Scott.

Just something I've been writing for a while now. It's one story divided in parts, and I have no idea where I'm going with it. Here's the first one:





Scott hated Sunday mornings. The last time he remembered waking up on a Sunday morning without a death defying hangover was at least six months ago. He shielded his eyes from the grey light coming from the open window and surveyed the room. Clothes were all over the floor, an empty pizza box lay on top of an empty night stand and next to him laid some guy he had never seen before. Not that he could remember anyway.
Trying his best not to wake up his unknown bed companion, he got out of bed and started gathering his clothes. As luck would have it, his underwear was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, it wasn’t the first time he left some guy’s house leaving behind a souvenir to be remembered by. He was just about to put his shoes on when the guy in the bed woke up.
- Hey. – He didn’t look much better than him at that moment, but even through the eye gunk and the messy hair Scott could see he was quite gorgeous. Prettier than any guy he’d managed to pick up sober.
- Hey.
- Are you leaving already?
- Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to do. – A lie. The plan for today was the same as any other Sunday: lie in the couch watching Oprah re-runs, drinking water and cursing the invention of alcohol. But if Scott ever learned anything from eavesdropping the “women talk” his mum had with his sister whenever she felt like passing life lessons, was that men only keep what was hard to get in the first place. A failed reasoning, he knew, since he was standing in the guy’s room with no underwear on. But it was worth a try.
- Ok. I’ve got to go meet a friend too, so I’ll just jump in the shower. See ya. – And tossing the blankets away, he stood up, gloriously naked, walked over to the bathroom and shut the door.
Feeling that he would be quite insulted if it weren’t for the pounding headache he had to contend with, Scott put his shoes on and left.
There was a girl sitting in the couch at the living room. Scott half-nodded to her but she merely looked at him for a moment and went back to staring vacantly out of the window. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked like she had been crying for days. Which she probably was. Lots of people cried nowadays.
Outside, barely anyone was on the street. A homeless woman pushed a supermarket trolley with a dog inside, mumbling quietly to herself, or maybe to the dog. A man walked with a girl no older than four on his shoulders. She looked ecstatic, licking an ice cream and carrying a teddy bear. The man seemed distracted; every now and then he would stop and look at a house, or a tree, or anything else in his way, and his eyes would swell up. But whenever that happened, the girl would poke his head and tell him that they should keep walking.
Scott shivered. Looking up at the sky, which had been getting greyer and greyer in the past two weeks, he wondered how much longer they had. The news had said it would all be over in ten days, but ten days had come and gone and everything was still there. Things were going to end, no doubt about it, but it seemed like the impending doom was playing with humanity, like a cat with a cockroach, giving them a sense of relief only to snatch them all up when least expected. With a sigh and a slight feeling of embarrassment over his tendency to come up with cliché metaphors for everything, Scott started making his way home.