Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: Story must be contain the line "I wonder where that came from."
Recollectionless
Buckley stared at the ceiling with one clear thought, Where the hell am I?
His head rolled over to the right bringing something big and brown into his line of site. Focus was slow in coming, hindered by a competing brain-signal that screamed PAIN!
He was no stranger to hangovers so the source of the pain held no mystery. The brown thing was starting to look like his ratty old sofa standing on its side. Buckley sat up while gravity resumed its job of holding the furniture to the floor.
Rightly assuming that the presence of his sofa meant he was in his own apartment cleared up some of his immediate questions. Rolling to his stomach, our hero managed to get to his hands and knees; he had a porcelain god to pray to and it wasn’t going to come to him.
As he made his way down the hallway, he came across what appeared to be a large stuffed beaver wearing slippers and a motorcycle helmet. I wonder where that came from? he thought only mildly surprised. He had seen stranger things.
His mind rolodexed backwards hoping to find that the activities of the night before justified this morning’s “head-o-death” feeling that pulsed in time with his heart. Flashes of bright lights, taxi cabs, women and something that reminded him of a unicorn all flashed through his mind in nightmarish fashion. Nothing made sense.
With no coherent memory, he took stock of what he could. Aside from his head, he seemed to be physically intact. The apartment, while untidy, was basically undamaged. He had to admit that the beaver added a sense of exotic curiosity to his otherwise drab abode. No harm, no foul …
Time to deal with the pain, he thought, reaching for the Jack Daniels.
The prompts: Story must be contain the line "I wonder where that came from."
Recollectionless
Buckley stared at the ceiling with one clear thought, Where the hell am I?
His head rolled over to the right bringing something big and brown into his line of site. Focus was slow in coming, hindered by a competing brain-signal that screamed PAIN!
He was no stranger to hangovers so the source of the pain held no mystery. The brown thing was starting to look like his ratty old sofa standing on its side. Buckley sat up while gravity resumed its job of holding the furniture to the floor.
Rightly assuming that the presence of his sofa meant he was in his own apartment cleared up some of his immediate questions. Rolling to his stomach, our hero managed to get to his hands and knees; he had a porcelain god to pray to and it wasn’t going to come to him.
As he made his way down the hallway, he came across what appeared to be a large stuffed beaver wearing slippers and a motorcycle helmet. I wonder where that came from? he thought only mildly surprised. He had seen stranger things.
His mind rolodexed backwards hoping to find that the activities of the night before justified this morning’s “head-o-death” feeling that pulsed in time with his heart. Flashes of bright lights, taxi cabs, women and something that reminded him of a unicorn all flashed through his mind in nightmarish fashion. Nothing made sense.
With no coherent memory, he took stock of what he could. Aside from his head, he seemed to be physically intact. The apartment, while untidy, was basically undamaged. He had to admit that the beaver added a sense of exotic curiosity to his otherwise drab abode. No harm, no foul …
Time to deal with the pain, he thought, reaching for the Jack Daniels.
is recollectionless a real word?? My husband does not think it is!!
ReplyDeletethe comment about reccollectionless was asked by my real female wife
ReplyDeletethe comment about reccollectionless was asked by my real female wife
ReplyDeleteis recollectionless a real word?? My husband does not think it is!!
ReplyDelete