Friday, 3 June 2005

...the last time it happened

Geraint woke slowly. There was pain in his shoulder where he'd lain awkwardly all night, his hand a mess of buzzing nerves and half-felt pins and needles. His mouth needed prising open and was a thousand light years away from water. Then it hit him.Abandoned and deserted. Naked in the desert. Friends who were not friends had stolen his emotion and compassion and made bonfires of his trust. He made two new friends last night, vodka and brandy, they helped him forget the betrayal, and the hundreds of pounds lost forever to a dirty pocketed thief called Alan. Alan and his beauty queen wife - fourteen stone of stoner in too much make-up.
Ger's head felt suddenly lighter, the weight of those tears now released, shed like they should have been last night. He decided to make tea, maybe put a record on.

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