Tue, 18 Oct 2005
On the Acoutsic Gutiar Talk forum user ChiliBill has challenged people to write a “What I did last summer” essay. I decide to take a different route and use it as a creative writing excercise. So here’s my entry. My god, when will the pounding stop? I’m standing in the shower and every drop of water feels like a BB being shot into my head. What the hell did I drink last night? Tequila? I remember something about Tequila. Yeah, that’s the easy question, now for some hard ones. Why am I waking up in a sleazy hotel room? Why was my shirt covered in blood? And why is there a duffle bag full of cash at the foot of my bed? Something tells me this is going to be one hell of a day. I’m starting to pull out of the hangover the way a pilot pulls out of a suicide dive: engine screaming, blood rushing to my head, eyes wide open and praying that I don’t die in the next few seconds. But the world’s starting to clear up. I’m starting to think. I look down at myself. I don’t seem to be cut up. So the blood on that shirt isn’t mine. That’s good news. But it does raise a whole new set of questions doesn’t it? I get dressed. It seems that I’ve been staying here for a while because I have a few extra clothes in the closet. Jeans, T-shirt, Army boots. Everything fits me like a glove. They must be my clothes. So why the hell can’t I remember how long I’ve been here? The duffle bag is blue nylon and small, only about a foot long. It’s full of neatly wrapped stacks of $100s. Looks to be about 20 or 30 of them. And look at this, under the cash is a .45 semi-automatic pistol and a box of ammo. I pick up the gun and it feels familiar, like an old friend. I check the clip, it’s full. I go through the motions of checking the gun like I’ve done it a thousand times before. OK, let’s run through what I do know. My name’s Axel. I’m in a hotel room somewhere in, ah hell, I don’t even know what city I’m in. I push back the curtains and peer outside. Vegas, I’m in Vegas. So I’ve got a bag of money, a gun, and a shirt covered with somebody else’s blood. But there’s something else. I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. I should be spooked. I mean, hell, I should be scared shitless. But I’m not. I’ve done this before. I’ve been like this before. Whatever’s happening, it’s something that I’ve been through and subconsciously I’m running on autopilot. Well that’s good. Whatever’s happening is keeping my head clear and my body ready to kick some ass. But right now I need to put something in my stomach. I’m in Vegas so I’m in the mood for a big steak and eggs. I grab my sunglasses off of the dresser, sling the duffle bag over my shoulder and step out into the sunlight. It’s already hot outside, real hot. The door slams behind me as I walk towards the street in a search for my steak and eggs. “Alright Axel”, I think to myself, ” something tells me this day is going to get interesting. If I live through the next few days I’m going to have one hell of a ‘what I did for my summer vacation’ story.”This story is from the
[/geek/writing] department
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