Hello again everyone,
Here’s another example of fast fiction from my monthly writers group’s warming up exercises. For anyone interested in a full explanation, here’s a link.
A quick rundown of the rules:
Rule #1: These pieces of fast fiction were generated from a prompt chosen at random during one of my monthly writers group meetings. I will label that prompt at the top and where I use it in the prose.
Rule #2: WordPress allows me a ‘click here to read the rest of the story’ break, and that will be used before the fast fiction begins in earnest so people browsing through this blog are not overwhelmed.
Rule #3: The prose of the fast fiction shall be transcribed from my handwriting accurately: Line breaks, grammar, punctuation, spelling, what-have-you. The point of showing a 10- or 15-minute first draft is saying what you tried to do in that time, so what does editing really get me? The very rare changes I really do deem necessary shall be noted with an asterisk and an apologetic explanation at the end.
Rule #4: After the fast fiction I will include a few sentences about my first thoughts of the prompt. These entries are less about the actual prose and more about the exercise as a whole. Post-gaming that exercise will be a big part of the end result.
And that’s it. Here we go.
Prompt:
To his horror he realized he had been this way before.
It began with a gurgling, something way back in the throat, beyond a snore. Something that dragged his unconscious mind screaming up out of oblivion to check and see if he was in fact drowning in his own vomit.
He was not.
It was just a pool of saliva trickling down his throat and heading for the lungs instead of the belly.
Never the less, he spluttered himself awake, arms flailing out in front of him to fight off an unseen foe.
He sat up, rubbing eyes that refused to focus. His mouth tastes of old whiskey and older cigars.
“Uggghhh…” He managed to groan.
He heaved himself onto his feet and lurched towards the door, only to find it locked.
“Ughh?” He grunted his question. He needed to urinate, and the toilet was not in this…
…Then he saw the bucket, and the note taped to the wall reading, “We’ll let you out when you sober up. You’ve been warned before, Otis. Fool us once, shame on you. We’ve lost track of how many times you’ve done this to us now. There is a bottle of Scotch on the bedside. Take a shot an hour to hold off the delirium tremens, or drink it all and suffer for all we care. Love Mom and Dad.”
To his horror he realized he had been this way before.
He cried and snuffled his despair as he pissed in the bucket. When he was done he shuffled over to the table and threw back three shots from the bottle of Scotch.
He was remembering now.
They would cave.
They would open the door and check on him if he was quiet.
They would check to see if he had hanged himself with the bedsheets or found something sharp to open his veins.
He did not need to ration the Scotch.
Not really.
They would cave.
They always did.
Otis loved his Mom and Dad: A homemade drunk tank in the basement, but somehow they never had the gumption to empty the family liquor cabinet upstairs. The neighbours might notice if the wet bar went dry.
What would the neighbours think?
—
Note: I really don’t remember doing this one. I do rather like it, but I have no deep insight to offer. I’m a little surprised I named the character Otis, as that’s not really a name that springs to mind for me. I’m also rather happy with ‘The neighbours might notice if the wet bar went dry,’ which puts a whole extra layer on things, as far as I’m concerned. They would rather have a son with DTs locked up in the basement than do without cocktails for social functions? The put-upon parents are no angels in all this.
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