|Ink and Time (standard:drama, 4675 words)|
|Author: servetheser||Added: Nov 04 2005||Views/Reads: 1746/1111||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Marcus and Brandon were the best of friends in highschool,now one year into college, Brandon starts to become depressed and sucicidal. Marcus is easily classified as far from sainthood. When it appears that Brandon is in trouble he comes to see his frien|
INK AND TIME By. Andrew M. Abernathy The room reeked with the haunting aroma that brings back feelings of heartbreak and hangovers. The smell of cheap beer spilt on the floor, mixed with the dank stench of cigarettes clinging to the furniture and burned in the carpet. Amongst this gauntlet of broken bottles, empty cigarette boxes, and crushed beer cans lay Brandon. Being twenty he was still not a man, nor was he a child anymore, but in limbo, a hiding place between hope and denial. An age very symbolic of his inner feelings, being that he was torn between the fond memories of past friendships and happy birthday wishes, and the desire to break from his roots and find himself. All of his dear friends had already moved off to college, leaving him lagging behind, feeling abandoned. Alone and tired the boy opened his eyes with the sour pain brought only by the hangover of all hangovers. He mumbled the words, “Something has to change.” A florescent light flashed, maybe it was only in his mind or maybe he was seeing something more ethereal, but in his state, too confused to think or even function, Brandon couldn't find the strength to ponder such things. Once again the light flashed followed by a faint but harsh yell, “Breathe!” This forceful light attacked him, followed again by the harsh yelling, “Breath Brandon! Mutherfucker breathe!” This time Brandon's eyes and mouth simontaniously burst open emitting a horrific cough; almost rusty sounding, like opening a basement door that has been idle for a decade. With tear-filled eyes, he looked around the room seeing his friends. Bradley was hovering over him hands on his chest. Charles and Kittie held him. Crying and trembling Brandon suddenly felt an alcohol-induced weight pulling his head to the floor. He let out one last tear and concentrated on breathing. “In and out, in and out, just keep breathing and the next moment will be ok,” he thought Silently and almost reverently Bradley sat to the side of his friend, and looked at Kittie, not saying a word but speaking volumes with his eyes. Brandon was breathing now; he was going to be ok, there would be no arrests for intoxicating a minor but more importantly there would be no funerals. Bradley picked up his small friend and placed him on the beer stinking couch covering him with a jacket left by a friend hours before. Almost in one movement Bradley sat down on the living-room floor, cracked open another beer and looked at Kittie, who was sitting next to Brandon gently stroking his forehead. Bradley toasted his drink in the air and said, “Well, here's to Brandon.” Bradley slowly chugged back the cheap lager, and closed his now older eyes. According to Kittie, (who happened to be the only one sober enough to remember that night.) It started just as any late Friday night had. She brought the liquor, Bradley brought the beer, and as always Brandon supplied the drunken entertainment. After an hour of heavy drinking, downing their favorite shots, “The Four Horsemen,” “Straight Tequila” and of course “The Suicide,” they found themselves subject to a show of drunken acrobatics. Brandon, not knowing what he was doing, jumped off the stairwell, hung from the ceiling fan, and eventually found himself banging his head into the TV stand. The fragile stand ended up breaking, causing the glowing box to fall to the ground were it still lay the next morning displaying a mini series of static electricity. About four tequila shots after the hilarious TV incident, Brandon as usual told jokes in a way that would puzzle the sober man but made those who were “shit-faced” almost cry from laughter. After another few shots of Jose Cuervo he started stumbling to the bathroom under the stairwell, the same one he had leaped from only moments before. Just as he reached the door he fell to his knees and landed face forward on the floor. Being the physical comedian he was Charles and Kittie first laughed at his collapsed state and trembling arms. Thinking it was little more than cheap entertainment the two sat back and chuckled. But, after what felt like a few minutes to them but could have been half an hour they realized, there was no joking going on. Nervously Charles and Kitty went to pick up their friend, only to find he wasn't breathing. Kittie held him and tried to hold him down as he jerked around like a mouse caught in a trap. Charles, ran upstairs to wake Bradley, who hours earlier, had been dragged to bed by his long time girlfriend Julia; by this time the two had fallen dead asleep in their room. Bradley was a volunteer fire fighter as well as an Eagle Scout. Hopefully he had slept off some of his buzz. Kittie waited for Bradley. She rubbed Brandon's arm, sobbing, “Please wake up Brandon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” She held him like she had never held anything, like she was holding on to her own life inside of this boy she hardly knew. She calmed down for a moment when she Click here to read the rest of this story (307 more lines)
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