Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(1 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

With autumn leaves falling to the ground, turning that red moon color, the harvest moon is what you think of when you see these falling leaves, the grass below them is already turning brown and people have lost hope and abandon any type of landscaping for the season. The trees baring themselves leaving the scenery looking some what bleak and stressful. Already are people setting up décor for this seasons holidays, which’s on broomsticks, black cats, skulls and the superfluous exercise of the color black. Barren, is the best way to describe the hopelessness face of this town.

Oddly enough this is where our story begins, a story of love. It’s not your original Shakespeare tune, but it’s just a modest story of two people, two people who believe in the undying fathomable faith of a single entity that drives these two people together, that entity is love. In this story you will see the drive of one boy, through adventures of back ally bars and intoxicated nights to countless work hours and sleepless refuge leading him to what could possibly be or has been his very reckoning, if only he wasn’t a fouled mouth drunkard, he might have been able to spot it. You will be introduced to a young girl with high expectations with a powerful will to success, thoughtful love and high morality only to be challenged by her un-wielding ability to question situations and at times an over bearing mother who, at times, creates what could be explained as a love-hate relationship ultimately being the cause of to much stress. In this story you will see these two people conquer depression, alcoholism, drug abuse and mistrust. Along the way they will be riddled of situations of challenging morality, they will be torn between friendships, trust, relationships, trust, beliefs will be in question. Eventually this will lead to a matter of not trust but choices. Time, time is a prevalent influence on the choices these two make…

Our story opens with a young boy who graduated high school but never made it to college. With inked permanently splayed across his body he brings his hands to his head running his fingers through brown hair, lightly tinted with scarlet he gingerly rubs his scalp for a bit before leaning forward and wallowing out of bed. Still garbed in his favorite pear of jeans he stumbles to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror he begins to relinquish the embarrassing events of the night before, a result if imbibing to much alcohol. Walking through the two bedroom apartment he stops at his room mates door and peers in. His partner in crime is still passed out, a can of keystone light still rests in his hand, how he managed to not spill baffles this young boy. Continuing his trek to the kitchen he stops at the table and grabs a bottle of apple vodka, he brings the cleverly designed container to eye level to inspect the contents, just enough to cover his tracks from last night.
Take a shot, “no I never hit on that girl”
Take a shot, “Nope, didn’t embarrass myself buy explaining what really happened with the Kennedy assassination and how it’s directly correlated with the theory of evolution”
Take a shot “Finally, I don’t miss her. I don’t miss her one bit. She has her new boyfriend and I couldn’t be happier for her.”

Starting to regain limber and feeling a bit happier about his choice of actions he questions taking a shower. Walking through the living room to begin his morning pace and to start the debate of “to shower or not” he passes the little love seat couch that parallels the television, pausing he realizes that they have a unknown quest. This unknown quest is not asleep, but just waking. This unknown quest kinks his neck up and in a side ways look of confusion gives the boy a quizzical look, a look that asks a few questions. The young boy bows down to Mr. Unkown for further interview…

“You’re wrapped in my throw, why?” questions the young boy

“Uhmmm, what? Throw? Who are you and where am I?” replies Mr. Unknown

“My name is Spartacus and I lead you here. A throw is much like a duvet but for a couch, it’s a covering…not a blanket. You, my kinked neck friend, lay within my apartment walls.”

Mr. Unknown, now a wake and more alert can smell the sweet vodka scent coming off the breath of someone who apparently thinks of himself as Spartacus. Standing up and unraveling himself of the throw, not to be confused with a blanket, he awkwardly motions to the door.

“I..I guess I’ll be leaving now. Uhm… good bye Spartacus?”

Mr. Unknown feeling a bit confused and a little puzzled walks to the door and before exiting is stopped by a gentle hand on the shoulder. Slowly turning to face, who he is now sure to be an intoxicated person, he listens to what this young boy has to say.

“Hey, you be careful out there. That world is confused and lost. You just be careful.”
Taking in what the drunken young boy has just said, Mr. Unknown snorts a nervous laugh and quickly exit’s the presence of Spartacus.

Louie B. Tunnell

Related Items


The following comments are for "In The Waiting Chair (this is the start please read and respond)"
by LouieLou

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.