Flash Mob Writes 1 – 07

Prompt: https://flashmobwrites.wordpress.com/2015/04/10/flashmobwrites-1×07/

I woke up covered in grime, a mixture of sweat and whatever had kicked me out of the sewer last night. My stomach quailed at the smell, but I knew I didn’t have anything left to come up. To avoid adding more bile to the already revolting taste in my mouth, I pulled myself up and staggered to the bathroom.

I waited until the shower got to lukewarm and then stepped under the spray, not wanting to even touch my clothes until they at least got rinsed off. The only soap was pink and fruity – Angie’s? Kelly’s? God. I didn’t even know whose house I was at. But it got me clean, and the towel I grabbed from the closet got me dry.

I didn’t have any clothes to put on that didn’t revolt me, but if I didn’t want to venture out in just a towel, I was going to have to find something to put on. I hoped I was at Kelly’s – she was about my height, and I could probably steal some sweats or something to keep me from getting arrested on the way home. Angie was too damned petite. A plus for bedroom gymnastics, a minus for swapping clothes after…

After. I shuddered, and pushed open the door to the bedroom. After. Fuck. If I could avoid remembering that this was now a world that was After What Happened, I’d be a much happier man.

From the pictures on the mirror, I realized I was at Angie’s, but I needed clothes, so I went pawing through her dresser anyway, hoping for some dumbass luck.

And I found some. I didn’t really want to think about which ex- or current boyfriend had left this stuff, but there it was, crammed into the back of the bottom drawer. Clean and dressed, I realized I could possibly pass for a human now.

After.

My stomach rumbled again, but this time, it wanted me to put something in it. Angie was a hell of a cook, so she’d probably have something laying around that was better than the ketchup bottle I had at home. Her fridge was indeed full, and I stared blankly at the array of foods for a while. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have access to that much food, and never wonder if you’d have to do something you didn’t want to to get your next meal. But when I caught sight of the roast on the bottom shelf, my stasis broke.

Angie had trussed the roast up, filling the center with some sort of herbs and butter, but she hadn’t cooked it yet, something I didn’t realize until after I’d already torn some chunks out of the bloody flesh, chewing through the ropes she’d used to tie the thing together and spitting the twine out so I could get to more meat. As the meat worked its way down my esophagus, I thought again of the night before and After.

And smiled.

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