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Short story. About a wasted life etc. Not my normal thing, but tell me what you think. It's okay, needs a few touches here and there but inform me of me what you think of it anyway. Cheers.
He woke up immediately and knew that he was going to make himself a good day. “A day is what you make it” was the saying, and he was going to follow that saying and make this the best day of his life. He put on his old black Metallica T-Shirt, some dark blue Levi’s and pulled on some stained white socks. He got out of his bed and slowly made his way downstairs. My legs are felling kind of cramped, he thought. Better not do any jogging today or anything. He walked into the bathroom, pulled the string to turn on the light and splashed some water on his face. Ach, my eyes are sore, was his next thought, and he looked at them in the mirror as close as he could while his dodgy bathroom light flickered in the background. Satisfied as he couldn’t see anything in in them he made his way out of the bathroom turning off the light as he went, and made his way to the kitchen to grab some toast. None left. Damnit, he thought. He opened up the beaten old fridge and surveyed the sparse contents inside. A half eaten pot full of yoghurt, a cucumber, a pint of milk, some cheese and an orange that was going blue with age. Yoghurt will have to do, thought he, and dragged it out. He pulled out the spoon inside it and took a few mouthfuls, before spitting it out. Bloody hell he thought. That stuff’s vile. He was stressed out by this point, and went into the living room. He pulled open a mahogany drawer and took out a small rust tin. He opened it and took out some rolly papers, a few cigarettes, a lighter and a small quantity of cannabis resin. He opened a cigarette and put some tobacco onto it, and crumbled up some of the resin an added it. He smoked it with relish, and when he finished he felt so good he needed another. Four or so hours later he woke up sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty Strongbow bottles and spilt tobacco. God, my head hurts, he thought. He stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed some more water on his face. Slowly moving back into the living room, he collapsed onto the sofa and dug for the remote under the filthy cushions. Eventually he found it and dragged it out, switching on the TV. He was bored and watched the first thing that came on, which happened to be a nature documentary. After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at the screen and listening to David Attenborough’s constant droning about how the Peru apes find ticks in the undergrowth, he nodded off. When he awoke it was 11.00 at night. He shifted position and went back to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, will be a great day. He promised himself he would make it a great day. He would be making this promise everyday to himself for the rest of his life.
He woke up immediately and knew that he was going to make himself a good day. “A day is what you make it” was the saying, and he was going to follow that saying and make this the best day of his life. He put on his old black Metallica T-Shirt, some dark blue Levi’s and pulled on some stained white socks. He got out of his bed and slowly made his way downstairs. My legs are felling kind of cramped, he thought. Better not do any jogging today or anything. He walked into the bathroom, pulled the string to turn on the light and splashed some water on his face. Ach, my eyes are sore, was his next thought, and he looked at them in the mirror as close as he could while his dodgy bathroom light flickered in the background. Satisfied as he couldn’t see anything in in them he made his way out of the bathroom turning off the light as he went, and made his way to the kitchen to grab some toast. None left. Damnit, he thought. He opened up the beaten old fridge and surveyed the sparse contents inside. A half eaten pot full of yoghurt, a cucumber, a pint of milk, some cheese and an orange that was going blue with age. Yoghurt will have to do, thought he, and dragged it out. He pulled out the spoon inside it and took a few mouthfuls, before spitting it out. Bloody hell he thought. That stuff’s vile. He was stressed out by this point, and went into the living room. He pulled open a mahogany drawer and took out a small rust tin. He opened it and took out some rolly papers, a few cigarettes, a lighter and a small quantity of cannabis resin. He opened a cigarette and put some tobacco onto it, and crumbled up some of the resin an added it. He smoked it with relish, and when he finished he felt so good he needed another. Four or so hours later he woke up sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty Strongbow bottles and spilt tobacco. God, my head hurts, he thought. He stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed some more water on his face. Slowly moving back into the living room, he collapsed onto the sofa and dug for the remote under the filthy cushions. Eventually he found it and dragged it out, switching on the TV. He was bored and watched the first thing that came on, which happened to be a nature documentary. After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at the screen and listening to David Attenborough’s constant droning about how the Peru apes find ticks in the undergrowth, he nodded off. When he awoke it was 11.00 at night. He shifted position and went back to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, will be a great day. He promised himself he would make it a great day. He would be making this promise everyday to himself for the rest of his life.
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If it wasn't an ugly uninviting block of text I'd read it.
Paragraphs RoJ, paragraphs.
Paragraphs RoJ, paragraphs.
Ok i'll read one minute.
I hate you. You and your kind. You lazy beggar. LAZY!!
Sorry but i can't be bothered to read it.
Over 24 hours you beggars. 24 bloody hours.
Over 12 hours, and not ONE reply. Not ONE BLOODY REPLY.
Gundam it.
Gundam it.
Short story. About a wasted life etc. Not my normal thing, but tell me what you think. It's okay, needs a few touches here and there but inform me of me what you think of it anyway. Cheers.
He woke up immediately and knew that he was going to make himself a good day. “A day is what you make it” was the saying, and he was going to follow that saying and make this the best day of his life. He put on his old black Metallica T-Shirt, some dark blue Levi’s and pulled on some stained white socks. He got out of his bed and slowly made his way downstairs. My legs are felling kind of cramped, he thought. Better not do any jogging today or anything. He walked into the bathroom, pulled the string to turn on the light and splashed some water on his face. Ach, my eyes are sore, was his next thought, and he looked at them in the mirror as close as he could while his dodgy bathroom light flickered in the background. Satisfied as he couldn’t see anything in in them he made his way out of the bathroom turning off the light as he went, and made his way to the kitchen to grab some toast. None left. Damnit, he thought. He opened up the beaten old fridge and surveyed the sparse contents inside. A half eaten pot full of yoghurt, a cucumber, a pint of milk, some cheese and an orange that was going blue with age. Yoghurt will have to do, thought he, and dragged it out. He pulled out the spoon inside it and took a few mouthfuls, before spitting it out. Bloody hell he thought. That stuff’s vile. He was stressed out by this point, and went into the living room. He pulled open a mahogany drawer and took out a small rust tin. He opened it and took out some rolly papers, a few cigarettes, a lighter and a small quantity of cannabis resin. He opened a cigarette and put some tobacco onto it, and crumbled up some of the resin an added it. He smoked it with relish, and when he finished he felt so good he needed another. Four or so hours later he woke up sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty Strongbow bottles and spilt tobacco. God, my head hurts, he thought. He stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed some more water on his face. Slowly moving back into the living room, he collapsed onto the sofa and dug for the remote under the filthy cushions. Eventually he found it and dragged it out, switching on the TV. He was bored and watched the first thing that came on, which happened to be a nature documentary. After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at the screen and listening to David Attenborough’s constant droning about how the Peru apes find ticks in the undergrowth, he nodded off. When he awoke it was 11.00 at night. He shifted position and went back to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, will be a great day. He promised himself he would make it a great day. He would be making this promise everyday to himself for the rest of his life.
He woke up immediately and knew that he was going to make himself a good day. “A day is what you make it” was the saying, and he was going to follow that saying and make this the best day of his life. He put on his old black Metallica T-Shirt, some dark blue Levi’s and pulled on some stained white socks. He got out of his bed and slowly made his way downstairs. My legs are felling kind of cramped, he thought. Better not do any jogging today or anything. He walked into the bathroom, pulled the string to turn on the light and splashed some water on his face. Ach, my eyes are sore, was his next thought, and he looked at them in the mirror as close as he could while his dodgy bathroom light flickered in the background. Satisfied as he couldn’t see anything in in them he made his way out of the bathroom turning off the light as he went, and made his way to the kitchen to grab some toast. None left. Damnit, he thought. He opened up the beaten old fridge and surveyed the sparse contents inside. A half eaten pot full of yoghurt, a cucumber, a pint of milk, some cheese and an orange that was going blue with age. Yoghurt will have to do, thought he, and dragged it out. He pulled out the spoon inside it and took a few mouthfuls, before spitting it out. Bloody hell he thought. That stuff’s vile. He was stressed out by this point, and went into the living room. He pulled open a mahogany drawer and took out a small rust tin. He opened it and took out some rolly papers, a few cigarettes, a lighter and a small quantity of cannabis resin. He opened a cigarette and put some tobacco onto it, and crumbled up some of the resin an added it. He smoked it with relish, and when he finished he felt so good he needed another. Four or so hours later he woke up sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty Strongbow bottles and spilt tobacco. God, my head hurts, he thought. He stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed some more water on his face. Slowly moving back into the living room, he collapsed onto the sofa and dug for the remote under the filthy cushions. Eventually he found it and dragged it out, switching on the TV. He was bored and watched the first thing that came on, which happened to be a nature documentary. After fifteen minutes of staring blankly at the screen and listening to David Attenborough’s constant droning about how the Peru apes find ticks in the undergrowth, he nodded off. When he awoke it was 11.00 at night. He shifted position and went back to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, will be a great day. He promised himself he would make it a great day. He would be making this promise everyday to himself for the rest of his life.
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