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Monthly Archives: November 2013

When he woke up, he could smell burning. Ian’s head throbbed. Opening his eyes was torture and the smell of burning fish sent white flashes through the back of his eyes. The stupid bitch is cooking again, he seethed. Ian belched. Long and hard. He thought he might bring something up, but a few fist pounds to his chest later and he felt like he could sit up without being projectile.


He groaned as he sat up, and threw off his duvet dejectedly. Trying to regain his composure to fight of the nausea of far too much drink, Ian flexed his yellow toes and wiggled around so that he could scratch his ass. Again, a belch came up so strong that he thought he would explode. When he didn’t he gave himself a mental high five, but the smell was motivation enough to move.


He staggered into the door frame. Ian didn’t even notice but he heard the loud crack as the wood gave way to his bloated body. That was all he registered. He didn’t care. He had to focus on getting down the stairs to tell the woman to stop her cooking. Why couldn’t she just use the microwave like all his mates wives? 


The stairs narrowed in front of him. He never remembered them being this shape and when he went to reach of the banister he missed. Twenty years in this house and he missed! He managed to land on the second landing in the stairs without much hard damage. Ian sat there, a lump in the corner trying to stop the world from spinning. He would have happily gone back to sleep there, curled up in a safe ball. But then he got a a woooooff of the kippers. Through the smell of burnt char there came fish. Mmmm. Fried kippers, Ian started to drool as he closed his heavy eye lids.


He woke with a snort. Suddenly alert and with a purpose. He staggered down the rest of the stairs with a dexterity he didn’t posses before and stumbled into the kitchen. Without any regard he dropped himself into an empty chair and banged his beefy hands on the Formica table.


“I’m parched!” Ian announced.


The woman tossed a plate to his space, and then slammed the cutlery down. Oooooooooh, someone is in a mood, Ian sniggered to himself.


“Did you hear me, woman? Drink!”


The woman walked over with the skillet, it’s still sizzling and Ian forgets that he’s thirsty. Suddenly he is hungrier than he has ever been.


“Where were you last night?” The woman said, spatula held like a shield.


“Mind your own fookin’ business,” Ian growled. 


“I don’t want you here anymore,” the woman went on.


Ian snorted.


She emptied the skillet on he plate. It was lush breakfast; kippers, mushrooms, beans, oooooh and those little fried onions, Ian got all excited.


“I want you gone,” the woman repeated herself.


Ian, with a mouth full of food expressed an expletive at her. 


Thinking himself clever, he looked up to see how she took it.


The last thing Ian saw was a black round circle closing in on his face…