Tag Archive: Unpublished Writings

Chapter 1, Part 2

The house seemed tidy at first glance.  The floor carpeted and lacking any stains.  The living room looked like a page from a catalog; leather couches and recliner, with matching end tables, and even a throw rug to decorate the underside of the coffee table.  The place looked pristine, but at the same time it didn’t look like it had much use.  Everywhere the same white walls were seen.  Not much for decoration, not even plastic plants.  The illusion of comfort was unnecessary to Phil as long as the practical application of comfort could be felt when you sat on the couch or chairs.

Phil didn’t pursue anything in excess.  His bed was a queen that would suit his slightly above average height.  His couch was simple, but long enough to stretch out.  He was a man that preferred the soft texture of cotton rather than luxurious need for leather.

The kitchen was a different story.  This was a room designed for use.  His counter was cluttered with all kinds of appliances; each was known for their hard work.  Phil’s knives could only be found in a gourmet kitchen.  The kitchen also doubled as his workplace.  Phil could be found at his counters day and night with his laptop out and food within an arms reach.  He was a man known for his snacking.  The kitchen’s activities could be seen all over the place, as food was resting nicely upon the piles of dishes sitting in the sink and the tables were lined the sticky trails of food left out a bit too long.  Whatever impression the living room gave off, the kitchen replaced those thoughts with the exact opposite.

Phil wandered over to the kitchen; he was in search of something to kill the current hangover.  First the headache needed to be addressed.  Phil grabbed one of the glasses from the sink, turned on the cold water and gave the glass a quick bath.  No scrubbing necessary, the last thing it held was water, and Phil was content with that.  He refilled the glass and reached for the aspirin, which was always conveniently left out on the counter top.  Step one done.  Next was to find something to eat, and at the same time that something could not make his stomach feel worse.  Bread is always a safe bet, and bread is most useful when constructing a sandwich.

Phil had a typical set of sandwiches.  When he goes to the grocer he buys the specific set of ingredients for those sandwiches.  First is the egg sandwich.  Eggs are always good to have lying around incase of various cooking emergencies, such as baking a cake or making an omelet.  Though Phil did not tend to bake much, eggs were something to keep close by none the less.  Phil’s first thought was that eggs are good source of protein for the stomach after a hangover, but when he got to thinking about a runny egg, the desire faded.  Tuna fish is a secondary staple, but not the kind of sandwich that is required to chase down the previous night’s intoxication.  When he really thought about it, fish mixed with mayonnaise and pickles sounded like a craving for a pregnant woman rather than something to cure what ails of a stomach.  Ham and cheese was the next sandwich to make its way into Phil’s kitchen, but when it is prepared, it has to be done to perfection.  The right cheeses and the right meat accompanied by the perfect set of vegetables resting upon it all.  Often times the ham sandwich can grow larger than one’s own mouth, and that is how it should be when done properly.  Phil understood this and accepted the conclusion that he was not in the proper state of mind to prepare such a sandwich with the respect that it deserved.  Thus he came upon the final sandwich to which he buys the ingredients for, that being the peanut butter and jelly.  Bread should soak up the pain in his stomach, at least Phil was willing to give the bread that much credit, and the peanut butter should show stability to the irk in his belly.  The jelly was simply a bonus, a fruity flavoring of grape to make the experience that much more enjoyable.

This event was not uncommon for Phil.  The waking up outside his front door is, but the desire for sandwiches after a night of drinking was commonplace for Phil on a Sunday morning.  Now it was time to figure out what happened during Saturday night.


Chapter 1, Part 1

To say something is different is simply to recognize change.
“Well that’s different,” Phil uttered as he gazed up at the brown stained ceiling above him. The fact that he realized anything as he came out of his drunken stupor was almost as impressive as the fact that he could recognize his ceiling, or better yet, that this ceiling was not his ceiling. It was odd because the walls were too close to one another. The problem of how anyone could fit a bed into a room with walls so close became the next issue to enter his mind, which was directly followed by the solution; he was not lying on a bed. As it turned out he was lying on the ground, and though carpeted, it was still very hard. Whoever paid to carpet the floor beneath him did not care for the simple luxury of a quality carpet to cover this back breaking floor. Phil started to feel the pain creeping into his hip from sleeping on his side. While the uncomfortable resting place had managed to enter his thoughts, his main focus was still on why the ceiling was not the one that he would expect upon waking up and still why the walls were so close.

Then struck the epiphany, he was in a hallway. He turned his head slightly to the right and realized he was at a door. The brass numbers 312 could be seen through the haze that still filled his morning eyes. This means that he was at his door. He also noticed that his keys were in his door. Phil doubted that many other people would have the exact same keychain as the one that his niece gave him two years ago, an ugly thing, but better to always have it than to see her one day and have to answer the questions of why he doesn’t. It was a loving gesture; therefore, it had a purpose beyond the subtle way that it would remind him of its presence by jabbing his thigh with its antennae. Thoughts of the ornament were replaced by another unusual sight, his door was open. Phil simply thought to himself and came to a pleasant conclusion: someone must have been kind enough to bring me home and after wrestling away my keys, opened the door, and assumed I could do the rest. Friends might help a drunkard change out of a soggy, beer drenched shirt, but for a stranger opening the door is about the best you can hope for. Well anything above murder and mugging was a pleasant outcome given the possibilities.

Thoughts of the stranger stretched his mind from side to side, though the alcohol tended to interfere with the memory, and trying to put a face to the stranger was not an easy task. Phil quickly gave up on the notion that he might come to the sudden conclusion that he knew who the stranger was, but instead decided to move his thoughts inside his home.