Too Drunk To Drive

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: BoMoWriCha Prompts
Harvey figures, 'You're only forty once.'
Inspired by a challenge at the BoMoWriCha Prompt House.

Submitted: November 27, 2018

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Submitted: November 27, 2018

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Too Drunk To Drive

Harvey drained his glass and gestured for a refill. So, maybe he could not see too straight but he was still standing up under his own steam. He was fine. After all you don’t get to be forty years old more than once, do you! A momentous occasion that needed celebrating, wasn’t it? Or perhaps a disaster that needed drowning. Either way, he had every intention of getting absolutely legless.

R’ll leave th’ car,” Harvey slurred to the barman, Keith, who was showing signs of being reluctant to serve him even one further drink.

Last one, Harvey,” he said. “It’s already past closing time.”

Up until then, the Birthday Boy had managed not to notice that he was now the one and only remaining customer. How had that happened? He’d been sure one of his mates would have run him back home, maybe continued the party there. But no, they’d all cleared off and left him. Fine; there was nothing like a birthday to prove who your mates were!

he lived upstairs. It would have to be his feet then, luckily the distance was not too great.

Harvey stood, finished his final glance, then reached out quickly to keep from falling flat on his back. It would be nice if the room would stop swaying like a boat on a storm-swept sea but he’d manage.

Cheers, mate,” he slurred.

You take care, Harvey, okay,” Keith said. “And Happy Birthday. Let’s hope you don’t regret this in the morning, eh.”

Harvey nodded. Just once, but the room kept going up and down after his head was still again. He shut his eyes but that was even more of a mistake, so he weaved his way through the bar and made his way to the door.

The cold air hit him, cleared his head slightly. Could he drive? It wasn’t far, the road was quiet. Then again, he couldn’t even focus on the door handle, better not risk it. All he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other; one step, two step....Never mind the spinning.

Harvey had not intended to look towards the sky at all. Looking upwards, he’d always found, could be disorientating at the best of times. It must have caught his eye somehow, this glowing object that now seemed to be hurtling almost right at him. Should he run? After staggering a few steps and ending on his knees, Harvey decided not.

Whatever it was landed on the ground about ten feet from him. Should he just pretend it didn’t exist? Ignore it and go on home? Nah, it might be something special, something valuable. A birthday present from outer space!

Once that idea popped up there was no stopping him. Maybe it would be a rock of some type of mineral never been seen before, or a golden egg, or even.....his very own star to keep.

Maybe if he’d been a little less intoxicated, he’d have been a little bit more wary, but as it was, he stumbled forward, hunkered down in front of it and prodded it with his finger.

It was small, round and orange. Hairy or fluffy on the surface. A pompom? That’s what it looked like apart from that it seemed like it was.....growing!

Harvey looked up to see more of them. The sky did indeed seem to be raining pompoms. He idly stroked the thing on the ground in front of him. If he could not feel it he might just put it down to a drunken illusion. Perhaps he should have gone without that last drink, and maybe the one before it. Too late now though.

It really looked quite breathtaking, the night sky brightened by the orange snow. Perhaps it was some kind of interplanetary celebration, kind of like fireworks or something. Harvey was too muddle-headed to question why it should happen just for him, but just basked in the glory of the sight.

That was until the pain took hold. Whatever he had been stroking had apparently finished growing. Harvey was rather startled when he found himself looking in to a pair of cruel eyes. He was totally shocked when he saw that his finger had disappeared into it’s mouth that was apparently full of razor-sharp teeth.

The sight of his blood was what did it, though. Shocked him in to being sober enough to take to his heels and run through the storm of alien critters. The one that had sunk its teeth in to him was still firmly attached, right up until he reached his street and managed to shake it loose.

Harvey fumbled with his keys, opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. Puffing and panting, he leaned there for a moment, letting his heart-rate slow into a less panicked, drunken erratic state.

It was nothing, just a delusion. For look, outside his window there was snow falling. White flakes, not orange pompoms. It had all been a trick of the light.

Still, his finger was bleeding. He must have been so confused that he’d gripped a shard of glass or something. That would do it, make his finger hurt like hell and bleed as though he had spare blood to give away. Harvey cleaned it, wrapped it, then passed out in a heap on his kitchen floor.

With no idea how long he had been out of it, Harvey began to stir. His head hurt, his eyes were stuck closed, his ears were hearing funny little growling sounds. Forcing his left eye open he looked around then quickly shut it again. No, it could not be true!

The next time he dared, Harvey opened his right eye. Then he opened his left, just to be absolutely sure of what he was seeing.

Orange pompom creatures, fully grown and all looking at him, their teeth glinting in the first rays of sunshine that made it through the window. There had to be at least fifty of them, all staring, all waiting for something.

As he tried to manoeuvre himself up in to a sitting position they all launched themselves at him and while Harvey was finding that they had a preference for human flesh he was almost certain that he heard them say, “We’re here!”

 

(1070 words).


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