, yes. Well, what about this paper?”
“I really think you should read it yourself…”
“Oh Matty, you know I can’t read – and I’ve got a horrible headache, it’s like tanks playing twister in my head, with a full timpani orchestra playing just inches from my ear!”
“You did have a lot to drink…”
“Dammit, I probably have no money left now.”
“Quite the contrary, you didn’t pay a penny for your drinks…”
“What? Why? Who? Can I meet up with them again? I don’t owe them?” Tim was excited by the prospect of free drinks.
“The answer I think you’ll find is in the paper…”
“Oh go on Matty, just get it over with… I won’t be digesting this food for another ten minutes and I’m not sure I can stomach it until then!”
“Well, the thing is, and don’t be alarmed… but the paper…. You’re… in it.”

~ by S.G. Mark on March 23, 2012.

One Response to “Day 168 – Lord of the Bees – Part 1”

  1. Installment 2 please….

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