New Home. Short Story.

So, once again I’m speaking from the past. Have this set to auto upload. I’ve decided I’m going to do this for Mondays and Fridays, at least until the Christmas break.

My weekend passed ok enough, I did some cooking, made Banana and Nutella wontons, baked rather than fried, they were quite tasty. I woke up sick on Saturday which was not fun at all, had to cancel all my plans so that was kinda crappy but oh well, such is life. Feeling better now at least.

I think that’s mostly it!

On with the show!


New Home.

He was tired. It had seemed like a long day, though not much had happened at all. He had gotten up, eaten breakfast, caught up on a little work, ate lunch, finished off the work, then read a bit. His day hadn’t been exactly as planned. He was tired when he woke, too tired to even shower. It didn’t seem too important, after all it wasn’t like he would be leaving the house today. He had the entire day free. Work had given him the day off, it was nice of them. Apparently he looked a little run down lately. They were good like that. Wanted him to rest. He had drank some coffee, though he kept the jar of it for guests more than himself. He drank three cups and was still tired. He wanted to have some more but knew it wasn’t that healthy. He didn’t want to deal with the caffeine crash that would inevitably follow. The work was slow going, normally it would only take him a few hours at most, rather than most of the day, but the words kept jumping around, he needed to rewrite sentences, reread material. Still, it had been done and that was the important thing.

It was still early enough, only six, but already he felt as though he should go to bed. He wasn’t looking forward to work tomorrow, he could really use the rest. He wondered if he should eat dinner now or later. Later, that would be better. He could have a shower now, get that done. He felt unclean, grimy or something. It was quite unpleasant. He could shower and then eat dinner, then, if he was still tired, he could go straight to bed. Maybe watch a movie or TV for a bit first, eat up a little time before bed. He went upstairs and turned on the shower, gathering towels and laying out his pyjamas, he wouldn’t be going out anytime soon. He went to the bathroom to turn on the shower and found it already on. Oh. Of course. That was stupid. He tested the water with his arm, it was warm, good. He stepped into the shower, his clothes quickly became drenched. God. He really was tired. He got out of the shower, his wet socks squelching on the tile floor. Damn. He left the towels in the bedroom. He peeled his clothes off and threw them into the corner, he shivered, then went to get back into the shower. The towels. He grabbed them from the bedroom, half jogging, and quickly got under the water. Blessed warmth, relief. That was better. He dipped his head under the water and grabbed the shampoo, then quickly washed. It was relaxing here, warm, safe. He picked up the shampoo, better to get it done with quickly. After he could just enjoy the rest of the shower. Maybe it would wake him up, he already thought it was working. He suppressed a yawn then poured some shampoo into his hands.
He did feel a little better, more awake. Good.

Things started to shift, skew sideways. He didn’t feel good. He needed to sit or something, before he.

He woke on the floor of the shower, the water drumming on his body. He had passed out. His stomach rumbled, he hadn’t eaten today had he? No. That was it. He needed food. It wasn’t good, not healthy to be like that. He should eat something. That’s all it was. He got up slowly, carefully. He felt ok, but that didn’t’ mean he was injury free. He’d probably have a big bruise tomorrow. He turned off the water and wrapped a towel around himself. His head was sore. Maybe he hit it. No. It wasn’t that, it was a headache. Probably from the hunger. That was all. He dried off and got dressed quickly. Dinner, that was what was important now. He wasn’t in tomorrow at least. Work had given him the day off, said he looked a little off. It was so nice of them. Everyone was nice at work.

He opened the fridge, empty. Damn. He was sure there was some food there still. He looked through the cupboards, nothing there either. When did he last go shopping? It hadn’t been too long ago had it? His stomach rumbled. He needed something to eat. It was getting dark outside. Time for dinner. He opened the fridge. Good. Left over’s. He had made burgers the other day. He took the plate from the fridge, he removed the foil and picked one up, eating it as he put the others in the microwave. He went back to the fridge and took out some mustard, putting a quick dart of it on his burger. That was better. His stomach welcomed the food, the timer dinged. He took the plate from the microwave and took a bite from one of the burger, then spat it out. It was hotter than he had expected. He finished off the one in his hand, then put the plate on the counter. Give it a few seconds to cool down. He put some mustard onto the others, then after a moment, started eating them. When he was done, he went back to the fridge and had another look. He was still hungry. Maybe there was still some lasagne left over. There, at the back. He wouldn’t bother heating it this time. He grabbed a fork and ate it from the container.

He went into the sitting room and turned on the TV. He was full now, or at least, mostly full. He had been a little forgetful lately, forgetting to eat wasn’t a good thing. He had a large bag of crisps beside him, as he watched TV he ate, slowly, methodically.

He was tired now, so he turned off the TV. It was time for bed. It had been a long day. He still had that work to do tomorrow too. He turned off the lights and went upstairs, he settled into bed and wondered if he should read a book for a little while, he had gotten one recently, it looked good. He glanced at his bedside locker. It wasn’t there. He thought he had put it there. Oh well. He was too tired for reading anyway. He reached over to turn off the lamp, but before he could, his arm fell back to the bed. He was asleep.

His breathing became light, shallow. His body occasionally jerking, quick movements, before settling back into their place. Blood and mucus started to run from his nose, thick and slow. His breathing hitched, once, twice, then stopped. His chest falling still. His body twitching. His head was shaking lightly, squelching sounds, deep, heavy. His nose started shifting, bulging outwards. In a spray of blood and viscous fluid a white worm wriggled free. Slowly it inched its way away from the body. The worm had eaten its food supply, now it was time to move onto the next stage. It moved down the bedspread, then thumped to the floor. The journey would be arduous, but it would make it. It needed a new home.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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