A Day in the Life. Short Story.

Man it’s kinda weird to be putting up a story on a Tuesday.

So, it turns out that yes, yes I do have tonsillitis again. One day between stopping the antibiotics and it coming back. One.

It’s really starting to piss me off now. It isn’t the soreness of it, that’s tolerable, if it was that alone I wouldn’t really care that much, it’s the whole “I can’t do anything” aspect of it. I’m tired again, which is much more noticeable now that I’ve actually experienced having more energy. It’s kinda strange how quickly it changes. At the moment of typing this I’d say I’m at the base level of tiredness I’ve been at for the last few months, if not years, it could get worse than this, but it very, very rarely got much better and if it did it was only for very short bursts. It’s ridiculously frustrating to go back to that after feeling somewhat normal. I have stuff to do and stuff I want to do and I can’t because my bodies just crapping out on me.

Sorry for the little rant. It’s quite annoying but I try not to bitch about it too much in real life, though I don’t really know how well that’s working out. I’m going to the doctors today, again, and they’ll probably be removed soon enough. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.

Also, there should be some sort of frequent visitors card for doctors and you get like rewards or prizes for having to go so often. I’d so totally win that game.
On with the show!


A Day in the Life.

There was blackness, now there was light. The world came into focus quickly. He shivered slightly and glanced around, there was a note scrawled on a pad in front of him. “Office. Your presentation is done. Just sit and look attentive.” He looked around the room and let himself zone out. It didn’t really matter if he listened or not. It wasn’t his job after all. The room was big, a large table taking up most of the space, twelve other people sat around it, a man in a suit, Bob something, was gesticulating at a chart, saying something about market shares or reports. The carpet was a light green, it always reminded him of vomit and it felt thin and gritty underfoot. The chairs were comfortable at least, he leaned back slightly into it, relaxing into the cushions. The room seemed to be sealed in glass. He didn’t recognise it. The windows were floor to ceiling and gave a stunning view of the office buildings across the road, on the other side the view was of the hallway, all beige and non-offensive colours. He glanced around for a clock, but there was none. He looked at his wrist, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. He muttered “God damn it John.” Under his breath. The meeting went on for another twenty minutes, when it finally ended a few people came to talk to him about his presentation, two to congratulate and another to ask follow-up questions, he dodged them as best he could, while apologising, he was in a rush, he had to go. He gathered everything quickly and left, still side stepping questions. It took him a moment to orientate himself in the building, but once he had he knew where he was going. It was a short walk to the office, then an even shorter one to the lifts. He encountered no one else on his way out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. There were one or two messages, he replied quickly, then put it away. It clacked gently against the other mobile.

By the time he was home he had already lost an hour. This was ridiculous, he’d have to talk to John about it, write a message. Though that probably wouldn’t do much good. John was an expert at avoiding confrontation, he’d claim he hadn’t seen any note for weeks. Steven changed from the work clothes into something more casual, the weekend was starting and he wanted to get the most out of it. He wore a pair of jeans and a shirt, and began the night with a bottle of beer. It wasn’t long before the others had arrived and he moved onto something stronger.

There was darkness, then there was light. It was blinding. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the light. God damn, how much was drank last night? A woman lay in bed next to him. He didn’t know her name. He checked his wrist, even in the drunken stupor a name had been noted and was messily scrawled across it, “Becky.” He groaned and rolled out of bed, his stomach kept rolling as he stood. His head pounded heavily, his tongue thick and heavy. A bottle of water was sitting next to the bed. There was that at least. He sipped it carefully and after his stomach accepted it, he chugged it. He stood still for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t throw it up. He went to the bathroom and pissed for what seemed like hours. When he was done he turned on the shower, as cold as it would go. The water felt like needles of ice, stabbing into him, but he forced himself to stand under the water for as long as he could, when he stepped away he felt better. He got out of the shower and dried quickly. As he stepped from the bathroom he heard the front door slam, the bed was empty. He smiled, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with Becky now. He went to the kitchen and checked the fridge. Good it was fully stocked, he’d have to write a thank you note. He took out everything he needed and began to cook. Breakfast was French toast with bacon and a glass of orange juice. He ate slowly, enjoying it. The rest of the day was his. He was feeling tired, so he couldn’t do anything too strenuous, luckily he had planned to take it easy. Sam went into the sitting room and turned on the TV, it didn’t take him long to find his shows, he wanted to catch up with them as soon as possible.

When they were done he made himself lunch, a ham sandwich with a bag of crisps, and found the book he was reading. He read for a few hours, until it was time for dinner. When he had finished eating he went upstairs to the workspace and took out his paints. He wanted to finish off the painting he started before it was time to go. He picked up the brush and lost himself to his work.

There was darkness, then there was light. John stretched slightly and yawned. He was feeling quite tired, he looked at the remains of the meal on his plate, he was quite full. He sighed and began to clean. Of course he was left with the mess. When it was done he spotted two notes on the table, one thanked whomever had shopped, the other was from Steven, giving out about the watch and how late he was after work. He shrugged and threw the second in the bin, it wasn’t his fault work dragged on. He didn’t like watches, he never wore one so how could he keep track of someone else’s. It was ridiculous. He checked the time. Still early enough to have a relaxing Sunday. He needed to recharge before work on Monday morning. He checked the diary to see if he had missed anything, but it all seemed fairly boring. He had wanted to go out with Christine, but there wasn’t much time for that. He should have texted her on Friday about it. Oh well, too late now. He went into the sitting room and sat on the couch, he’d just watch a bit of TV, maybe he’d go see what Sam was painting, John couldn’t paint to save his life and he always envied the talent. He decided would be better if he didn’t, Sam could be quite secretive about it. He was the only one of the three that wasn’t all that creative. It wasn’t long before it was time to go to bed.

He looked at the ceiling, wondering if he was really happy. He wasn’t exactly living his life after all. How could he when he only experienced a third of it. He rolled over onto his side, he’d never be able to have a wife, kids, none of it. Sharing a body was tough, but he’d manage. He closed his eyes and felt darkness take him.

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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