Short Story – The Poetry of A Drunk, British Girl (and the mockery of her friends)

 The Poetry of A Drunk, British Girl (and the mockery of her friends)

*The following contains alcohol consumption and swearing

The Story

“The breeze is gentle, the grass swaying and the daisies dancing softly in the field. The sun is weak, the light highlighting the leaves in the tree, fluttering but holding on strongly, refusing to let go even through the coaxing of the wind.

“The sun is stronger, battling the clouds that threaten to suffocate it, breaking through the cracks in rays of light. It’s as if the barriers between heaven and earth have been destroyed in the battle and the light rays are tiny glimpses of paradise, giving humanity a taste of what could be, the warmth of the sun on their face, the beauty of the image, but closing it off before they can relish it, the clouds once again winning their battle and the sun bowing down in defeat as it allows the clouds to smother it.

“The view from the top of a cliff, looking down on the valleys below. The trees amidst the mist that has settled over them, showing the picture perfect image of the leaves, the green, the colour that signifies nature, life and prosperity, raising above that which would consume them, appearing to be the most beautiful image to someone with such a high view. Little do they know, that their perspective refuses them the knowledge that beneath the mist, they battle to grip onto their patch of land and that the elements they are exposed to are chipping away at their roots until they can do nothing but wait as they slowly fall to the ground with a thud that no one is around to hear.

“The water laps at the shore, there are footprints in the sand, but they were created long ago. The sea does not recognise the passing of time, but as it approaches the footsteps, it can tell that this is a memory for someone, a memory that could be cherished, but also loathed. A memory that someone never wants to forget or one that they never want to remember. So, as it nears, the steady rhythm to which it is forever moving to allowing it to approach and retreat, deciding whether or not to spare the memory, it listens to the gulls overhead, to the laughter in the distance, to the silent sound of the sun setting overhead, casting an orange to contrast the blues; and it washes the memory away.”

“You’re so full of shit, you know that?” Frowning, I looked away from the next screensaver and turned to stare at Amy in disbelief.

“Here I am, creating poetry, creating beautiful stories to entertain you all, and you have the audacity to slag me off like that?” I asked, a hand over my chest to signal my heartbreak.

“Oh, piss off, Piper,” Timmy heaved himself out of his chair, “who wants another drink?” A chorus of ‘me’s’ followed and, with a sigh, I reached out and handed him the empty bottle that I had been holding between my legs for the last twenty minutes.

“None of you appreciate my efforts enough,” Timmy ruffled my hair as he passed, not in an affectionate way, but intensely, to knot my hair and give me no choice but to show him my middle finger over my shoulder as he walked out, laughing.

“Oi, Noah, are you ever going to come back or have you passed out on the toilet?” Vi yelled at the door, her voice contrasting her slight frame as it echoed through the house.

“Noah, come back and save us from Piper’s poetry!” Amy yelled and there was a scattered laughter through the house, with Vi and Amy in with me, Timmy in the kitchen and Noah apparently still in the bathroom.

“Ames, you are so incredibly uncultured,” I started, but a chorusing of mockery at my educated use of language made me close my mouth, cross my arms and pout at the television as the screen switched to another default image. 

“Is anyone going to check on Noah, or not?” Timmy asked, returning to the room, holding four beers between his fingers. I turned, reaching for one, as Amy hurried to help him and Vi held out her hand, waiting for someone to present the drink to her.

“He’s fine, just let him be and let’s watch it without him,” Vi piped up, taking a swig of her drink.

“Noah, are you alright?” I yelled over my shoulder at the door and a soft ‘I’m fine, Jesus, give me a second’ carried down the hall as my reply.

It wasn’t a minute later when Noah returned, complaining when he realised that Timmy had gotten everyone another drink but him and swearing profusely when he tried and failed to open the drink that he went into the kitchen to get himself. 

“Do you need one of us girls to help you with that?” Amy asked and Noah muttered several profanities directed at her, continuing to try and open it as we all sat and watched him. 

“For fucks sake,” Vi pushed herself out of her seat, passing her drink to me as she passed, and snatched the bottle from Noah. Amy and I were both ready to celebrate the strength of women, Timmy was wholeheartedly amused, and it would have been the most badass moment ever – had Vi been able to open it.

It was passed around. Timmy got it last and Noah sat watching, obviously hoping he wouldn’t be able to open it, to prove that it wasn’t his lack of strength.

Timmy himself took the bottle back to the kitchen, admitting defeat, and replaced it with a different one, stating that he had put the 'hell bottle' back, so we could deal with it another time.

“Tim, that’s not fair, you don’t live here! How are me or Vi going to open that?” I asked as Tim passed Noah the new, opened bottle.

“Not my problem, is it?” He sat down, “now are we going to watch this fucking movie or not?”

“Not my fault Noah takes ten years in the toilet,” I mumbled and Noah threw himself onto the sofa next to me.

“I heard that.”

“Just press play before Piper starts talking about the fucking sky again.” Amy wasn’t looking at me, but I hope she felt the intensity of me holding my middle finger up.

The End.

I was very conflicted about posting this, as I generally don't swear in my writing, in case I accidentally offend someone and I like creating peace, rather than causing conflict. So I took to Twitter and asked. The majority said that they wouldn't care if there was swearing or not so here it is!

To be fair, what group of slightly drunk, British friends don't swear? Half of our vocabulary is a profanity!

Anyway, my Tweet led to a lot of positivity towards posting it, and there was a lot of talk about not modifying art for the sake of others and, if I was proud of it, I should share it. I'm thinking about making a post about this, because I think it's really important.

I did write this very late at night (or very early in the morning, it depends which way you look at it) and my inspiration was literally the screensavers of Amazon Prime, so there's not really that much storyline, but I liked how it turned out, so here we are.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Bye!