#WIPFlash week 2

Prompt: http://www.caramichaels.com/defiantlyliterate/2013/01/18/wipflash-week-2/

Simon was on his ninth sake. Or was it his tenth? Maybe eleventh. He hadn’t quite realized how hard it was going to be to drink Marcus into some sense of forgetfulness about his desire to be in charge of the umbrella. On the contrary – the more they drank, the more Marcus talked about what he would do if only Simon would give into what was only natural. His voice kept getting louder and more strident, and Simon was grateful that the New Year’s Eve festivities were loud enough that they didn’t stand out in the throng.

“You know I’m right. You know it! And that’s the crappy part – you won’t fuckin’ admit it to yourself, much less me. Okay, so you found it. Great! But I know so much more than you – a hundred years more! There’s a whole shitload of stuff you don’t understand about the way the world works…”

It had been going on like this for hours. A rough, rough night. Simon tuned out Marcus’ arguments for a bit and took some more time to look around the bar. Giant TV screens covered the walls, showing the world celebrating the changing of a number. Parties, riots, kissing, and the odd shots of the war in Nigeria – he thought it was Nigeria – which was threatening to spill over into much of the rest of West Africa. It was sometimes strange to know so much about places which were barely rumors to him most of his life. Focusing again on Marcus, he could tell that nothing had changed since he’d last been paying attention.

“…you think that it’s somehow a plan, all part of the plan, or some shit, that you found this umbrella. Whose plan? God? Why the fuck would God be making umbrellas that travel in time? It was some whacko, and that means anyone could have found it. What makes you so special?”

“I don’t know, Marcus. But…”

“You’re damned right you don’t know. Because you’re not. I mean, you’re not a total fuckup, you haven’t…”

Simon tuned out again, drinking some more sake. Tomorrow was going to be a tough day, but maybe he needed to drink himself into unconsciousness, if Marcus wasn’t going to cooperate.

As was often the case when his mind wandered, he started thinking about Emily. He’d thought about looking her up when they’d gotten here, but there’s no way she’d still be around – not eighty years later. And he figured she was furious with him for stranding her in a time that wasn’t her own. He hoped she’d found a way to be happy.

Ah, now he was getting maudlin. More of this, and he’d start crying, and maybe give Marcus the umbrella out of self-pity.

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