Room spinning and the TV was up full volume, but he still really couldn't hear it. The lights were burning and his head felt like it was just right about to crack open. Everyone had something to do on New Years, but this guy. Who had decided to drink himself to hell, alone, in a dimly lit, flat. With the blinds closed and curtains drawn. The only light that was bothering him was the bathroom light.
Hey this sea weathered sailor needed the bathroom light. Why? He honestly didn't know. Staggering out of the bathroom, flat spinning, flopping his ass on the couch. TV a burning electronic magnetic light burning his retina. He was watching it, kind of sorta. In a half 'n half way. Like milk for people who hate milk.
Some person going on about some super hero or he guessed in this case a vigilante running around hacking people to pieces. He didn't know why, but he laughed a bit. He had sick sense of humor sometimes or maybe it was just this killer hangover.
There was a knock on the door tonight.
"No one is home," he mumbled, with a slur to his speech, and he felt like he wasn't in control of the quiver of his lips.
Whoever was behind the door, didn't bother to knock again. Instead he heard them fumbling around for the spare key. And in a moment of clarity, he asked himself why the hell did he give that man a key to his flat?
The door opened, a fat, bald man, older than he was, in his late forties in fact, walked in. His name was Edwin something something to fucking dizzy to care.
"I came to check up on you in the New Year and it seems you have already gone and celebrated," Edwin said.
He was the only person whoever stood by his side after his ungraceful fall from stardom to whatever this was. Limbo.
"Edwin, my friend,"
"Shit, how much have had to drink?"
"I actually have a hangover, but you know what they say about hangovers and how to cure them?"
"Do I want to know the answer?"
"More booze,"
He laughed.
"Is this what you want to be to the world? How about you try getting yourself back up? Find a hobby, maybe a role, clean yourself up, and go to the meetings,"
"You mean like fighting crime," he pointed to the TV, he was making a joke.
Edwin sighed.
"Peter, you're my friend, but you've gone and lost it,"
Peter wasn't paying much attention any more, instead he was in the kitchen looking for another drink.
"I am taking you out," Edwin said, "We'll celebrate New Years together. I had a wife and kids once, now I am taking care of your sorry ass, instead of celebrating it with them."
"Go then,"
"No because I am afraid you're going to do something stupid,"
"Like what? Dress in a costume and threaten robbers?"
"Come on, you need some water, and some coffee,"
Peter groaned. He was always a goody good like that.
"Let me change,"
It took him a total of ten minutes to clean himself off of the smell of vomit and whatever else stuck to his clothes. So his mind was completely clear of ethanol, but he was joking, right about the whole costume thing.
I mean, can anyone just dress in a costume and call themselves a hero? He wondered.
It was the most brilliant idea. In fact it wasn't clearly a logical idea either. He wasn't thinking straight not at all. Maybe for the New Years. Maybe just maybe. You and me old friend, not Edwin. But the other him.
"You ready?" Edwin asked.
"Yeah," Peter replied.
Bright lights. Bright New Years. But a bright new idea.
Little Dreamers - OOC - M
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