El Dubya
Song contest commissioner in exile
- Banned
- #1
Big Dog II
Chapter 1
A green bottle burst into a million little pieces forming a high pitched supernova against the dark tinted window. Drawn by a deep guttural groan Albert trotted into the bedroom. The dog sniffed at greasy chicken bones before it leapt onto the plush but stained bed, causing another deep guttural groaning.
Chubby digits poked at a greasy iPhone. The letters refused to appear as he willed them and he abandoned the phone to the same fate as the empty whisky bottle. The phone bounced off the window and came to rest on the pile of green shards. The date flashed on the now splintering screen - September 22nd 2014.
The groaning mess attempted to collect himself. Fighting the bedsheets he made his way off the bed.
Spittle rained across his bloated chest as he attempted to take is first standing breath. Stumbling towards the nightstand he grasped at a pack of cigarettes.
Ash cascaded down his bloated breast.
His thighs scraped against each other as he waddled towards the bedroom door. The handle slipped from his fingers.
Again the handle slid from his palm.
With all his weight he attacked the door, forcing the handle down with his heaving bulk. He burst through the doorway and into the hall the floor shaking beneath his feet.
Lunging into the kitchen he seized another bottle and poured liberally.
It burned his nose and throat.
He lapped at the brown fluid dripping from the corners of his mouth.
Laid out on the gray leather couch is a tuxedo wrapped in a dry cleaning bag.
He felt the bile gurgling from his liver into his stomach.
“My kidneys ache.”
“Maybe it’s too much.”
“I’m the Big Dog after all maybe I ought to clean up my life, people look up to me.”
The dog stared back at him blankly.
With his tremors momentarily subsided he rushed into the shower. He scrubbed violently at his worn body. A dark brown streak ran through the water puddling beneath him. It smelt of ferrous urine, but he lost the smell in the steam.
He ran five blades over the rolls of his neck. Each blade edging closer and closer to the skin. The skin pliable from the steam tiny flecks of hair cascade down into the sink. He gently sipped between strokes of the razor to calm his nerves. It was the most meticulous and deliberate action he took. Slowly he carved away at the days of growth. The process was long, he rinsed the razor and seemingly repeated his strokes again and again.
Slapping at his face with great relish he recoiled from the sting. The aftershave burned him and he sucked air through his teeth. Once more he stared at himself in the mirror.
“Big day today. Second last one of the year.”
Forgetting the sipping he poured the rest of his whiskey down his throat.
“Gotta make it a good one.”
