In the Mourning

The Mourning

By:


Sarge




I woke in the morning with one single beam of sunlight striking me directly in the face. My windows had been covered with every conceivable light blocker from room darkening shades to aluminum foil, yet that one stream of light made a bee line for my face. It was like god's flashlight and I had been caught.

I argued with myself, trying to fall back into a good dream, but it had taken a 180 degree turn and was now closer to the nightmare that made up my life. I opened my eyes fully and surveyed the landscape of my bedroom. The remnents of last nights party were strewn about haphazardly and I knew i would never hear then end of it. Cigarette butts overflowed the ashtrays and were ground into the carpet. Liquer bottles, of every variety, lay spilling there unfinished contents to the floor. A thick blue gray haze of cancer and toxins hung in the air giving the room an Indiana Jones feeling.