The Morning After

Hungover

Today’s daily prompt, amble, is a word I’ve used and overused in the past when I can’t find a better word to describe a character moving or walking slowly. But to amble is to move at a relaxed pace which doesn’t describe my character’s excruciating, hungover state as she descends a flight of stairs. I’ve toyed with the words totter, stagger, bumble, reel, stroll, drift, traipse, and ramble. Hmmm . . . For now, I’ll stick with amble until I find that perfect word to depict Allison, my protagonist’s slow descent downstairs. 🙂

Excerpt from Chapter Twelve of A Blog Affair

I don’t remember much about last night, or how I’d made it upstairs to bed. But I can tell by the heaviness of my head, sour grape taste in my mouth, and abdominal distress, I had too much to drink. My eyeballs hurt with the rush of light, aggravating my pounding head. I close them quickly and lie unmoving; surprised I’m still dressed and entangled in clothing. I imagine falling into bed, too drunk to undress and dissolving into a deep-intoxicated coma. Now regretting my date with the bottle, I lie hungover trying to recall remnants of last night, displaced with alcohol-damaged brain cells. Slowly, the night saunters into my memory—the conversation with Catrina, the photo of Senator Greg Murphy and his family. Had I spoken to someone on the phone? A vague memory of a male voice, I can’t grasp, hides behind fuzzy memories. Did I talk to CJ? Then I remember the flirtatious texting back and forth and grimace, hoping the conversation wasn’t too raunchy. God, I’ll never drink again.

I’m so thirsty; I could drink a gallon of water. Holding my head and rising from bed, blood rushes through cerebrum capillaries, exploding in waves, a thunderous bass drum. My head explodes with each slow step. I amble toward the door, down the stairs, into the kitchen, and pull a bottle of water from the fridge. In several large gulps, I guzzle the entire container like an athlete dehydrated with thirst. Oblivious to time, I stand frozen with squinted eyes not caring about the time or day only wanting the pounding to stop. I force my eyes open and scoff at the empty, glassy culprit on the counter. That’s what you get for drinking the entire bottle!

A Blog Affair - Cover Series 403 Little Mouth on Allie

 

Copyright 2017 by E. Denise Billups

Book Cover Design by E. Denise Billups

Art: Courtesy of  Edvard Munch

8 Comments Add yours

  1. Beautifully painted , lovely connect !

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Springstart, thank you! Pulled from experiences from past hangovers, it was an easy write. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I feel the pain! How about using “trudge” in place of “amble?” The definition fits. 🙂
    –Michael

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Ahhhh! Hadn’t thought about that word. It’s actually perfect. I can see her feet trudging against the floor . . . Why thank you Michael! I don’t know about you, but sometimes the words sit at the tip of my tongue and I can’t quite pull it from my mind. Then days later it comes. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  3. curioushart says:

    P.G. Wodehouse often uses the word “toddle”, as in “toddle off.” I also like “trudge.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I like toddle as well! I will play around with the scene a little more and see which of the two fits best. Thank you, Curioushart!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. …nice simple piece…loved the ‘coma’ description

    Like

    1. Thank you! I believe we can all identify with a bad hangover 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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