IAIN (I)

A tiny small excerpt from a book that I am working on. It is a story about the suicide of a young man in a group of friends when they are at University and how it has affected their lives 20 yrs later

The blaring of the alarm forced its way through the haze wrapped around his head and demanded his attention. F**k how he hated that thing. He groggily reached out his arm and fumbled for the snooze button. Clumsy fingers knocked the buzzing clock off of its perch on the bedside table. With a clatter it bounced off the floor and went scurrying towards the other side of the room. Now that’s done it, he thought. Gingerly he tried opening one eye. Big mistake! Hot lances of light set off the pounding in his skull. Groaning in retreat he closed his eyes again, but the sound of the alarm was incessant. Christ, he hadn’t drunk that much had he? This always happened when he went out with Tommy. That guy just couldn’t have a relaxed evening sipping on a couple of beers. It always had to be the balls to the wall kind of drinking.

 

He steeled himself and in a quick rush he sat up and set both of his feet on the floor. The floor buckled and pitched whilst explosions went off in both his temples. When the waves of nausea had settled to a tolerable level he scooped up the shrill alarm and turned it off. Padding his way gently to the bathroom his mind returned to last night. I suppose it wasn’t all Tommy’s fault he conceded. He had been drinking more and more the last few weeks, not deliberately, but as if something is his unconscious was spurring him on. Maybe the looming prospect of today had been bothering him more than he cared to admit. And now that it had arrived? He looked into the mirror above his sink. I don’t know what to feel he mused.

 

His dark green eyes looked reproachfully back at him. Dark locks curled over his forehead in a messy tangle. In the centre of his rugged face a slightly crooked nose hinted at a violent youth. A strong jawline defined his face and gave him an angular profile. Dark pouches puffed under his eyes and combined with thick dark eyebrows to give him a menacing countenance. He smiled ruefully and watched his skin crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the lines in his forehead smooth away. He looked 5 years younger. If I drank a bit less and smiled a little more I might still turn a few heads he thought to himself. But he didn’t seem to be able to control much in his life these days so the chance of that happening was not good.

 

It seemed that one day he had woken up and found that all of those futures he had dreamed and turned into a single past. Ever since that night so long ago now he had spent so much time worrying about making the right choices that he forgot to make any choices. And all along time had been surging forward choosing for him. He realized, in a slightly peculiar fashion, that, he couldn’t quite explain why his life was the way it was. He could certainly account for why it wasn’t the way he had dreamed it would be, but he couldn’t put his finger on why it had turned out like this.

He angrily dismissed the thoughts from his mind. A quick tilt of the head and a forced swallow set two paracetamol to work on his headache. Iain splashed some cold water across his brow. It was time to face the day.

 

 

Reviews

[Scott Andrews]

I like it. I don't know whether the character was introduced earlier in the story, and oddly I have a similar habit for using mirrors to add descriptions. They say you should only do it when you introduce the character, personally I think that's nonsense.

I have been in Iain's place in life. The drinking, the regret. Life is a current that keeps you moving whether you like it or not. The idea that life can stand still is a fallacy, and idea we use to comfort ourselves and pretend we are in control.

It is a very dark chapter and I'm curious to know how you build on it. Oddly when I read it I thought of my life 20 years ago and sometimes wonder how I survived it.