by Suja

Created on: April 24, 2009   Last Updated: April 25, 2009

A Wasted Life

Stanley languorously stretched out and thumped the alarm clock, to silence its deafening ring. The hands on the clock showed a hazy 11 A.M. He couldn't recall when he had crawled into bed the previous night. His head felt heavy as lead and a headache threatened to make him nauseous. The stillness of the air silenced his cacophonous mind. He stared listlessly at the rays of daylight pushing through the Venetian blinds on the window. The light hurt his eyes and little blobs of red swirled around his inner eye.

He brought himself up to a sitting position swaying as he did so. His stomach burned with the acids and his whole being shivered uncontrollably. Slowly, very slowly tears trickled down his cheeks. He couldn't stop the flow. They flowed endlessly as if to wash his sins away, as if to give a new lease of life just as the rain leaves a lingering new, earthy smell on the hard earth, softening it. Stanley looked around the room a small moan erupting from his parched mouth.

"Oh my God! Help me!"

"Someone help me, please!" He sobbed uncontrollably, a moment of clarity brought images rushing back into his tempestuous mind.

There was smoke everywhere, there was loud music blaring, there were people around him, swaying to rhythmic music. These were people, nameless, faceless, unknown enigmatic faces. He was high, very high on something. The something had made him feel good; the something had elevated his spirits to unknown heights. He had felt free of earthly bonds, free of his pain, free from himself. Then he had collapsed in a puddle under the shuffling feet that was stomping away and dancing away to rhythmic music. Somebody had dragged him off the floor, somebody had given him a sip of something, and somebody took his car keys, drove him home and dumped him on his bed or something like that. His head hurt as he tried to remember. He glanced at the clock ticking away, the echo of which sounded loud to his sensitive ears. He grabbed the clock and shoved it under the pillow and as he did so he knocked a picture frame to the ground. The glass broke into a hundred pieces but clung on inside the metal frame as one piece.

He slowly reached out and looked at the picture. A happy family stared back at him. His effervescent father, his gentle mother, his beautiful sister and, and a glowing "him". He stared hard at his picture. That was himwhat had he becomewhy? Where did he slip up? The questions remained unanswered and a fresh bout of tears streamed down, racking

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