The Wind Blows Cold
02/07/21 13:13
Mid Week Flash #206 - 30.06.21
The Wind Blows Cold
Eddie’s head hurt. Not a sharp pain, but not dull either. Something akin to death warmed up to a little bit south of maximum - with added extras for some evil deeds that must have been undertaken in multiple previous (and pretty evil) lifetimes. To top it off there were some throbbing noises. It wasn’t good at all. The noise may have been a good sign. If it was just the blood pumping around his body then it would at least mean he was probably not dead.
He was trying to work things out without opening his eyes - as he was sure that would further hurt his head. He thought he was probably lying down but he was far from certain. He was finding it distinctly difficult to feel anything but pain and uncertainty; and thinking methodically was apparently out of the question.
He was 84% sure his name was Eddie, though he wouldn’t put his house on it: if he had a house.
The rhythmic noise seemed to be diminishing, unless he was getting used to it. He didn’t worry over much that it could mean he was dying: partly because he didn’t think he was, and partly because it would actually be a blessed relief.
The noise and dull pain in his head - that felt like it was an entire sick planet - was soon to be joined by a new feeling: extreme cold. A cold wind was suddenly blasting his body. Predominately - and most worryingly - right up where the sun doesnt shine. He’d never felt anything quite like it. It was like a blue cold poker right up his jacksy. Eddie was now sure his name was Eddie: probably. Though with the ice cold poker thing going on he was never going to be sure about anything (and also it was neither here nor there).
Things began to improve. He was getting more sure about feeling really bad. And thinking he really was cold. The whole headache thing was resolving itself into a headache and nothing more. He decided he had been right and that he was lying down. The breeze worried him. It was not normal. It was about time to bite the bullet and try to open his eyes.
He was right. It was - indeed - really painful. But he lived. His eyes opened and he found he was lying down - facing up - as expected/hoped. The view was pure nature. Total nature. It took a while, but eventually the view resolved itself into a tree, then another tree, and then tree upon tree upon tree. He was definitely lying on his back and looking up at such gigantic vertical beautiful beasts. It was dead pretty. Or it would have been if it hadn’t been for the headache.
His gaze shifted south towards the ground and eventually he realised what he was seeing was a bare foot in front of a vista of the woodland floor. A bare foot: that wasn’t normal, was it? As he thought about it he noticed his leg - and indeed both of them - were devoid of trousers too. His head thumped. One way or another this had clearly been alcohol induced.
The wind blew: and he felt it. He almost screamed. White cold, blue, poker. He could see see the tree tops sway in synchronised - ironic - sympathy. Cold, cold.
Things began to resolve though. There were these beautiful trees; the feeling of lying within them, of looking up, of being a part of it: then the cold. That wind up his arse. Beautiful; and confusing.
He’d been out drinking, hadn’t he? Oh god. The stag do. That idiot Terry had taken control. He’d been playing pool in the Albert - naked. He’d seen Mrs Read, his old maths teacher, while taking a piss by the railway station: without his trousers on (that’d be instant detention in the old days). Oh god, not only was it A stag do. It was HIS stag do. And the wedding was today. Eddie was lying on the floor of a wood wondering at his sublime headache and the trees. Of course his soon to be ex-mates had taken his watch off - along with ever stitch of his clothes: and he had no idea where he was. He didn’t even live near a wood.
Getting married to someone; somewhere; and who knows when… it’d go down as an epic night: assuming he still made it to his own damn wedding. It was too late to find better mates.