Standing and sitting in silence seemed as though it was going to be the main thing for the rest of the afternoon, so NAME walked back around him and went back inside. Perhaps he too should have gone back inside, but, along with the hangover taking grip, things were beginning to sink right in and take grip. Thoughts grew contiguous with the burgeoning headache before they mixed together into a large, amorphous entity that commanded attention.
He really should have gone inside, but instead he sat on that step and stared out into the backyard’s overgrowth. He had only seen a bit of the rear fence before when attempts had been made at clearing out the whole thing. At this point the overgrowth was too thick to see if there was indeed an end to the property at all.
He sat there, staring out, looking for something, anything at all, but there was nothing to be found other than the neglected backyard. There was just nothing. Still, he kept on staring and stewing in pain, hoping that some sort of hard bitterness took over and justified the whole thing. He needed to be a serious man at this point and so he needed a serious stare.
The backyard itself stretched a lot farther than the property suggested, though not to the point where it encroached onto the other side of the block. There was a serious amount o overgrowth but there also was a great deal of space. A shed that – at least for as long as he had been living there – never saw use or entry sat near one of the sides, and somewhere in a roughly quantifiable middle of the backyard was a hills hoist.
Regarding the toilet being outside, almost not feeling like living in suburbia when using it was a major benefit. The downside, whilst not always obvious, made itself readily apparent in winter; you had to go outside and walk along a concrete surface to use the toilet. It was a relief that the toilet was still in the house, though only due to having to walk a second or two under shelter rather than a few more into the backyard.
On the few steps leading to the backyard he was perched, trying to think serious and look serious whilst also trying to untangle the mess in his head to work out just what it was that was going on then, what had happened that led to that particular moment and what he was going to do form that moment onward. There was a lot to unpack, but there seldom isn’t in those kinds of situations. However, try as he might, there just wasn’t going to be any progress made. It was more important that he dealt with the hangover first, though that wasn’t readily apparent to him in the state he was in, so instead of doing so he just kept on staring.
The afternoon steadily passed on by, changing the lighting of the area and the feel of the backyard. It seemed rather warm for a while, though that was in part due to the heat that made sure it was readily apparent. He kept on staring, seeing the shift in tone and shade until the evening begun. By that point he’d been smoking for a little too much of his time sitting out there and so decided that perhaps it was better to stop and go inside. Smoking wasn’t making him feel any better and likely was prolonging the cloying feeling that so easily took over. It also was getting cold faster than expected. It was easier to just make something to eat and then go to bed, but then of course the challenge was to work out what to eat.
He got up, went inside and shut the door behind him. The house still was quiet. NAME was probably out by that point and the other housemate was likely gone for the week. It was going to be a slow evening stuck in thoughts that rolled over incessantly.
He stood there in the kitchen for a while, staring out into the backyard, still looking for something, but nothing made itself apparent other than the shift into night which of course hid the backyard from view. Eventually the sounds of possums moving about broke the stillness of the image and pulled him out of his focus.
Food still was required, but due to not feeling much like eating he boiled noodles and ate them plain. Whilst a small portion he only consumed half of what he made and threw the rest out as, despite his attempts, he could not override the lack of feeling a need to eat. He knew that he had to, but it just wasn’t happening at that particular point.
After washing his dishes he went into the living room for a minute or so, trying to work out as to whether he might be better served sitting on the couch and hoping that something interesting would be on the television, but then decided against it as it seemed like it would be too great a commitment at that particular hour, though it wasn’t by any means late in the evening. Instead he brushed his teeth, went to the bathroom, had a shower and then, once feeling a little better due to making a token attempt at looking after himself, went to bed.
At this point he was exhausted. There was little done during the day but it still had taken it out of him and he needed to rest. It seemed as though his thoughts were refusing to allow him to rest, but it was due to them feeling as though they were overwhelming. They stretched a few minutes out far longer than he thought possible, but they were only a few minutes and nothing more. Rather than drift off over a long time, it seemed as though he suddenly fell into a state of heavy, uninterruptible slumber.
The time it took to write one thousand words: 28:21:52
This took a lot longer than I had hoped. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was writing and trying to make sure that it made sense. The setting of this “series” is one in which I lived, but a bit more of my past is creeping into here than I had expected. Not exactly in what happened and how things happened; it’s twisted around a bit and there isn’t much of it, so this still remains quite fictional, but it is in there.
I have an idea of what I want to try and express which I’m pretty sure has been part of the main drive of writing this story since I started it a few years ago. I’m hoping that if I continue this, what I’m trying to express becomes clear.
Written at home.