Quick Late Night Short

Just a quick short after a good night, 3am means intoxicated fiction!

Tony
Tim Harvey

Crisp, clean air whipped against Tony's ears as he walked from the counsellor's office. Painful gusts of wind slashed at his face, each burst causing him to cringe. He pulled his scarf over his mouth, dragging it up over his ears. But the staggering bolts of cold air had already done their damage. Tony lowered his scarf in defeat.
He had finally quit Uni. Giving up everything that his parents had wanted for him was not as difficult as he thought it would be. Smiling as he informed the counsellor that he would no longer be attending classes was easy. Easier than Tony had imagined.
But, as he walked away from the life he was born into, Tony felt the pain that would be inflicted on his parents, the pain that his girlfriend, Amber, would feel. Each gust of ripping wind tore holes in his flesh, tore holes in the flesh of everybody that he loved. They would understand, they must, Tony thought. It was too soon for reason though, and Tony felt each bolt of wind, as they would feel the searing pain when they found out he wasn't going to be the man that they had hoped he would be.
For his parents, Tony felt little remorse. They had pushed him into Law, as a bully pushes a kid into the dirt, face first. He had never had a choice. When he asked for a football, for his sixth birthday, his Father had handed him a dictionary. When he applied for Drama in High School, his Mother had his courses changed to include Business Studies. There was no way to tell them that Law was just wrong. The pain of the whipping winds felt comforting, when Tony realised he had felt the lashings of duty across his back for his entire life.
Amber was the real issue. Tony met her in first year, and they got along quite well. It was shaky at first, she wasn't quite ready for a real relationship. Tony pushed her into being with him. He needed someone to confide in, someone to finally talk to. She pulled away from his over eager advances. In second year, Tony had pulled back, giving her the space that she needed. The two of them went about their studies as if they didn't even know each other.
By the time third year came around, Amber had had her fair share of disappointing engagements with guys. Tony acted as a friend, giving her the support she needed through the latest breakup. One night, at her house, Amber had kissed Tony. At first he thought it was just a gesture of their closeness. Despite his friendly demeanour, Tony had wanted Amber since he laid eyes on her. He could, however, never enter a relationship where the other party wasn't fully committed. The kiss was all he needed.
They both soared through third year Law, consuming the curriculum, and each other. It was only near the end of the year that Tony had decided to make his stand. It was entirely out of principle, and even he thought it naïve and stupid. He would quit Uni, right before he graduated. There was no reason to do it, for the regular person. Everybody would just get the degree, they had gone this far, after all. But Tony knew that this was the message that he wanted to send.
For the last four years, Tony had been taking forbidden Dance classes. For his entire life, all he wanted to do was move. His body was his life, his tool, his art. When he applied for Dance, his Father had called the school and had his courses changed. But Tony was resilient, he took night classes at a Dance studio that he knew his parents couldn't trace. They had no idea of his extra-curricular activities, but now was the time to show them.
For years he had been perfecting his ballroom dancing. Even Amber had no idea. The whole thing was Tony's little secret. His life's ambition, his only dream was to glide across the hardwood floors of the great ballrooms of the world. Spinning and twirling in a suit, too tight for his body, pressed against his partner, was the only escape from the oppression he felt at home.
Quitting Uni was the message he wanted to send his parents. It would symbolise his attitude towards his own destiny. They could wait to hear about the dancing. At first, just quitting was all he needed to tell them.
Amber was the issue. She was the reason that the winds scorched his face so. They had formed a bond so strong. The years of mutual friendship had led them to know every inch of each other's psyche. When they finally took the plunge that Tony had been waiting for, they was so ready that it hit them with the force of a moving train.
Their first night together was indescribable. They both knew exactly what the other wanted, and there was no hesitation, no faltering movements. Each gesture to the other was fuelled by passion and accepted with empathy and compassion. There was no judgement as they explored each other, guided by knowledge only attainable through years of mutual acceptance.
From that point on, they both knew they were thoroughly connected. There was no denial, and they never even spoke of it. This was why it was so hard for Tony to quit Uni. He had lied to Amber. The future they had planned as lawyers was a lie. He never believed it would happen, but he indulged her wildest fantasies of the perfect life together. She would, and could accept that he was to be a dancer, but she would be destroyed when he admitted to lying to her.
The pain that she would feel would tear at her skin, as the powerful winds ripped at Tony's face, as he left the counsellor's office.


Don't know if this is going to go anywhere. I'm fairly drunk, so I can't really tell if it's any good. Hope you've enjoyed it. I'm going to assume the typos are thick and plenty. Thanks to all the readers that have put up with the recent couple of terrible drunk stories.

Late and drunk...

This latest installment of the Rob & Maddy story comes courtesy of some inebriation. Apologies for any mistakes or errors that have come as a result of having a few too many drinks. But, rain or shine, drunk or sober, I am determined to not keep my readers waiting.

On another note, Blogger has been having some technical difficulties lately and I have noticed that the last Rob & Maddy post is missing. The forums state that this should be temporary, but I'm a little bit skeptical. I'll fix up the post order etc at a later date, if Blogger is unable to do so. Happy reading.

Rob and Maddy: 8
Tim Harvey

Rob saw the look in Maddy's eyes. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering her, but he could tell that she was uneasy. He turned his head to see a group of huge looking thugs approaching them. At the centre of the group he saw James, beaten and battered, leading the thugs towards their position at the table.
Rob put his hand over Maddy's and stood. He gave her a weak smile and looked deeply into her eyes. He wanted to shout “run!” Rob seized her hand and took off into the crowd. She followed him, holding tightly onto his strong hand.
'Move,' Rob whispered into her ear as they ran through the crowds. The people seemed to shift aimlessly around them as they made their escape. Seeming to feel their apprehension, the crowd shifted around them like a fluid machine, letting them pass. When he looked over his shoulder, the crowd had shifted back to their original positions, blocking the path of James and his entourage.
Away from the food area, they ran. Darting and dashing through the mass of people. Rob felt a horrible weight in his chest. He felt like vomiting as he pushed and glided through the crush of bodies.
'In there!' Rob exclaimed to Maddy as he pulled her into an empty tent. It was a merchandise stall that had closed up shop earlier that day. There were a few t-shirts hanging from hooks in the walls of the tent.
A guy packing items of merchandise into a cardboard box gave them an awkward glance.
'Can we stay here for a bit?' Rob asked, his hand still firmly attached to Maddy's.
'Sure,' the guy said with a shrug, apparently noticing Rob's anxiety.
He packed his box and left the tent, and the couple, with a nod of approval.
'Thank you so much,' Maddy said as he left the tent. He gave them a brief smile that was both comforting and naïve.
Rob examined Maddy's terrified face and rested his hands on her upper arms. He felt warmth tingle through his body when she stopped shaking, at his touch.
'We're okay now,' Rob said.
'Sure?' Maddy asked. She had a wild look in her eyes that Rob wanted to subdue.
'They have no idea that we're here,' Rob said, trying to slow her racing heart.
He looked behind him, towards the tent flap and tried to listen for any hostile footsteps.
None came and he turned to Maddy, giving her his most comfortable smile.
Please feel hat we're safe, Rob thought. Please feel safe with me, he added in his mind, hoping that she could somehow read his thoughts.

With his hands on her arms, and his gentle words, Maddy felt at ease.
'I'm okay,' she said after taking a deep breath. She heard footsteps outside the tent and froze. If James and his thugs found them, they would surely give Rob the beating of a lifetime.
She pictured him, bloody and beaten on the floor of the tent and in her mind she knelt to comfort him. The ghastly image of Rob dying in the dirt sent a deep and strong shudder through her body.
Rob's hands on her arms helped to ease the shudder, but she was sure that he felt it too, as the footsteps passed the tent.
'Rob,' she exclaimed staring deeply into his eyes. She rested her palms against his heaving chest. The muscles under his shirt tensed and relaxed with every deep breath. After a moment of this awkward embrace, she felt his breathing deepen, but his heart rate decrease. He exhaled a long held breath and began to rub her upper arms with his thumbs.
'Rob,' Maddy repeated, her chest tightening. She felt his powerful grip on her arms, with an uneasy hesitation in his fingers. He stroked her arms with great difficulty. She could read it on his face.
'Maddy,' he managed to choke out. His breathing was erratic and he took deep breaths in through his nose, but intermittently let them out through his lips. His chest tightened under her gentle grasp and she pressed harder, feeling his powerful muscles contract with her touch.
'I'm sorry,' he whispered so quietly, so gently that she could have almost imagined it.
She stepped closer, pressing her chest against his torso. She wanted to let him be at ease. She brashly stroked his chest and pushed her chin out to him, beckoning a kiss. She needed him to calm down. She wanted him to feel at ease. His clear fright of the impending pain and terror that her ex boyfriend threatened was her fault.
She hoped he could feel comfortable, even just for a moment. They weren't going to beat her and she knew this. Rob knew this too and despite her physical contact, he couldn't calm down.

'Are they gone?' Rob asked stupidly. He felt like a child. His mother wasn't here to protect him from the bullies and he pressed against Maddy hoping for the same protection. It was a stupid idea, Rob decided. But he felt a warm comfort from her gentle pushing. He suddenly felt the desire to take it further. He wanted to shove his lips against hers in the darkened, abandoned tent.
'Yes,' Maddy replied. She seemed confident, but Rob was still residing in a whirlwind of terror and pain. He had imagined the thugs brutally beating at his body. Breaking his bones and fracturing his skull was just the beginning. Rob imagined his organs being split and perforated, leaving him rotting and decaying under their humiliating glares. His mind didn't usually drift to such dark places, but for some reason he had let the fear get the better of him.
Once, his father had a bout of deep anxiety, when he had lost his job. Rob was informed that the condition may be hereditary, but he never thought about it. Only in the face of such a terrible ending did Rob's mind revert to a childish fear of pain and torment.
'I'm here,' Maddy whispered gently into his ear. She pressed against him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He felt the rush of warmth roll through his body as he had when she hugged him in the pavilion. But this time, he felt warm tears roll down her cheeks.
Rob pulled away, just for a moment to inspect Maddy's face. She wore the concern of a mother that had lost her child. She clung to him trying to protect every fibre of his being. The look on her face said that she hoped that something pure could last in his threatened state.
He pulled her close and against his will, he kissed her on the head. Holding his head against hers, he repeated the kiss. Her hair was frizzy and red, but he gave her every ounce of affection that he could muster.
She saw his weakness. She saw right into his being and held him close. The fear and powerlessness that he felt consumed by was absorbed by her embrace. She took his fear and held it as her own. Rob pulled her tight, hoping to re-absorb that fear. He didn't want her to feel it.
After a long embrace, Rob realised that he could never take the fear back. She held it as her own, but his embrace was a symbol that it was to be shared. She bounced it back to him through her hands, stroking his back, and he bounced the remnants back to her, gently resting his head against her shoulder.
In the end, the fear and terror hand been bounced around so much that it had lost all of its power. Rob pulled back and smiled at Maddy. She offered a warm glance and a slight chuckle.
'What time is it?' Maddy asked.

Rob checked his phone and saw that it was almost six o'clock. Maddy had to stifle a gasp as they exited the tent. There was no sign of James and his thugs, and Maddy hoped that they wouldn't run into them again that night.
'We should head the the main stage,' Maddy said, practically.
Rob stared longingly into her eyes. He held a gaze of awe and empathy in his look and Maddy felt like curling up in his embrace.
'Maddy,' Rob began, causing her heart the race. 'Thank you.'
She felt her cheeks burn, deeper and harder than they had at any point that day. She stepped closer to him and gently stroked his powerful chest.
'No worries,' she whispered and placed her head gently against his chest. She felt a large, strong arm wrap around her body and a warm easy kiss on her head. She wondered if and when he would kiss her on the lips. Of course the situation in the tent had been rough, especially with him being the prime target for a gang of huge thugs. But she guiltily anticipated his warm soft lips pressing against hers.
Stupid, she thought. Imagine feeling as if you were going to be beaten to a pulp! She pressed against him and offered him the gentle support that she knew he needed. She would have offered him the kiss, but she knew that was a step that he would have to take on his own. She wanted it, but he would have to be the one to do it.
'Let's get to the stage,' Maddy said, pulling gently and easily away from Rob. She clasped his hand firmly and offered him the most seductive smile that she could muster considering the circumstances. He returned her smile with a weak one of his own. He was still shaken by the threat of pain.
Once they had reached the main stage, Rob and Maddy passed, hand in hand, through the security point and onto the sprawling lawn of the general admission area. They were in the prime position to see Arcade Fire live and they both couldn't wait.

Blogging at 3am means...

Yep, I've had a few "beverages" tonight. Although this post isn't going to be the usual rant. Instead I've just focussed on working on more fiction. I had a pretty strong desire to continue with my experimentations with the romance genre and knocked out this one.

I've felt that my past attempts, with the Jeff and Deb stories, hadn't been too strict with the genre traditions. With this story I've tried to adapt my writing style to the more "active" prose of the genre. Although I have trouble writing the "typical" characters found in the genre so my "hero" and "heroine" aren't too traditional.

Hope it works out.

Romance Experiment # 5.1743
Tim Harvey

The chill of the cold beer glided down Rob's throat, cooling his chest and easing the stifling humidity of the festival grounds. It was only his third for the day, but Rob noticed the easy buzz taming his apprehensions about being alone at one of the biggest music events in the country. He smiled calmly and took another swig from the ice cold can, the perfect cure for the summertime blues.
He had never felt quite comfortable being alone at these things, but this year when his friends decided they couldn't go, Rob remained determined to keep up his live music streak. He had woken early that morning, skipped breakfast, dodged his shave and caught the bus to the festival grounds, arriving at nine in the morning. By eleven Rob was three beers down, and had fully shaken off the annoying feeling that his mates had ditched him. He was ready to enjoy the music and the atmosphere, even if he was by himself.
It was at the exact moment that the bartender, shaded by the large Coopers marquee, had cracked open his fourth can, that Rob noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but stare at the petite redhead in the Arcade Fire shirt arguing with another bartender. Her fiery red hair matched the look in her eye as she tried in vain to convince the bartender that she had ordered three pre-mixed vodkas for her friends, who were waiting outside the enclosed drinks area.
The bartender brutally enforced the two drink maximum rule and sent her packing. Rob couldn't take his eyes off the girl, her hair had struck him at first but as she walked proudly from the bar, Rob caught a glimpse of her slender figure. She wore a pair of navy short shorts, the kind that girls wear to the gym or a netball game, and a pair of red converse sneakers, no socks. The confidence in her walk, after being so publicly rejected, sent a surge of energy through Rob's body. He had to meet this girl, he thought. He felt an insatiable need to be close to her.
The groan from behind him snapped Rob out of his stupor and he apologised as he paid for the beer. A greater groan rose from the crowd waiting in line as Rob ordered a pre-mixed vodka with a sheepish grin. Drinks in hand, Rob darted through the crowd after the girl in the Arcade Fire tee.

Maddy couldn't believe the nerve of that stuck up bartender. She took a long swig from the vodka can as she stepped through the exit of the drinks area. The artificially sweetened orange tang hit her throat, masking the strength of the spirit within. She was grateful for the cool drink in her hand when she stepped back out into the summer sun.
'You forgot something,' a voice from behind Maddy caused her to freeze. Had she forgotten something? She spun around to see a guy holding a can of vodka out at her as if it were hers.
'Sorry?' she managed. The guy was tall and fairly slender, although his broad shoulders and wide chest seemed to say footy player.
'Your drink,' the guy said with a grin, holding the can closer to her. Had he seen her trying to order three drinks at a two drink max bar? Did he buy the third drink for her?
'That's not mine, sorry,' she muttered and turned to leave. Her eyes drifted across his chest as she did so, noticing the way his white v-neck tee spread over his collarbones, emphasising the strength in his shoulders. When she had managed to drag her eyes from him she began to walk away. Almost shaking her head, Maddy felt the impending hand on her shoulder. These jock types were all the same, she thought, they're just looking for an easy girl. It was a good thing that she was the furthest thing from easy, and this guy was going to find that out, right now.
She had managed at least thirty meters when she paused. There was no hand, no call, nothing. She felt a slight sting of rejection, but shook her head at the unnerving thought. Was she really that vain? But, could she really be that judgemental? Slowly, Maddy turned her head, casually checking out the crowd behind her.
The guy remained fixed in the same position that she had left him. His broad shoulders were slightly drooped and he had a dejected look on his face. He wasn't looking at her, instead reading the can of vodka in his hand. She noticed a can of beer in the hand at his waist. The waist was also pretty slim, and Maddy struggled not to take in the pair of muscular legs clad in khaki shorts, ending just above the knee. Football player, definitely.

Rob didn't get it. He felt that he could never quite get it right with girls. The idea that she would accept his joking offer was just plain stupid. The vodka can cooled his hand and he turned it over the read the information on the side. He never really liked the stuff, but he might as well drink it now that he had foolishly bought the damned thing.
'I'll take it, if you're still offering,' the voice was calm and Rob raised his eyes, startled to see the girl standing once again before him. She wore an easy smile that set aside any doubts or anxieties that had drifted into his head.
'Sure,' he offered the can to her. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she looked to the two cans already occupying her hands.
Rob managed a weak smile and she looked up at him, her face breaking into a wide grin. She took the can from him, and offered a shrug as she held the three cans between her delicate fingers. Rob noticed the perspiration on the cans running down her soft hands and couldn't hold back a wide grin of his own.
'I can hold that for you,' he smiled at her, 'Until you find your friends.'
She lowered her gaze and reluctantly offered the can back to him. Rob saw a hesitation in her eyes, and she took a breath as if she was about to say something but halted.
Stupid, Rob cursed himself. The drinks were for her.
'I always like to buy two beers, easier than waiting in line again,' Rob added, hoping that he hadn't upset her too much.
'Sure,' she said casually and looked away. Rob took the can, and took the time to take a good look at her. She was staring at a crowd of people lining up at a merchandise stand, but Rob didn't notice that. He was transfixed by her delicate jawline, her pale skin that looked so soft, and her slender neck. A loose lock of her wild red hair hung over her eye and Rob blamed the cans in his hands for his inability to brush it away. Images of his hand brushing that lock away flooded his mind and he could almost feel the warm flush of her cheeks as he imagined running his fingers gently across her face.

Maddy could feel his intense gaze on her hot cheeks as she watched the crowd flock around the merchandise stall. What was he thinking about? She wondered if he was judging her for trying to buy three drinks. He said he liked to buy more than one at a time. The burn of his gaze began to get too strong for her and she flicked her head back to face him.
Their eyes met and Maddy could see a gentle radiance flowing through his features. He sent a wave of heat through her cheeks. It could have just been the sun's powerful rays, but Maddy was sure that this was more than humidity. He didn't break eye contact and she took the time to get a good look at him.
He was unshaven, but the stubble, while normally a turn off, coated his tanned skin and cast a shadow under his high, strong cheekbones. They weren't the only thing that stood out strongly on his face, his jaw formed a sharp square that fit neatly into his perfectly moulded chin.
While his hair was dark, he had light eyes. They were a shade of hazel, not quite green or blue but close enough. Maddy felt a slight tingle in her fingertips. It could be the vodka, but she felt sure that it was caused by him.
He broke the eye contact, she realised as she noticed he was looking at her face. Her eyes drifted down to his chest, which was at her eye level. She felt like throwing the cans away and resting her hands on his strong chest. She wanted to feel his heart beating beneath the white tee. A strong desire to rest her body against him washed over her. She just wanted to rest her head on his chest and feel his arms wrap gently around her.
Of course, she couldn't just throw her drinks away, the idea was stupid. But if she didn't have them, would she do it?
'What's your name?' the guy asked, breaking the silence.
'Maddy,' she replied.
'I'm Rob,' he said.
The two looked to the cans in each of their hands and both shared the same sheepish grin. Good excuse, she thought.


Oh, it shouldn't end like that by the way... I'm just really tired.

Quick Short

Hi all, this is a quick short done just now. It's fairly self-expalanatory. Any comments and ideas are more than welcome.

On a side note, I'm still working hard on that writing competition and doing well, despite the dreaded university schedule.

Not another drunk piece!
Tim Harvey

I went to a party dressed as Hunter S Thompson. My word document freezes as I write this and I wonder, 'is this happening, did I write that?' You are the witness to a truly unique event. As I write this, I am totally intoxicated. My spelling may be bad, my grammar improper. You'll have to forgive me, but frankly, I am drunk. This is it. This is what is going on, right now!
I went to a party dressed as Hunter S Thompson. One person recognised my costume, and frankly, I only expected one person to get who I was supposed to be. One person commented that I looked like the director of pornographic films. I laughed at this, 'yes, I do look like a porn director.' Another girl suggested I looked like somebody from a completely unrelated film. I said, 'I can be whoever you think I am.'
I danced, as Dr Thompson. I acted like Johnny Depp from the film that made Hunter Thompson so famous to young audiences. But, one person commented, later in the evening, that I 'looked like a writer.' he turned to his friend and said; 'he looks like a writer.' My heart leapt at the idea of resembling a writer. I thought; 'am I a writer?' This bounced in my head for a while.
Presently, I am lying in bed, writing. Does this make me a writer? I am unsure. I write, sure, that is true enough. But as a writer? I am unsure. What does a writer look like, what does a writer feel like? I don't know. A smart man, named Dan O'Brien, once wrote; 'I am an idiot.' For some reason this article comes to mind. We are all idiots, I feel. We believe we have life sorted out and one day, everything we hold close, changes. One day we adopt a new set of ideas and rules that completely supersede our old idea of life.
As humans we all do this. This may be a by-product of the 21st century, social networking and all that. I don't know, I am unsure. There is a lack of confidence in my ability to determine what is accurate at the present moment. I hold strong ideas very close until I find something that seems, at the moment, more important. What does this mean? I am unsure.
I once wrote a story that started like this; 'I wake up on the edge of a river. The river is a sleek, smooth mirror. The water, like liquid metal reflects everything around me. I don't know how I got here or what is going on.' The story pretty much ended there. I was unsure of where to go. Once I thought of a story that went like this; 'You stand at a crossroads. Two roads split in front of you and you are unsure. You decide to sit and wait by the crossroads. Eventually someone comes along, they are beautiful and perfect. They instantly choose a road and you regret following them. But you are scared they chose the wrong road for you.'
What does this mean, I am unsure.
Being unsure is a pretty common problem in this narrative, isn't it?
Sometimes I am sure of certain things. There are things that I write that just feel right. I don't necessarily write from personal experience, but each word I put down, sometimes, feels like... It feels like how I feel. I can't explain emotion, I can't explain feelings, but some things just fit. They just feel... correct. I couldn't say if they feel correct because I have seen them, or because I have read them. I can't say, with any certainty, that anything I write is honest. I hope that it is open though, I hope that there is some way of looking at me through my writing. Like the mirrored river of that short, all writing is a reflection of myself.
I smiled when my friend commented that I looked like a writer. It was a comment on the costume, sure. But, it was a reflection of myself, and all that I hope to be.
I write not for fame, money or accolades. I write to feel, to explore feelings, to express myself. This project, right now, the one that you are reading, is a projection of me. This is a way for me to express. It is personal, and I know it is damned raw. There is little room for self-censorship when you are drunk. I apologise for any drunken actions. When I dance with someone, when I talk candidly, when I make crude jokes, I apologise. But I cannot apologise for the openness presented when I write.
A lot of writers get criticised for being intoxicated. Hunter S Thompson was one of these writers. William S Burroughs, Edgar Allan Poe, Philip K Dick, these writers were criticised for their ailments, their... insanities. They should never have to apologise for their expression, they should never have any shame attributed to their names for their writing. Jim Morrison and Ian Curtis were musicians that shared the same fate.
Whatever this means, whatever it means to be a writer, I am unsure. The pad and pen are methods of expression that should be only done for self fulfilment. Any writer looking for fame, any writer hoping for money is in the wrong line of work. It must, and I repeat, must, be done for the self, or for the love of others. Anthony Burgess wrote 'A Clockwork Orange' because he thought he was dying of a brain tumour. He wanted his wife to be able to live a happy life after his death. The man wrote a large number of books in a year. He wrote almost one novel a month, according to my recollection. He did this, not for fame, not for accolades. He did this in the hope that one of his novels would sell. Sure, it was for the money, but he feared death. His doctor told him he would die, so instead of falling into self-pity, he wrote. He wrote for his wife.
'A Clockwork Orange' is successful today because of Stanley Kubrick's film, but the novel was successful too. Anthony Burgess was writing for the love of his wife.
I don't know if I'll ever be in that position. But I hope that if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, I would put everything aside, all shame, all self-pity and self-loathing, for the love of another. I can picture Burgess writing with an amazing fire and passion, I can picture him typing, not as if his life depended on it, but as if the lives of his loved ones depended on it.
Recap; I was told that I resembled a writer, tonight at a party. I am drunk. Whatever was written is a train of thought. This “metaphorical” train has left the station and I am... yeah, unsure of where it will end. All I know at the present moment is, that this train has left me with a sense of confidence. It has departed and instead of lonely and afraid I feel excited. I am writing, now. I am a writer and even if I never see fame, if I never see a dollar for my work I will feel fulfilled. This is my expression, this is my form of release and I, right now, realise that this is what I have. This is something that makes me happy, whether it is writing a drunken blog post at three in the morning or working on a project, I am at my most comfortable, (to quote R.E.M;) at my most beautiful, when I am free here at the computer, writing.
That was a good way to end this: read above. Drunken sentimentalism aside, I like to write... and you like to read, apparently, otherwise you wouldn't have read this.

Late, late week update.

Sorry for the late update. I wrote this short just now, slightly intoxicated and very sleepy... (or vice versa.) I hope it makes some sense, because right now it looks like gibberish. Any interpretations are welcome. More shorts to come next week, and I promise not to leave them to the last minute ;) Spent the majority of the night discussing, with my mates, songs to be included in the latest Triple J Hottest 100. A generally popular track seems to be, this one by Angus & Julia Stone. Pretty nice sounding (each post is becoming more like a music blog... look for album reviews next week ;) )
Well, either way, enjoy the story.

Drunk; and home, for better or worse
By Tim Harvey

I laughed as I sat in my bed, or lay in my bed, as it were.
I was still drunk.
The party was over, my friends had left , the taxi had dropped me home, and I was still drunk.
I snickered and laughed.
The feeling consumed me as I stepped through the front door. Three am, and I snicker.
As I fall through the door, my mind flexes, twisting as it hasn't for two weeks, twisting as it hasn't since the beginning of Two-thousand and eleven.
My hand dives into my Mother's handbag, fondling and fidgeting, twitching with pain as I realise I've been saved.
My hand rests against her purse as I think, 'There are no cigarettes here.'
The thought rocks me, and I laugh. I spent Friday surrounded by smokers and those who didn't smoke, giving me high-fives because I quit. My identity, once so wrapped up in tobacco, now defined by avoiding the substance.
My hand quivers and flexes as it searches every nook and cranny of the handbag.
Moments ago, I had resigned myself to lasting only two weeks. Two pathetic weeks. I think of the one thought that had kept me from smoking in those two weeks; 'I haven't smoked, this year.'
I laugh and my body shakes, and I leant against the handbag, resting against the wall in the kitchen. I let out a sigh, a sigh as if I were releasing a trapped gas, a sigh as if I were inventing a new emotion and testing it out. My lungs heave and I rest my head against the cool faux-leather, giggling, relieved. My hand darts back to my side, my bare chest dripping with sweat and my bare mind dripping with the desire to sleep.
I had changed, my clothes lying on my floor. When did I get home? Standing in the kitchen later. Much later.
The dog pants restlessly at my heels and I swoop him up in my hands and clutch him to my bare-chest. The mini fox-terrier in my arms pants with the heat and tries to lick my face.
I hear a groan from the hallway and briskly step over to see what is happening. There is no fear within me, my house is usually crowded, and no-matter what hour it is, or how drunk I am, I expect activity.
My sister stands at the end of the hallway covering her eyes. I stand in the kitchen holding the dog, covering my chest, and little else.
“Somebody rang,” I comment, the fox-terrier clutched to my chest.
“Yeah,” my sister comments back, her hand over her eyes.
I realise at this moment that she had groaned at me.
I was wearing only a pair of grey briefs and she was not accustomed to seeing me in anything less than shorts and a tee-shirt.
I felt slightly empowered by the situation, I must admit. I was free, and she was blind, however I shuffled into my room and let the dog down gently.
“Who's here?” I questioned.
“I dunno,” she responded, hand still over her eyes. I thought about that hand. It meant she obviously hadn't seen me half-naked before.
Fair enough.
Despite my usual, occasional, drunken binges, she hadn't seen me sans pants.
Fair enough.
But she didn't peek. She didn't give up, despite me entering my room and closing the door. Her hand remained firmly over her eyes. What does that mean?
She isn't afraid of me, no. She isn't disturbed by me, hopefully. She is innocent.
Hopefully.
I breathed a strong gust of thoughts out of my head, and with it, my drunken mind abruptly let go of the previous chain of ideas, and my mind went blank.
I was in my room, in my underwear, drunk.
I smelt of dog, I smelt of beer, and I was home.
Why didn't I smell of cigarettes, what year was it?
I stood in my closed doorway, I heard the dog trot down the hall, that bastard always came to my door, why?
As I sat in bed, lay in bed rather, my mind drifted.
I thought of the advice my friend had given me that night; “Dude, just grab her hand.”
I pondered that, my mind darted and drifted like a moth that was... that was... well... drunk.
I tried to think of the context, I tried to think of what I'd told him, I tried to find the words that had drawn that response from him.
My mind recoiled, and I drifted to sleep for a moment. Focussing, abruptly and instinctively I tried to place the words.
“Dude... Just, grab her hand.”
“Grab her hand.”
I didn't know when, I didn't know why. When can I do that? When should I do that?
I want the answer. I need that answer, but I fear it is something for me to discover. Please tell me, please let me know if that is what should happen. Release me from this doubt and... just tell me. Goddamnit just tell me.
I feel like sleeping.
And so, I slept.