Whisky on a Sunday: Year 1

I really like this. I'm actually planning on probably moving to Glasgow, so it was cool to read something set there. Anyway the character seems interesting and easy enough to relate to. Unfortunately I have nothing to crit yet, but maybe when you post more.

Loved this third chunk, as well. lol cake. XD I love the descriptions of all the family member's weird quirks, like Penny's habit of listing people off in age order. It's a characterization idea not a lot of people would think of, but that adds an extra layer of realism to each member of the cast.

I also like the sudden shift from the calm, happy, introducing-the-family montage to the serious near the end of the passage, especially the way Eric describes the article. His comment on the use of the metaphor and the author's writing skill added just the right... sorta detached air to it... and... I don't really know how to phrase what I mean. XD But I really like that bit.

[quote] Catty- which is what I had called Catherine since I was old enough to speak. As a wee boy I had trouble pronouncing “Catherine” so I shortened it to Catty- was the furthest from me in age but the closest to me in relationship{/quote]

This felt a little weird as two sentences, not sure why... the full stop after "speak" sounded a bit unnatural...

Great job with this. *worships you* I really like your writing, especially your talent with characterization. And dialouge, and description, and pacing (which is my greatest weakness XD) and... well, i just like your writing, period. XD Desite the fact that a lot of this has just been getting the story started, I'm hooked. If I saw this in a bookstore, I wouldn't be able to put it down.

Oh, and happy fifteenth birthday. ^_^

PLEASE READ:This piece here is actually a short bit I added between where Eric's friends are introduced and where his family is introduced. I'll indicate it on the original post, but I recently stuck this in there.

We had a wild night.

We had at least five places to hit to start off with. Chester and I had a challenge to each other- whoever could drink more whisky shots at each pub. See who had more by the end of the night. No throwing up was allowed- it was an automatic disqualifier. Sarah thought we were crazy.

I beat him the first and second times around- he threw up at both pubs- and by the time we were at the third one, Clyde decided to jump in. Neither of us bothered to even try competing with him- it was almost certain death.

I drank more that night than I ever had before. It was one last fling before Sarah had to leave on some trip to America to visit family or something. She wanted me to come, but I declined. I told her I couldn’t leave the bookshop.

The real reason was that the American drinking age is higher than Scotland’s. I wouldn’t be able to get away with sneaking away to a bar if I didn’t have Clyde’s research to back me up.

But that night, that last night of childhood for me, is such a blur that I barely remember being able to get home. It was the first time that I’d been that drastically drunk- I’d been buzzed before, but never drunk- but it was certainly far from the last.

---

This is the actual next piece. To my American readers: biscuits = cookies.

The cake was long forgotten by midday, and some biscuits Jasmine had dug up from somewhere were rising happily in the oven.

I say biscuits. I should really make that singular. Mark was right; sending Wyatt up to help cook was like inviting a tornado into a china shop. He'd ended up ruining or eating all the dough until there was only enough for one biscuit.

"Eric's own personal birthday biscuit!" Jasmine said happily, trying to put an optimistic spin on it. "It should be a new family tradition."

I laughed. Mum thought it was a fantastic idea. "Wonderful, Jasmine! We could put a wee candle in it and everything. It'll be fun."

Wyatt looked crestfallen. "But what's everyone else going to have? Birthdays are a time for sweets." Penny hit him over the head with a rolling pin, which made both Mark and myself double over in laughter.

"It's your own bloody fault there's only one biscuit," she scolded, looking like a slightly taller version of Mum, which Mark pointed out to me later.

"Eerie, isn't it? Good luck dealing with that," he said to me. I rolled my eyes at him.

"We haven't got much in the way of birthday gifts, Eric," Mum said sheepishly. "But Dad and I have both agreed that you can help yourself to whatever books in the shop you want to keep to yourself, okay?"

It was a present I'd received time and time again, but it didn't bother me. My parents knew I loved books and were probably relieved that they could appease my childhood greed with things they already had.

"Thanks, Mum," I said, folding myself in half and hugging her. I wasn't expecting much more, but I'd learned to live with the meagre. It had stopped bothering me before I could remember it bothering me. My siblings knew how I felt about them buying gifts for me, so they'd all skipped out on anything flashy. I was grateful. Gifts made me uncomfortable if they were for me. I'd even managed to talk Sarah, my girlfriend, out of buying me anything on cheesy holidays or the anniversary of our relationship.

As the day progressed, my siblings filtered out to take care of their own lives and their own business. I was secretly relieved as Jasmine finally gave in on her conversation with Mum and left, hugging me one last time. My arms were starting to get sore from all the hugging, so I excused myself and took a long, hot bath before falling asleep gratefully on my bed.

Oh my God, I've never felt something this comfortable in my entire life, I thought as I collapsed onto my bed, still wrapped in my towel, and slipped into dreams, completely forgetting that Chester was coming by later. Fortunately, he didn't forget, arriving maybe a half hour later than he'd promised, but at least he was more punctual than Clyde.

Dad, thank the heavens, was the one who came barging into my room when Chester arrived.

"Chester's downstairs, Eric, wants to see you," he said, not realising right away that I was asleep and nearly naked. "Oh... er, get dressed and come downstairs."

He backed out in a hurry.

I let out a muffled groan of protest at being disturbed and rolled over, my towel coming undone. That woke me up faster than anything, and I was instantly glad that Dad had left as quickly as he did. I floundered around my room for a minute, fishing out a complete set of clothes from the mess on my floor and pulling them on. I ran a comb through my hair briefly before heading downstairs to find Chester wasn't there.

"He went up to the sitting room," Penny said, guessing what my question was before I'd even asked it. I thanked her and went back upstairs, pushing open the door to the sitting room, which shared a wall with my room.

"Hey there, young one," Chester said from the sofa where he was sprawled as if he was right at home- which, in a sense, he was. "Finally eighteen. Finally amongst the ranks of the proper adults amongst your friends."

I threw a pillow at him as he sat up to give me room to sit down. He grinned and moved the backpack he'd brought in between his feet.

"Got something for you, might want to hide it right quick, dunno how your parents will respond," he said in a low tone, unzipping it and pulling out a brown paper bag. I started to open it curiously.

"Not here!" he hissed. "Go stuff it under your bed or something. Open it later, thank me tomorrow."

I obeyed, burying the bag behind a beast comprised of old clothes that lived under my bed. When I came back, he acted like he hadn't given me anything. We bantered back and forth for a while, eventually turning on the telly to make fun of the shoddy shows until Mum came in and asked Chester to leave because it was getting so late. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was nearly 2 a.m.

"Alright, Miz MacAllister, I'll see you later," he said, standing up and giving her a polite kiss on the cheek. He waved at me and disappeared downstairs, followed by Mum who had to lock the shop front behind him. I yawned and stretched, letting the telly claim my brain for only a few more minutes.

Mum came back upstairs and joined me in the sitting room. "Happy birthday, Eric," she said for the millionth time.

My word, woman, be quiet, I snapped in my head, providing the cement for a fresh brick. Aloud, I said, "Thanks, Mum."

"I love you."

I gave the standard response, failing to notice the sound of sadness in her voice. I snapped out of the funk television put me in and stood up.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

Mum stood up and hugged me tightly.

"I love you, Eric. Don't ever leave me."

We stepped apart, me again failing to notice the sense of concern and sadness in both her eyes and her voice. I said goodnight again and moved into my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I laid flat on my stomach, reaching under my bed for Chester's gift. I pulled it out and sat cross-legged next to my bed, tearing the top of the bag open, which had been taped shut.

Inside were two small bottles of whisky. I grinned.

"Best gift ever," I said to myself, shoving them back under my bed until morning. I changed into my pyjamas and crawled under the covers, asleep within the minute.

Oooh, great chapter. I like the continuation of the brick metaphor, and the contrast between Eric's thoughts and what he actually says. I also love the bit about the birthday biscuit. XD You're great at little touches like that.

I thought the "Don't ever leave me" bit sounded a teeny bit cheesy, but it also really helps us sympathize with Eric's poor mother, so... I dunno. XD

Nice job, can't wait for more!

Probably one of my least favourite bits, but my favourite one follows almost immediately. Anyway, if this is too much at once, let me know. Also, to my American readers: A-Levels are a high school exam, part of the GCE's. Think SAT-type things.

It felt like a vicious cycle. And it was. The whisky Chester gave me was gone within the week, and I was already desperate for more.

I had kept one bottle buried under my bed and transplanted the other to my makeshift den in the storage room- it was a huge pile of boxes, old newspapers, and blankets that I'd assembled over the years and the place where I'd lie down to read- which I knew no one but me would dare to touch. I turned my days into routines revolving around those tiny and fast emptying bottles of whisky- a quick swig in the morning and night, and another each time I had to go into the storage room while working in the shop. And no one ever noticed, much to my pleasure and much to the aid of my bricklaying skills.

Before May faded to June, I already had a wall a metre thick, easily. Clyde was more than happy to help me keep my stashes of whisky filled- he nicked alcohol from his mum all the time. Giving it to me just gave him more of a reason to be a thief. And as a result, he was the first to feel my anger.

It was mid August- the month when Emma Collins came out of her drunken and drug induced stupor to mourn the day she gave birth to Clyde. Which made it harder for him to get away with nicking her seemingly everlasting supply of whisky. He tried to reassure me, late one evening when my parents were in bed and the shop was closed, and I was awake anyway because I was waiting for him.

"Lissen, mate, jus' till the end o' th' month. She'll get back tae normal then, jus' hold oot for a wee while more, a'righ'?" he said in a hushed whisper in his very lazy style of speaking, a habit he had when speaking to his peers. It wasn't a speech impediment; it was just how Clyde was around his friends.

I clenched my jaw and didn't bother to look at him.

"What, you couldn't have stopped at Tesco and picked some up for me? I would have payed you back," I said curtly, using a tone I didn't even know I was capable of.

Clyde looked taken aback.

"I didn' 'hink o' that, mate, sorry."

"You didn't think. How typical," I snapped. Clyde stared. I had never shown any sort of anger towards him before. "You never think, Clyde. Maybe if you used that fucking brain your drunk as an arse mum apparently forgot to give you, this wouldn't be happening right now."

He leaned away from me, taking a step back, and looked me up and down.

"Wha's go'en intae ye?" he asked, incredulous. I put down the papers I had been meaninglessly shuffling about and stared back at him ferociously, one hand on my hip in a fashion that would have made my mum proud- well, maybe under different circumstances.

"Nothing's gotten into me, the question is what's gotten into you," I spat. "Worthless friend, you are."

Clyde looked like if he was more willing to show his emotions, he would've cried. Some surviving iota of sanity screamed at me to shut up and apologise to the kid who'd been a faithful friend to me for years. He was the kid who stood up for me when Tyler Fergusson would beat me up in primary school. Clyde was the kid who shared his already meagre lunch with me when I didn't have any, the kid who had stuck by my side as far back as I could remember. I was turning away that friend. But that iota of sanity wasn't in charge. The alcohol was, and it wasn't about to let something like a silly friendship interfere with its clockwork functions.

"I hope you're fucking happy, Eric," Clyde spat in wounded anger. In his anger, he'd lost his lazy pronunciation- a sure sign that he thought I was the scum of the earth. He marched out of the shop and into the night, leaving me even more cold and alone than I had ever been before.

+++

Clyde didn't speak to me for days.

It was unusual of him- he wasn't the type to hold grudges. He'd kick your arse one night and laugh it off the next morning. It was just his way. Underneath his scabby exterior he was one of the most loyal friends anyone could ask for. His undying faith was one in a billion- and I'd shunned it.

And it never occurred to me that it was my fault, and not just him being "immature."

He kept silent about it, fortunately. Neither Chester nor Sarah knew of the tension between us- that was between Clyde and myself. It was a mark of Clyde's faith that he would even speak to me after what transpired, let alone feign like we were on friendly terms in front of Sarah and Chester.

As for myself, I didn't fake the whole thing as easily. I was civil with him, yes, but I was more curt and cold towards him than I ever had been before, even more so than when we were in primary school and he had stolen the biscuit Mum had slipped into my lunch as a special treat. Then, I'd refused to even look in his general direction for three days, until he tackled me one morning and forced me to speak with him again. The humour of it was too much for my childish stubbornness to withstand, and I had burst out laughing.

The whole thing had ended in a three-way wrestling match between Clyde, Chester, and myself, with Sarah jumping in at the last minute.

It was great fun.

And it was probably one of the last times the four of us ever really appreciated the close bond we shared as friends.

+++

My family life wasn’t exactly thriving, either.

I was becoming more and more of a recluse, feigning friendliness when I needed to and keeping to myself when no one was bothering me. Oftentimes, I would lash out at anyone who bothered me while I wanted to be alone. I’d spend most of my time “reading” in a makeshift den I’d created over the years in the back storage room.

This is how I would do it.

I would wait until my dad or my mum or Penny was covering the shop. I would announce, like I always did even before the alcohol came in to play, that I was going into the back to read and didn’t want to be disturbed. I’d nick a few books from boxes in back and read for a wee while to ensure that I wasn’t about to be disturbed. Then I’d burrow behind my head and uncover the whisky bottle I kept safely hidden and uncover it just enough to stick a straw in it.

No one ever knew.

Whenever I was called upon to interact with those related to me, I kept my behaviour curt and presentable, but nothing further than what I had to do. It caused for a lot of uncomfortable moments when the family got together.

“So, Eric, how’s school going? When do you take your A-Levels?”

“I’m not taking A-Levels.”

And the conversation would end there.

I can’t even momentarily contemplate the thought that my parents didn’t notice. They would have to be monstrously thick to not realise what was going on. It might explain why they were suddenly always trying to be in my company- Dad would work in the shop along with me and keep me as close as possible and Mum would try and drag me to her book club like she used to do when I was younger and before I outgrew her in size.

You love reading so much, what's so bad about going to a book club? Trust me, Eric, you'll love it.

Yeah, just what I needed. A bunch of stuffy old ladies turning on the charm for the youngster in their midst and talking more nonsense about literature than a high school English teacher. No thank you.

I hid in the back room every time someone tried to do some kind of “family” stuff with me. Books became my only refuge from everything that I was desperately trying to avoid. I even started hanging out with Clyde, Chester, and Sarah less than I ever had before. I know that Clyde knew full well what I was up to- he’d be even thicker than I ever imagined him to be if he didn’t- but I never knew if Chester or Sarah knew. Had I been completely myself, I would have felt overwhelming guilt at abandoning my friends, my only friends on the face of the earth. But the alcohol was slowly becoming the only friend that I had, pushing aside everything else that I had so that it could take up my entire life.

Some last vestige of me- the real me, the me that had been there before the alcohol had taken over- knew how much of an asshole I was being. So after weeks of isolation, in mid September (to be specific), I got up the bollocks to finally re-establish contact with the outside world.

I rang up Chester to check in and see what the plans for the near future were.

“There aren’t any, Eric,” he replied to my question.

“What?” I said, incredulous. I leaned against the counter of the bookshop, phone sandwiched between my head and my shoulder as I doodled on a scrap of paper in front of me.

“We haven’t been doing much recently, Eric. Sarah isn’t due back from America for another week, and besides, I’ve got school.”

“School?” I repeated, feeling like an idiot and double the prat.

“Yeah, if you weren’t so busy being a selfish idiot in your damn bookshop, you’d know that I changed my mind about leaving school,” he said. “I’m going to a tech school to get my A-levels and then I’m off to university.”

I felt a surge of anger. “Whatever happened to all the promises we made when we left two years ago?” I spat.

“Eric, we were younger then. We were sixteen years old. A lot has changed between now and then. Everyone is moving on from all those childish things we said, except for you. And Clyde told me what happened between you two in August, the last time any of us saw you, really. Eric, you’re going to kill yourself if you keep going like you are. You’re a smart kid, you shouldn’t be doing that to yourself.”

I felt fire burn through my blood, but when I spoke, my words were dripping in ice.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Chester. I don’t know what I’m doing to myself that is so very wrong in your eyes, but whatever it is, I don’t need you preaching to me. Shut the fuck up and stop fucking calling me.”

As I slammed down the phone, I completely forgot that I had been the one to ring up Chester.

It was the second time I’d shown anger to one of my best friends. Hating myself even more, I disappeared upstairs, diving under my bed and digging out my special stash- a full sized bottle of whisky. I broke the seal, opened it, and drank deeply, trying to forget how worthless of a human being I was. As I sat there, my thoughts of rage turned away from myself and out to the world.

It’s not really me, is it? I wondered, a thought which only prepped a fresh brick for placement in my wall. It’s the world, and the idiots who populate it. They’re the reason why I feel this way. Chester’s wrong. I’m perfectly fine. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me, except the fact that the world can’t seem to handle me. Pathetic, really.

I shoved the whisky back under my bed and climbed on top of it, sliding my legs under the covers and lying on my back, anger still coursing through my veins. I started thinking about how to escape. How to escape all the morons surrounding me with every breath that I took, every step I took through the city. It would be too hard to get rid of them all.

So I figured it would save time and effort to get rid of myself.

It would have been easy. There were more options than I could count. I could break one of the windows and use the glass to slit my wrists. I could take Dad’s package opener knife and cut a bit cleaner. I could jump out into traffic. I could dig up Mark’s old hunting pistol. I could nick some fishing line and strangle myself.

I sat up in bed late into the night, thinking about it. Narrowing down options. Breaking down the windows would make too much of a commotion. So would the hunting gun. Jumping into traffic could backfire. So could strangling myself. The most obvious choice, I decided, was the package opener. Quick, clean, small, and efficient.

Now the matter was where to make the cut. Slitting my throat or wrists seemed to cliché. I wasn’t in the mood for drastic pain, so stabbing myself in a non-vulnerable place and bleeding to death was out. I supposed I could try to hack through my chest, but therein was another factor of backfiring. I also was afraid I would scream and be discovered with a knife in my chest.

I scrambled out of bed, snuck downstairs, and slid silent as a shadow into the back storage room. I shuffled around, wincing at every tiny sound, until I finally found the knife buried beneath a sheaf of papers on the desk that I’d been neglecting. With its comforting weight in my hand, I retreated back into my room. I kicked some random articles of clothing under Mark’s bed and laid down on the floor. It made some sort of cosmic sense to me to keep my bedding as clean as possible.

I’ll show them, I thought as I slid the blade out a few centimetres, cementing another brick into place. They’ll know now. They’ll know what they did to me, those bastards.

I wonder why it never occurred to me to ask myself who “they” were.

I hovered the knife over my throat, my blood pounding in my ears. I felt my resilience wavering, whatever vice the alcohol had on my brain being loosened by my better judgment. The sober, sane me was gaining ground.

What the hell are you doing? Just fucking do it! You’ll regret it later if you don’t.

My hand shook. I laid there, my hand hovering over me, my divided mind raging a bloody civil war. I battled myself so long, I got bored and rolled over onto my stomach, pulling the hidden bottle of whisky out from under my bed. I sat up, uncorked it, and took a long, grateful gulp.

I woke up the next morning to a hangover and a small cut in my side.

I’d forgotten to kill myself.

Oh, fuck.

Ooh, excellent chapter. Very nice job. I still love your characterization, you're really good at helping the reader get to know your characters. *repeats self ad naseum*

Let's see.... in the middle of the passage... this paragraph, to be precise:

I hid in the back room every time someone tried to do some kind of “family” stuff with me. Books became my only refuge from everything that I was desperately trying to avoid. I even started hanging out with Clyde, Chester, and Sarah less than I ever had before. I know that Clyde knew full well what I was up to- he’d be even thicker than I ever imagined him to be if he didn’t- but I never knew if Chester or Sarah knew. Had I been completely myself, I would have felt overwhelming guilt at abandoning my friends, my only friends on the face of the earth. But the alcohol was slowly becoming the only friend that I had, pushing aside everything else that I had so that it could take up my entire life.

felt a teeny-tiny bit like telling instead of showing, especially in the last sentence or so. But I suppose since Eric is telling the story to someone in the first place, that makes perfect sense. So it's really fine. ...yeah, I have no idea what I'm talking about. *headdesk*

But nice job, I really, really like this story. Cant wait for the next part.

Hi Razorblade! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get around to critiquing this, but I am, finally!

I'm liking it. Your plot and characters are very engaging, but I find the scenes with his family a little dry. I really liked the one scene with all his friends, but there's something about Chester I really don't like.

I woke up the next morning to a hangover and a small cut in my side.

I'd forgotten to kill myself.

Oh, fuck.

Haha! That bit was really funny.

I'd love it if you could PM me when you post more, and I'll crit straight away, promise!

I'm going through the entire first year right now because I'm noticing some plot holes. So this is highly subject to change once I get everything else done, because once I've written it all is when I'll do the major editing. So pardon any yawning plot holes. And try not to trip over them.

I shoved the whisky and box cutter under my bed, burying them under some old clothes that I never wore and would never miss. No one would bother looking under there. I snuck to the bathroom- for reasons only the alcohol knows- and dressed the cut in my side, covering it with a fresh, hole-free shirt. I took a long look at myself in the mirror. My wild blonde hair needed a trim, and my amber eyes looked exhausted. I tried smiling, and that alleviated the effects a bit.

Good, I can still fake it. The last thing I need is Mum freaking out over me, I thought, forming another brick in my head. Mum freaking out meant that my carefully constructed dual life, my carefully built brick walls, would all come crashing down in an instant and I would’ve lost nearly a year of work. The very last thing I wanted to happen was anyone in my family finding out what I really meant by “going to hang out with friends.”

Dressed, I marched downstairs, doing my best to pretend like I didn’t have a raging headache that throbbed with each step, sound, and iota of light. I didn’t realise how early it was, but my dad was still downstairs, cataloguing the shop stock in his completely illegible- at least to outsiders- notebook.

“Morning, Eric, you’re up early,” he said brightly as I entered the room. I shrugged.

“Didn’t realise the time. Need any help?”

“Not at the moment, but thank you for offering. Later on, though, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind holding down the fort. Your mother has her book club and I have my bowling league to attend to, so I wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind taking care of the shop with Penny.”

A bowling league and a book club. How disgusting.

“Sure, Dad. What time will you be home, because I think Sarah might want me to hang out tonight, if she’s not working.” Working. She was really babysitting, but we called it work.

“Around seven o’clock, but if that runs too late you’re welcome to abandon Penny. I’m sure she’ll be fine on her own.”

“Alright, I said, nicking an apple from the decorative fruit bowl that existed for no particular reason on the counter. I bit into it, the juice spilling down my chin and onto my shirt.

“Are you ever not going to be a messy eater?” Dad said, laughing as he watched me. “Honestly. You were the worst out of all of your brothers and sisters. You had to have four baths a day!”

“Which is probably why I like baths so much,” I shot back, leaning against the counter as I continued munching on the apple. “Reminds me of when I was a wee babe.”

Dad smiled sadly at me. “Aye. Seems like only yesterday I could lay you perfectly on my forearm. Now I have to look up to you instead of the other way around.”

“Thank yourself for that,” I said, scarfing the rest of the apple and throwing the core in the rubbish bin under the counter. “I clearly didn’t inherit Mum’s height.”

He laughed heartily- or so I assumed. He never laughed outright, his shoulders just shook. If he was laughing hard, his chest would heave a bit and he might emit a sound or two. It always weirded out people who didn’t know him all too well. I wondered vaguely how he’d developed that laugh.

I was secretly anxious, trying to stop the sweat pouring down my back. In whatever fucked up logic chain my head was running circles in, it would be conspicuous to Dad what I'd done the previous night. And his interference would mean the end of my carefully constructed hidden life. I didn't need that. I didn't need anybody interfering, anybody helping. I was alright on my own, except for the fact that I knew nothing of bricklaying and somehow had a brick wall several metres thick that I'd built all on my own.

Logic is for the weak, I thought, which made me chuckle. Dad stared at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, just a dream I had last night."

"Oh really? Share."

"Let's leave it at it involved Mark in a vibrant pink tutu and a Nutcracker performance," I lied smoothly. Dad went into another fit of violent laughter, shaking so bad the teacup he was holding spilled onto the floor and onto his shirt.

"Oh, damn. Listen, Eric, I'm going to clean this up, d'you mind finishing this up for me?"

I nodded and took the paper from him. I scanned the page to see the work he'd already done and continued beneath it- in my neat, perfectly legible handwriting, I might add.

It took nearly an hour for me to realise that I didn’t have plans with Sarah. She wasn’t even in the country, let alone the continent. I didn’t have anything to do that night. But it was a good lie to get me out of working that night.

I spent the rest of the day anticipating the arrival of seven o’clock, when I could finally take off and be on my own. When the time did come, I tugged on my jacket and started wandering down the street- the same street I’d wandered down for years, and just a few months before had walked with Clyde, Chester, and Sarah on my last night of a sober life. It was an eerily familiar scene, only this time, I was alone.

Strange how things fall together- or in my case, how they fall apart.

I stopped outside one of our favourite places to drink, thinking about going inside for a pint or two. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I watched a gang of twentysomethings wander into the joint.

I decided against that particular establishment and kept on down the road, looking for a place that didn’t have connotations reminding me of my friends. I didn’t even know if I could still call them friends after how I’d treated them. I’d taken them for granted for the first time, lashed out at them even, and now I was paying the price.

I read once about a wee thing called karma, but I hadn’t believed in it at first.

I ended up just buying myself a bottle of whisky and drinking it alone in a local park, sitting on one of the swings and drinking slowly, watching the moon wane from the starry night sky.

Abandoned, alone, and drinking. A very pathetic scene.

Oh, woe is you.

+++

I didn’t have any contact with anyone for weeks.

The New Year came and went and the entire time it was just the alcohol talking. I wasn’t really there. I was too busy being nostalgic for a time of innocence, a time when the biggest crime I could commit against my friends was nicking Clyde’s gum (which he never seemed to run out of), which was totally forgotten within a few hours.

Sarah got back from America without much fanfare from me. I wanted to re-establish contact with them, I really did. But the alcohol was too much in the way. And I knew that- the poisonous shit hadn’t quelled all of my cognitive self just yet. It still had a ways to go, but it was determined to quell every last stitch of rational thought.

I spent January getting up the courage to force my way through my drunken haze and get back with my friends. I tried to ring up Chester many times, but I always hung up in the end.

It was late one freezing January night, towards the end of the month. The shop was closed and I was staring daggers at the plain white telephone hanging on the wall, wishing that it would stop being so fucking difficult to ring up a friend I’d rung up a thousand times. I knew the number by heart, I knew the voice by heart. And yet I still couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I sighed, picking up the receiver once more. My fingers started dancing across the keypad, seemingly of their own will, until they had entered the numbers as they so pleased and the dial tone changed to a ring.

“Hello?” a female voice said.
“Sarah?” I said, surprised at myself. I stared at my right hand in wonder.

“Eric, is that you?” she said.

“Hey, um… I hate to sound rude, but I didn’t mean to call you, I meant to ring up Chester. Dunno where my head was.”

She said something under her breath, sounding distinctly like “you can say that again,” then coughed and spoke to me.

“That’s alright, Eric, I’ll hang up.”

“No! Wait. I, uh… it doesn’t really matter who I talk to. I just wanted to talk to someone. Well, other than myself, but you know what I mean.”

I got the odd sense that she was nodding and tried to picture her, leaning against the threshold of her sitting room, twirling the phone cord in her fingers as she wondered why her pathetic hack of a boyfriend was ringing her up now.

Shoving those thoughts aside, I tried to reign in my tongue which had somehow grown a mind of its own. I tried to speak like a sentient human being.

“Listen, Sarah. I wanted to apologise, honestly. I know I’ve been a bit of a jerk for a while, and I’m sorry. I really am. I dunno what got into me, but you, Clyde, and Chester mean everything to me.”

I fell silent, my heart pounding in my ears. The alcohol told me I was being an idiot, that it was their fault, but the real me was screaming that I was doing the right thing. And the real me was winning.

“Is that all?” she said in a bored tone. I winced. I’d been expecting a dismissive reaction, but it hurt either way.

“Yeah. I… I know it’s not much, and I know that it doesn’t make up for what I’ve done at all, but I want to make up for it properly.”

Both of us were silent again. I was scrambling madly for something that would convince her of my sincerity.

“Listen, can I come over tonight? Have a proper chat with you?”

She was silent for an agonisingly long period of time.

“Sure, I guess so. Show up whenever, I’ll be here all night.”

I thanked her and hung up the phone. I felt a bubble of hope rising in my chest- things might not be disintegrating as badly as I thought they were after all.

+++

I changed into some halfway presentable clothes, trying to make myself appear as decent as possible. I couldn’t exactly go knocking at my girlfriend’s door and expect her to fall to forgiving pieces over me if I was dressed like I didn’t really care. It would be rude.

Sarah lived only a few blocks away, so I chose to walk the distance through the chilly January night- in retrospect, it was a really stupid idea, since I was shivering and felt like I was coming down with hypothermia the whole way- and think about what I was doing and what I was going to say. I supposed I just wanted to rekindle our friendship.

There was no one on the streets as I walked, my hands deep in the pockets of my jacket, my chin lowered.

If there’s one thing I hate about being cold, it’s the fact that there’s nothing out there to keep my nose warm, I thought. It’s the only part of my face that ever gets cold, and it irritates the crap out of me. They should make some kind of nose warmer- yeah, that’d be useful. It could fit on the face like a pair of glasses, and just fit over the nose with wee holes so you could still breathe-

I was at Sarah’s doorstep before I knew it, and all I had thought about was a hypothetical nose warmer.

I really, really wanted to kick myself.

Nice. He's a good liar, isn't he?

I think Sarah's reaction was really... normal. A newer writer would hvae her rush over and try to set him on the right track (like me a few years ago. Seriously, I would've), but she was very real.

I remember reading the last bit in NaNo quotes. It's really funny.

I don't get why he had such a hard time callign Chester. Apart from that, I really liked it. Sorry for such a boring crit, but I couldn't find anything wrong with it.

So... every once in a while I'll click on an interesting title on the "Recent Additions" list, just to check it out. I may read all of it, I may read just the first line. I may critique it, more often I don't.

Then there are times that I run into something like this, something where I don't just read the first post -- I read as much as the author has written, and I hunger for more.

My name is Crysi and I'm a "Ten Years, Twenty-Eight Days"-oholic.

Seriously, Saint, this is fantastic! I am really impressed with everything. Your characters are real and amusing, and you do a great job of writing what's called the "unreliable narrator" -- we read the story from his perspective, but we're not sure we can trust him. Yes, he's more honest when looking back, but I think there's still a shred of denial there. Like how "no one knew." (And yes, later he does admit they probably knew.)

Your dialogue is fresh and natural, and I absolutely love the bricks. Very creative way to tie it all together, to bring us back to the point, to show us the psychological deterioration -- or perhaps the progression into the alcoholic mind.

Very, very intriguing. My only suggestion? (And this is really one I never used until my creative writing teacher forced me to) When you separate words within a sentence -- like this -- it's clearer if you format it as I have, using two dashes with spaces on either side. Otherwise, it reads more like a hyphenated word, and it doesn't flow as smoothly through the reader's mind.

Honestly, though, the rest is fabulous. I am very, very impressed, and I can't wait to read more!

Saint Razorblade-

I wish I had more time to read this. I read the second half, and only scanned the first. I really like it though. Your characters seem to have very realistic relationships, and your plot seems good so far.

You really leave people on cliffhangers, at the end of your chapters, or posts. I want to know what happens next, horribly!

Everything flows nicely, and fits together well.

Bravo!

Cabassi_Crime_Family

Dang, he is getting to be one heck of a good liar, isn't he? You did a really good job with this part. His phone conversation with Sarah seemed quite realistic to me. I liked all the little characterization bits like the way his father laughs, and the bit about the nosewarmer really made me laugh. XD

Great job, I can't think of any critique. This really is a brilliant story. ^_^

*pokes the countless others whom I solicited for crits*

oooo-kay!

Post One (also known as the Prologue)

The first "you" addressing the reader was startling because there hadn't been any dialogue tags yet. Just an observation.

The "reading my mind as always" part I think gives off the wrong idea. It made me think that the therapist really would be reading the patient's mind, when it seems really to be just a figure of speech. And if the therapist really does seem to always read his mind, we'll be able to see that throughout by example.

I was confused as to why the therapist corrected the bother/problem thing. I had been expecting that to be integral to the conversation they then had, but if it's foreshadowing, that's cool too. If it's neither, then... what's it doing there?

I like the dialogue in general. Seems light. Not in the upbeat sense, necessarily, but more in the sense that you don't have to plod through everything to hear what they're saying. It's refreshing, morelike.

Why does the therapist seem to be rushing him so much? It seemed as if Eric paused for a minute and the therapist snapped at him. Odd.
The therapist comments on everything that Eric does, almost like he's narrating Eric's life story. If someone did that in real life, I'd be horribly annoyed.

Post Two (otherwise known as Year One)

I don't know about this first sentence. I think that there are people who seem like the type that could become alcoholics. Maybe this is said in relation to his family? Like it seemed like nobody in his family or in his neighborhood would be the type to be alcoholic?

haha, I like "the rest of one of my lives". Nice ending to a ~section.

I don't like how Eric clarifies that he'll be joining Chester "just like every other night". It seems too much for the audience's benefit, and even if it's not intended that way in context, sounds rather self-deprecating. Which, if that's his character (can't really tell yet), could be fine, but yeah.

"Awesome. See ya-"

I hung up before my overly-pompous best mate could continue. Best to cut him off when you still could.

I think the part about Chester being overly-pompous is unnecessary and overdescriptive, and cutting it out could make the part about him being cut off more humourous.

“Alright, but you’re staying in tomorrow. Tomorrow’s your birthday, which is a time for family, not carousing with your layabout friends.”

I'd say "...staying in tomorrow. Your birthday is a time for family..." because again, it seems more for the audience's benefit.

The mother almost seems a little too pleased that her son is breaking the rules, even if it's just filling in a log book. I'd think that she'd at least put on a bit mroe of a show of being annoyed at him.

Chester is devilishly grinning? He seems a little too... happy? I guess, that Eric is a 'sickly sweet son'.

"Bar hopping" sounds too crass, even for them. Like technical language when there's slang. I believe there's a better term for it, but I can't think of it off the top of my head.

If Eric is Chester's best friend, then why can't he remember the two sisters he has?

After the "There's a small bit I added in here, just keep looking through the thread" jump (I have no idea what that means, by the way? Gonna assume that's you talking, not Eric...), Eric talks about his nightlife, but it seems rather unnrealistic, I think, for them to be concentrated solely on the alcohol. I mean yeah, their destination will ultimately result in drinking, but isn't it usually associated with clubs and dancing and such? Or even sitting with friends? Makes the "skip school and drink" bit seem oddly over the top, even for a soon-to-be alcoholic.

I had lied my arse off about leaving school, but hey, at least I had a good cover. As opposed to Clyde’s blunt honesty, which is the reason why his mum kicked him out and he now bunks with Chester. I had a real reason, though.

Ever since I was young, I knew I wanted to carry on with my parents’ bookshop. In primary school, I would run straight home after school and help my dad with anything he needed help with. I wouldn’t even bother to change out of my school uniform. It used to make him laugh- watching me, a wild whirlwind of childhood energy, running down the street with my school bag flying open, eager to get home to work. He swore it was that predestination stuff Protestants like my father believe. He took a lot of pride in telling his religious friends about my work ethic, and how I was guaranteed to get into heaven. [/qutoe]

The second paragraph here seems like it should answer the question posed in the first paragraph: the real reason why Eric has a good reason for leaving school. But it doesn't? I'm very confused. Is it that he lies about leaving school because he wants his parents to still be proud of him? If so, I don't know if "cover" is the right word (from the first paragraph above) because that makes it sound as if he had a good cover story for leaving school, which isn't then discussed.

At any rate, Eric's initial character is well established throughout this part. It's a solid introduction of who he is, what he believes, and what motivates him. Nice.

Post Three

Well, as long as the family is totally cliche on purpose...

"The claws of sleep"? Er, I might be able to take that if it were sleep being personified within description, but if it's just an adjective, I don't kow about that one.

"Splat"? haha

-is not commenting on the family-

As if on cue, my dad called out as I reached the bottom stair: “Janine, have you seen Eric’s cake?”

Wait, I'm confused; is this still from Eric's perspective? It seems like his father's calling to him, calling him Janine, when I think instead he's actually calling to Eric's mother? But it's confusing because Eric is the one who answers... Maybe "called to my mother"? *reads a few more lines* Oh, er, nevermind. Well, still a bit confusingly worded in context.

Wyatt is Eric's older brother? He acts rather immaturely (see "Hey, you should've seen him. He looked like a giant badger...")

Ahh, all the action stopped when his sisters walked in to point out their ages and other important traits. better to integrate with the action. Same when Mark walks through the door. Though it's niece that there's so many of them and they still seem very individual, I wish the had been introduced a bit more seamlessly.

It seems odd that Eric's family seems so "together" yet they don't question when he gets home way after curfew, etc. If they truly are oblivious to these things, there should be some action to show it.

The part about Chester's challenge in italics right before the end of this section seemed odd in that it seemed like something that should have been a direct quote from Eric's mind, yet there's the words "challenging" and "manipulate", words that he would probably use on a school paper (or not, if he isn't really into school, I suppose) next to "insane", which is more vernacular like he'd use with his friends; doesn't seem like it's really in his voice at this point.

This story's growing on me, I have to say. Looking back, I didn't like the part at the beginning so much, when he was with his therapist. I mean, it was well-written and all, but not so interesting as Eric is now, in his own world, with his friends. Becuase now, there seems to be more story behind him, more story to tell, and I'm interested as to what'll happen next.

Post Four (otherwise begun with We had a wild night

I'd even managed to talk Sarah, my girlfriend, out of buying me anything on cheesy holidays or the anniversary of our relationship.

I think we've guessed that Sarah is his girlfriend by this point.

My word, woman, be quiet, I snapped in my head, providing the cement for a fresh brick. Aloud, I said, "Thanks, Mum."

I think it might be better if cement/brick things were integrated into description rather than conversation. Not that this is really conversation, but it's more conversational, and seems like it'll be more paid attention-to. What I guess I mean is the things that would provide cement or bricks, don't actually say that they do, but add descriptions of cement and bricks somewhere around them. Almost like you're hiding them more.

Mum stood up and hugged me tightly.

"I love you, Eric. Don't ever leave me."

Why did she say that? The part about him leaving? She doesn't really have reason to think that.

Post Five (otherwise begun as It felt like a vicious cycle

This begins with the alcohol bit. Which makes sense, because it's a story about a soon-to-be/is alcoholic. But that seems to be the only story; there aren't many subplots. Seems rather in-your-face. Ex:

It felt like a vicious cycle. And it was. The whisky Chester gave me was gone within the week, and I was already desperate for more.

I'd think he might have reservations each time he drank more in the course of that week? Like there should be some emotional ties in there somewhere, but it's just summarized in a paragraph. Again, I think the bricklaying thing's a little too obvious.

Clyde was more than happy to help me keep my stashes of whisky filled- he nicked alcohol from his mum all the time. Giving it to me just gave him more of a reason to be a thief. And as a result, he was the first to feel my anger.

Again, I think that dialogue and showing would be helpful here.

"Lissen, mate, jus' till the end o' th' month. She'll get back tae normal then, jus' hold oot for a wee while more, a'righ'?" he said in a hushed whisper in his very lazy style of speaking, a habit he had when speaking to his peers. It wasn't a speech impediment; it was just how Clyde was around his friends.

Although the clarification that this is how Clyde talks around his friends is helpful, I think it slows down/stops what's happening too much.

"Nothing's gotten into me, the question is what's gotten into you," I spat. "Worthless friend, you are."

I think the worthless friend bit is a little too much since this is the first time we see Eric as angry.

He kept silent about it, fortunately. Neither Chester nor Sarah knew of the tension between us- that was between Clyde and myself. It was a mark of Clyde's faith that he would even speak to me after what transpired, let alone feign like we were on friendly terms in front of Sarah and Chester.

A lot of things in this section of the post, like the part quoted above, seem too much telling/summary.

“So, Eric, how’s school going? When do you take your A-Levels?”

“I’m not taking A-Levels.”

And the conversation would end there.

Wait, how does the conversation just end there? Aren't A-Levels rather important/required? Or do I have the analogy wrong (probable XD)?

But the alcohol was slowly becoming the only friend that I had, pushing aside everything else that I had so that it could take up my entire life.

This seems a little too retrospective. And in general, Eric seems to be a little too self-analyzing.

This section ends very well.

Post Six (otherwise begun with I shoved the whisky...)

My wild blonde hair needed a trim, and my amber eyes looked exhausted. I tried smiling, and that alleviated the effects a bit.

Aah, we only know what he looks like because he looked in the mirror *cliche*.

Suggestion for conciseness:

“Aye. Seems like only yesterday I could lay you perfectly on my forearm. Now I have to look up [s]to[/s]at you instead [s]of the other way around[/s].”

A bowling league and a book club. How disgusting.

“Sure, Dad. What time will you be home, because I think Sarah might want me to hang out tonight, if she’s not working.” Working. She was really babysitting, but we called it work.

I like how he's thinking one thing, but can say something completely different. Very nice.

I read once about a wee thing called karma,

This is one of those nice little lines that you're skilled at

Abandoned, alone, and drinking. A very pathetic scene.

Oh, woe is you.

Yet he doesn't seem to think much more past that? p.s. I like the "woe is you". Nice substitute for "woe is me" ^_^

Sarah got back from America without much fanfare from me. I wanted to re-establish contact with them, I really did. But the alcohol was too much in the way.

He's self-analyzing again. I mean, I'm sure he knows it, but to actually say it like that seems too "oh poor me, look what I've done" whining.

If there’s one thing I hate about being cold, it’s the fact that there’s nothing out there to keep my nose warm, I thought. It’s the only part of my face that ever gets cold, and it irritates the crap out of me. They should make some kind of nose warmer- yeah, that’d be useful. It could fit on the face like a pair of glasses, and just fit over the nose with wee holes so you could still breathe-

I was at Sarah’s doorstep before I knew it, and all I had thought about was a hypothetical nose warmer.

I really, really wanted to kick myself.

This is a really nice ending. It's very telling about Eric's character without being overly-stated; it's a nice example of showing rather than telling. Good job.

peace out,
-Amelia

Okay, so normally I'd wait another couple of days to post more, but I'm kind of excited that I've got so many new readers!
Anyway, this is probably one of my favourite parts. Even though it's kind of... uneventful. xD But hey, I needed to balance out the action somehow!

+++

That miracle nose warmer I had been thinking about? It comes in the form of hot tea.

Sarah handed me a cup of freshly brewed tea and I buried my nose in its warmth gratefully, holding the cup with my bare hands, not caring that the stuff was scalding hot.

“You are such a moron for walking here,” she said, a wee bit of a laugh in her voice. “It’s late January! It’s the middle of winter. It’s cold and damp and dreary and it’s the middle of the night.”

I took a deep drink from the tea. “Yeah, but aren’t you the one who said my best feature was my clumsy naïveté? Or was that just a lie?”

She sat down on the settee beside me as I set down the cup and saucer. She smiled warmly, which heated my heart, frozen by both the alcohol and the weather. I wanted to hug her then and there, but instinct told me that was a bad idea.

“Nah, it was true. You’re clumsy and stupid and sweet and… some other adjective.”

She folded her arms and watched me for a moment.

“So? You’re the one who demanded to come over here and chat. What’s on your mind?”

Oh, way more than I should really be telling you. “It’s just been a while since we were properly together, you know? I missed you, wanted to drop by for a wee while.”

“In the middle of the night,” she added. I grinned sheepishly, shrugging.

“I felt it would be something new to try?” I ventured. Her lips quivered. Victory. I gave my best cheeky grin, watching her struggle to keep a straight face.

“Whatever you do, Sarah, don’t smile,” I said in an overly dramatic, deadly serious tone. There was a brief silence in which I stared intensely at her, still smirking, waiting for her facial muscles to win the fight.

It took longer than it had in the past, but eventually she burst out laughing.

“I hate you,” she said, laughing all the while, which meant she wasn’t really serious.

“I love you too, Sarah,” I said, taking her in my arms. She hugged me, but that wasn’t what was on my agenda.

“Damn you, Eric!” she shrieked as I started to tickle her ribs. She squirmed in my arms, laughing uncontrollably. I held her tighter the more she struggled.

I heard the floor above me creak and I stopped. Sarah collapsed in a heap, still giggling and breathless. I looked up at the ceiling above me. She stopped giggling and sat up, following my gaze.

“Way to go, Eric, you woke up my mum,” she said, still grinning, her amber hair askew and her face red as a tomato.

I apologised in a quiet tone as her mum entered the room, wearing a totally cliché fluffy pink bathrobe.

“What’s all the racket down here?” she said sleepily.

“Hi there, Miz Montgomery,” I said, giving a wee wave.

“Mum, sorry, I didn’t know Eric was coming over tonight,” Sarah said apologetically. Her mum, Nancy Montgomery, waved it aside.

“It’s alright, Sarah. I haven’t seen you in ages, Eric. How have you been? How’s your mum?”

“She’s fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine,” I said in a singsong voice. Mrs. Montgomery chuckled as Sarah elbowed me in the ribs.

I continued small talking Sarah’s mum until she bode me good evening and went back to bed. When we heard the creak upstairs that meant she was safely back in bed, Sarah turned to glare at me.

“You be quiet,” she said, feigning anger. I feigned a repenting child look in return.

We didn’t have the same teacher with an obsession for teaching her students acting, no. That’s a daft notion.

We wiled away the evening watching old horror flicks that Sarah’s dad, Ronald Montgomery, kept in a box in the garage because they held too many nostalgic memories for him to get rid of. Most of them were in black and white with extremely corny special effects. We had a huge laugh making fun of how terrified folks were of those old fashioned films. I got a particular kick out of one film where aliens invaded the planet.

“‘I am an alien life form, I come in peace’ says the man wrapped in tin foil with an upturned bucket on his head,” I said, walking around the room and mimicking the shoddy pretend alien that had the townsfolk running in fear. Sarah giggled.

“Oh no! It’s the evil Eric-tron from the planet Flabtaciglob! Run for your lives!” she improvised in a dramatic tone. I stopped, my arms falling to my sides, barely able to speak for laughing.

“Flabtaciglob?” I repeated, dumbstruck and trying to regain control of myself. Sarah fell over sideways on the settee, laughing. I chuckled and sat down next to her. She scooted closer to me, resting her head in my lap. I stroked her amber coloured hair gently.

“We should make a film about a planet called Flabtaciglob,” she said dreamily, her eyes half open.

“Yeah, right. And it’ll be inhabited by the Flagorkians, who all bear a striking resemblance to Clyde Collins and Sarah Montgomery.”

She playfully slapped my knee. “Prick,” she muttered. She snuggled closer to me. We were silent for a while, neither of us paying any attention whatsoever to the cheesy ‘50s horror flick still flashing its fake “scary” images in black and white splendor.

“Eric, this is nice,” she said sleepily. I broke my staring contest with the ceiling and looked down at her. “It’s been so long since it was just you and me like this. I like it. I missed it. I love you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes full of sleep and love and so many emotions. I smiled, leaning down to kiss her.

“I love you too, Sarah,” I said.

“Don’t ever change, don’t ever leave me,” she said.

“I won’t, Sarah. I promise.”

She kept muttering “don’t ever change, don’t ever leave me,” and I kept repeating “I won’t, Sarah, I promise,” until she finally fell asleep on my lap.

One of these days I’ll get a hold on these empty promises of mine, I thought, leaning my head back again and drifting off to sleep myself.

+++

I woke up the next morning to the smell of frying eggs.

I snorted and jerked awake, one hand going straight to my forehead to run its course through my hair. I blinked sleep out of my eyes a few times and stood up. Sarah poked her head around the corner.

“Good morning, Eric,” she said, walking up to me and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I thought you’d never wake up. I was tempted to wake you up myself, but you looked so darn comfortable on that settee. Come on, Mum and I are fixing breakfast, you’re welcome to have some.”

I followed her like a starving puppy dog into the dining room, waving hello to her mum as I sat down at the table.

“Morning, Eric,” Mrs. Montgomery said. I gave the standard response and picked up a piece of toast, putting it on my plate and picking up a butter knife.

“Your mum called earlier, Eric, she was wondering where you were. She says you need to be home by noon, you need to cover the shop today and whatnot,” she said, handing me the jam that I had gestured to. Her parents were used to me randomly spending the night, and they were also used to my rather impolite morning habits. I wasn’t much of a morning person, although I was pretty damn good at pretending like I was.

I spread the jam over my toast as Sarah came in, bearing two plates full of food. She set one in front of her mum and the other in front of me, returning to the kitchen and collecting hers.

“Need any help, Sarah?” I managed to ask, briefly shaking off my morning coma. She shook her head as she took a bite of her eggs.

“Nope, that’s all for now. Dad had a business meeting today, he said he would eat on the way there.”

I shrugged and tucked in happily to my own plate. The two of us had scarfed down our breakfasts by the time Mrs. Montgomery finished her bacon.

“Would you two have preferred me to throw it in a blender and give you some straws?” she asked as Sarah wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin. I shook my head.

“Nope, solid is just fine. I’m actually not thirsty enough to drink mixed egg and bacon and all that. Doesn’t exactly sound tasty, to be perfectly honest.”

Mrs. Montgomery chuckled as Sarah and I stood up.

“Well, I’d better be getting home. Thank you for the breakfast, Mrs. Montgomery. And for letting me stay over.”

Mrs. Montgomery waved my thanks aside. “Eric, our home is your home. You’re welcome whenever, you know that full well.”

I smiled politely and left the room, Sarah following behind. In the hall by the front door, I stopped to put on my jacket.

“Have fun, I might stop by later if I get too bored,” Sarah said, standing on tiptoe and kissing me on the cheek.

“Please do. It’ll be something to look forward to. Something to keep myself from getting bored,” I said as I walked out the door. She giggled, waved goodbye, and closed it behind me. I turned away, walking out to the street and turning left.

“So I see you and Sarah have made up,” a voice said from behind me.

I whirled to see Chester leaning against the right side of Sarah’s gate, his arms folded across his chest and a muted expression on his face.

“Chester! Hey, how did you know I was here?”

“Your mum told me. I dropped by the shop earlier, but she said that you weren’t there. So I came here to wait for you.”

Something in the flatness of his tone told me that he hadn’t yet forgiven me for my rudeness. It was a very awkward moment, the two of us squared off to each other, staring the other down. I chewed my tongue for a moment before I gathered the courage to say what I was thinking.

“Listen, Chester, I’m really sorry for-”

“Pack it in, Eric.”

I halted, feeling my hopes crash and burn horribly. Oh no. He’s not going to forgive me. Don’t tell me that I’ve officially lost my best friend, I thought in a panic. I stared at him, horrified. He broke into a grin.

“Man, you are so easy to freak out.”

He stepped forward, clapping me on the shoulder. “Stop worrying, Eric. You’re my best mate. I can understand you’re under a wee bit of stress and you’re prone to being a wee bit touchy at times. It’s alright. Hey, I have a sister too. I understand the concept of PMS.”

I punched him, grinning like an idiot. He dodged my blow, grinning in the same fashion.

“It’s okay, you can be touchy,” he teased again as we started walking down the road.

Jesus, I’m such an idiot. Chester’s only playing, although he is crossing the line a wee bit, I thought. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite enough damage to support an entire new brick.

But it was enough to begin forming one.

We chatted the whole way home as if the whole thing had blown over- which it had. Turns out one of his uncles had turned him on to engineering, which is why he was going back to school. He wanted to follow in his uncle’s footsteps, and for that, he needed higher education. A lot of higher education. The way he described it to me was way worse than secondary school had ever been for me. Not that I was stupid, I just had other things to do that tenth level calculus or whatever it is that engineers need to use. I personally thought he was insane. On the surface I congratulated him for figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. On the inside, however, I hated him for even contemplating going back to school.

Which, on the other hand, was more than enough to form and place a brick. Several bricks, to be purely honest.

He left me at the shop and I waved until he disappeared from view.

“Did you have fun last night, Eric?” a voice rang out as I walked into the shop. It was my mum, in all her diminutive glory, from behind the counter.

“Yeah,” I said, taking off my jacket and draping it over my right shoulder.

“What did you two do?”

“We visited planet Flabtaciglob,” I said, starting to walk towards the stairs, nearly dying with laughter on the inside at the confused expression on my mum’s face. I yawned and stretched out my neck as I walked into my room, throwing my coat down on the bed. I dug through my pile of clothes on the floor for a fresh ensemble, changing clothes before heading back downstairs.

“So I hear you need me to take over for you today,” I said, joining her behind the counter. She nodded.

“Yup. We’re splurging a wee bit and taking Penny to the movies for her birthday.”

“Oh, so I’m not invited?” I teased.

“We couldn’t afford four tickets! And besides, we need someone to cover the shop.”

“Relax, I was only joking. I don’t mind not going to the flicks. There’s nothing out that I want to see, to be perfectly honest.”

Mum smiled and elbowed me in the ribs. My ribs are taking a lot of abuse lately, I thought offhandedly.

I was telling her the truth, though. I didn’t mind missing out on a picture show. It would give me a wee bit of time alone- and consequently, a wee bit of time to drink. I was actually highly thankful for an opportunity like the one that presented itself as my parents and Penny prepared to leave, bidding me goodbye as they walked out the door. I paced the store as they left in the taxi I had called for them. There wasn’t much to do unless a customer came in- all the cleaning and straightening and the like had already been done. I sighed, sitting down behind the counter and digging out my dad’s favourite pack of cards from beneath a giant sheaf of papers.

“Never fails,” I said, shuffling the deck and dealing myself a game of solitaire.

Author's note: It seems kinda pointless out of context. But I promise, it's not.

Pointless? I think not! To be honest, I prefer the non-drinking bits. I mean, they're cool and all, but I find these ones a lot easier to read and a lot more relaxed.

As to a critique, I really don't have anything to say. I love it! I'm definetely warming up to Chester, and I really like Sarah. The writing is good and there's no mistakes.

That miracle nose warmer I had been thinking about? It comes in the form of hot tea.

Great first line. I love it, it made me laugh.

Anyway, post more soon!