Short Story: Darling we're home




I'm awake. The darkness and its stillness greet me as I try - ever so foolishly - to gather my bearings, only to stumble and fall over last night’s empty glass of Pinot Grigio.


The memories are flooding back - dancing on the dinner table and everyone watching as I pretend to sing a cappella - a dismal failure at that, I can tell you. I dare say, I'd even make it to the next round of X-Factor with my rendition of Turn Back Time. I lean over the kitchen sink to get a glass of water - I hope some H2O will wake me up. I may even remember the intricate details of my marriage with wine and beer.


Another relapse and denial - wine is great in small quantities. I, on the other hand, might omit 'small' quantities and place in 'litres' as my brain seems to insist on telling me - the world above is crushing me. My eyes dart around looking to gain balance - but, it's not working. I think another glass of water will do it. Come on.


Eyes are thankfully gaining focus, breath consistent - no palpitations - although my hand appears to have touched feet as the moan of a visitor who came to stay - or fell-over. Not sure which. In any case I am comforted to know its morning - the alarm rings - voices everywhere speak as they wake up with me. I'd better make sure never to have another birthday party.


I remember now - I'm officially 21. Doorbell rings.


OH…crumbs…It's mum and dad!


'Darling, we're home.'



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Ian Taylor
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