Post by J.Hollick on Jan 1, 2013 11:14:33 GMT -9
Drinks lay scattered across the table, one had spilled and a small river ran across the table and pooled on the floor below. The stereo had been left on though the ipod plugged into had long since died. A man lay on the floor, his aviators askew and only one arm in his white ‘Aerosmith’ t-shirt. His mouth was gaping open as a light snored escaped him and like the beer pooled on the floor a small amount of drool had gathered beneath his mouth. Sunlight streamed freely through the wall of windows that looked out upon the lake and mountains. It was a gorgeous sunny day, not a cloud in sight and the sky a beautiful azure. Out on the lake a small catamaran drifted slowly, it’s sails barely billowing in the lazy afternoon wind.
Down in the basement bathroom, passed out on the floor, a second man lay on the cold tiles, shirtless. As his phone lights up and vibrates he slowly comes to. With great effort he raises his head off the floor and tilts the phone towards him. He slides his finger across the screen and reads the text. His eyes widen with the indications of the text message.
The name reads ‘Kelly’. But who is Kelly? He thinks hard back to the night before but it is useless. He remembers very distinctly three different girls but does not remember their names. Another message pops up. This time it’s a photo. He opens it. It’s a photo of a red-laced bra, in the background an apartment building. Another message, hinting at things to come if he can find her within the hour.
It’s a game. This man loves games. He finds his shirt and throws it on. His hangover forgotten for the moment he bounds up the stairs two at a time and swipes the aviators from the unconscious form on the floor. He pauses a moment at the door to try and tame his wild brown hair but gives up. He wrenches the door open, recoils at the light but forces himself outside and to his car. He charges off into the afternoon.
Down in the basement bathroom, passed out on the floor, a second man lay on the cold tiles, shirtless. As his phone lights up and vibrates he slowly comes to. With great effort he raises his head off the floor and tilts the phone towards him. He slides his finger across the screen and reads the text. His eyes widen with the indications of the text message.
The name reads ‘Kelly’. But who is Kelly? He thinks hard back to the night before but it is useless. He remembers very distinctly three different girls but does not remember their names. Another message pops up. This time it’s a photo. He opens it. It’s a photo of a red-laced bra, in the background an apartment building. Another message, hinting at things to come if he can find her within the hour.
It’s a game. This man loves games. He finds his shirt and throws it on. His hangover forgotten for the moment he bounds up the stairs two at a time and swipes the aviators from the unconscious form on the floor. He pauses a moment at the door to try and tame his wild brown hair but gives up. He wrenches the door open, recoils at the light but forces himself outside and to his car. He charges off into the afternoon.
