Copyright©2016 Nikolas Mouvia
Published at Shakespir
‘’Usually at this time of night the traffic could be worse. Actually way worse ‘’ thinks Serge while he swerves wildly on the freeway. He burps now and then, his right hand twisted around the wheel. While a mostly empty bottle of whiskey is in his left one. The content drains away with every sip and gradually his vision becomes more blurry. Like a heavily overflowed windshield missing some wipers. Distorted shapes composed of a diverse range of colours pass by him chaotically. Some of them give out weird noises. Occasionally Serge curses loudly at them throwing his fist in the air. Or at least that is what he so vigorously did up until a warm overreaching flow mellowed him good leaving a dopey look on his face. A loud rumble comes from his belly traversing his throat and barely rushing out his mouth as a faint burp. Suddenly Serge’s face turns slightly towards a yellowish scale. He slams violently on the breaks making a sharp S turn and missing a stunt jump into the ditch parallel with the freeway by near inches. He, surprisingly, doesn’t end up hurt or something just a little bit shocked. This upsets his belly even more. The door opens and Serge lets out a large gasp of stinky air followed by a hefty torrent of green slime. He stays there in the same position with his head bent forwards into a seemingly absent minded state. In a flash something sparks in his mind. He lifts his head while smacking his lips noisily and looks around with one eye squinted: Now, I really need to find some more liquor around here. Wait a minute maybe just maybe I have some left in the car. He then fumbles a little bit in back seat.
Having found nothing he gets out of the car walking with a wobbly gait. Sparse but intense hiccups are released with a repressed annoyance as the car behind him slowly begins to move and then quickly falls into the ditch generating a thundering splat. Serge forgot to pull the handbrake.
In random place over the freeway cars are overturned and burning or crashed into other cars, bloody bodies near them. In the background one could hear wild screams mixed with sirens. Serge doesn’t mind that he is focused only on one thing: finding some alcohol to keep his buzz afloat. He manages to amble into a general store. Most of the windows there are shattered and the entry door is busted open. Inside some people lay dead nearby as a result of a violent shootout, but from Serge’s perspective they might as well be sleeping. The difference is indistinguishable to his foggy still somewhat marginally sober psyche.
‘’ Weirdos, you chose the perfect place to have a rest ‘’ he mumbles. Then, at the counter, not seeing anybody he screams rowdily ‘’ Hey can a dude get some service around here? ‘’.
Silence comes to as a response, keeping this state uncomfortably long to Serge’s nerves. He bangs heavily and repeatedly on the counter.
‘’ Hey, hey! I’ll serve myself happily if no one’s here just so you know ‘’ says loudly with a slight marshy addle in his pronunciation.
He ambles sluggishly towards his set destination: the liquor stands, struggling as in a maze to find its location. Eventually he does. He feasts greedily on the bottles left there with the occasional burping. ‘’ Alright now we’re cooking’’. While on the aisle a dreadful thought flashes briefly in his mind. Brief enough to give him a nudge into investigating the sleeping people at the entry. On the way there he tardily notices all the present mess in the store. There are broken bottles, shredded items and such everywhere with the usual emptied out stands. When Serge reaches the entry he stops in front on one sleeping person. He looks at it, studying it with a shaky vision. When the trembling subsides he gradually realizes, only to a small degree, that he is looking at a dead man, a very much so. Shaken he runs outside and bumps into an angry man holding a gun who quickly, noticing Serge all disheveled and in a hurry, points the gun at him.
‘’You with the cops or with the other folks? ‘’ the man asks threateningly.
Serge struggles to give an answer, but his motor cortex fails to perform its usual function and all that comes out of his mouth is an indiscernible blubbering. His clear thoughts that would at least partially clarify this type of situation are running late on the old mental tracks. He is not sure of what to do: to giggle hysterically or to come up with an answer that might save his life. He giggles pointing at the angry man’s gun.
‘’ Man… I thought we wasted all of you guys ‘’ the man discharges his gun three times into Serge’s chest then runs away to a nondescript location.
Lying backwards on the ground while gurgling on his blood as he struggles to giggle, Serge has one final moment of clarity and realizes the dreadful situation he is in just before he fades out of conscience.