Fill 'er up! Straight!

by TundraStanza

Ch 1: The Usual

The Usual

---

"Just one mug and no more," I tell the bartender.

He gives me that look of disbelief that I recognize instantly. His left eyebrow rises, he pauses in his rubbing of a previous customer's glass, and he doesn't take his eyes off of me even as he walks to the far end of the counter. Yeah, I know that look. Nobody comes in to take just one drink. Even the guys that order the more expensive brews have at least one refill.

But I'm different, at least as far as I tell myself. I don't try to drink in order to forget life's problems. Once in a while, I'll take a shot because I like the taste. I never intentionally indulge myself to the point of punching and kissing complete strangers. There is such a thing as self-control and I intend to exercise my strict limitations. As I'm telling myself this, I notice that the contents of my mug have all but evaporated.

"Well," I shrug, "I guess one more wouldn't hurt."

The bartender lets slip a smirk that seems to say, "I knew it," before filling another mug. Out of a sense of boredom I look to one of the recently installed television screens. According to the stats, there is a tie game at the top of the fifth inning.

"Come on, Cardinals!" I exclaim as calmly as I can manage, "Send those Giants packing all the way back to San Francisco!"

Before I know it, I'm getting another refill.

---

I feel myself grinning like an idiot. I don't even care. I'm in such a numb bliss right now. I barely even register when some guy wearing sunglasses kicks me in the rear on my way out. They were nice enough to let me go without forcing me to leave a tip. I love that bar. It has the best beer in... well, anywhere that I can find.

Hee hee hee, I giggle in my thoughts even though no one told a joke.

I can't even remember what the score was before I left the bar. I think it was the top of the ninth inning. Or was it the sixth? I keep getting those numbers confused because they look so much alike.

Feeling my body swaying a bit, I reach into my pocket as I approach the door to my house. The key gets stuck when I try to open the door. My vision starts doubling on me and I can't tell which doorknob is the real one. I hardly give a care right now. Absentmindedly, I turn the key 180 degrees so that it's upside down from where I had it originally positioned. This time the door is kind enough to open for my push.

I overshoot and trip on the doorway. Somehow, I pull off this amazing spin on the floor and close the door behind me. The world centers its focus again as I shakily stand up.

"It's a good day," I tell the empty air.

Woo, feeling dizzy, I think as the room rocks back and forth, Maybe that was just a little too much booze.

Despite the house's attempt to send me sprawling on my side, I succeed in walking to the end of my hallway. I lift a reluctant hand and turn the handle on my bedroom door. It's a bit slower to respond than I want it to be. There is also a strange prickly sensation in it as the door slowly opens.

Why does my hand feel so numb? I ask mentally. My buzzing brain has no applicable answer to give tonight.

Shrugging off the question for later, I walk in. I pass the standing mirror on my left and take a look. I half-expect to see a zombie waiting in that mirror ready to devour what little gray matter I have that is still functional. Instead, my drunk eyes are relieved to see a much different image.

"Oh hey, Berry Punch," I say before letting loose a hiccup, "What brings you to Earth?"

Her mouth and hoof motions follow my lips and hand waving almost in sync.

"Uh, no. I just asked you," I reinforce with a belch. It's at this moment that I realize that no sound comes out of this hallucination pony's mouth.

"What's wrong?" I hiccup again, "Cat got your tongue?"

Again, the image is content with miming my actions in silence.

"Oh, forget it," I sigh as I turn around and run into the foot of my bed's mattress.

"Good night!" I shout to the heavens as I twist and fall.

---

~No one to talk with
All by myself
No one to walk with
But I'm happy on the shelf
Ain't misbehaving
I'm saving my love for you~

---

There is light in my eyes. I don't understand why it is so bright. My heart is thumping. Why is it beating so loudly? My head feels like there is a military tank running it over even though I never have that experience. I clench my teeth to try to minimize the various pains and nuisances. My effort is in vain and the intensity of the migraine is multiplied.

Ow, ow, ow, I strain to think, my head.

I open my eyes to try to assess the situation. I instantly regret doing so. The light doesn't reduce brightness. All it does is change colors. Suffering pain just through basic thinking, it takes me probably a few minutes before I realize that I'm looking at the support frame of my bed.

I'm on the floor? I think to myself.

Vague recollections of the previous night return to me. Though, none of them really help me at the moment. I remember trying to limit my alcohol intake to just one mug. I also remember a Cardinals' game. The rest of the evening is lost in a haze. I think the piercing headache is partially responsible.

"Gah, it feels like I've been trying to lift weights with my skull," I whimper.

My fingers feel like they're balled in fists. My toes feel like they're curled in close. The only good feeling in my body right now is my back that feels slightly more flexible. I pretend that I remember the "dog" yoga pose and stretch myself. Unfortunately, the cracking vertebrae remind my ears that my mind is still amplifying all sounds. My headache keeps trying to claim that its my best friend. Sagely, I choose not to believe its claim.

Ignorance is only a temporary fix. In order to permanently lock mister headache out of my circle of acquaintances, I need painkillers. My legs are still a bit unsteady right now. So, I settle for a close-fisted crawl over to my nightstand that's just a bit aways from my bed. I know that I put it over there so that I'd have to get up to turn off the alarm on work day mornings. But today, the extra distance is taking its toll on my patience.

I try to tell myself that it's my own fault for getting a hangover. All that succeeds in doing is making me even more annoyed. At that moment, I hate that I'm right. It is my fault for thinking that one more drink wouldn't hurt. Now I am paying the consequences for my irresponsibility. It's still annoying, though.

The nightstand is pretty short, so I can reach the top of it even at my crawling height. I feel around for a bit before I find the small bottle of acetaminophen. For some reason, my fingers are refusing to open up from fists. I decide to just use both fists to grab the bottle on either side and gently bring within eye level. Of course, eye level is a bit of a poor choice of words right now. My eyes are closed again because the morning light is too flipping bright.

Aside from the lack of visual, I now have to contend with the bane of all medicine takers' existence: the child-proof cap. It really needs a new name. These things don't keep children out of the contents. They keep everybody else from accessing the much-needed pills. I twist and I try every force possible with closed fists. The bottle remains unopened and my migraine continues to pressure me.

Eventually, I am just fed up with the bother. I bite the cap between my jaws and perform a quick neck snap to the right. Pro: the cap is now off and the contents of the bottle are accessible. Con: said contents are scattered over the floor. How do I know this? The sound of several simultaneous crashes on the wood floor is enough to tip me off.

Cautiously, I open my left eye and I am glad that the light doesn't threaten to burn my retinas. I peer into the bottle to see if there are any pills left inside. Ironically, I see the recommended dose remaining. Two tablets rest at the bottom of their container in harmony. I would chuckle, but I have way too big of a headache right now to find humor in the moment.

Deciding it's okay to take them straight from the bottle now that the rest of the contents are all over the floor, I sit down and lean my head back with my mouth open. I lift the bottle with both of my fists. I feel the two tablets touch my tongue before I swallow them whole.

"Relief will come in about twenty minutes," I tell myself. Something about that sentence forces me to open my eyes wide. Now that I have taken some time to wake up, I am able to surmise that something is not quite right. It is not the timing of the phrase that is wrong, because headache pills do take about twenty minutes to work their stuff. What's wrong is how I heard it.

The voice that I used sounds very different from the one I usually use. I know from the past that my vocal range typically sits in tenor. What I heard just a second ago sounds more like... alto. It's almost as if I just spoke like a woman. But the only time I can ever sound like a woman is when I sing higher pitches. During that time, I typically have to strain my vocal cords. This time is different.

"What the...?" I pause. I am not straining my vocal cords now. So why do I sound like I am speaking in alto?

Curiously, I haphazardly look down to my still fisted hand. There is just one problem. I don't see a clenched hand. I see some weird, purple, noodle... thing. It bends when I try to flex my wrist. It bends somewhere closer to me when I flex my elbow. I feel just a little unnerved at the realization that this thing is attached to me.

Worried what I'll see, curiosity plays a devil's advocate and convinces me to look at my other arm. I see another strange appendage identical to the one attached to my right arm. I turn my neck around a bit farther than should be humanly possible and see the rest of me. What I see is both fascinating and horrifying. More purple surrounds the skin where my backside and rear should be. A ruffed-up magenta piece of extendible hair twitches and I am a bit more disturbed that I can feel it twitching by means of my backbone.

"Is... that a... tail?" I ask. With a little effort, I find myself voluntarily forcing the alleged tail to move to one side and back to the other. This is not normal. I can feel my pupils dilating in anxiety.

Not really one to put off the inevitable, I 'crawl' over to the mirror near my open bedroom door. I do not see my own worried face. I see a hyperventilating cartoon character who has a picture of grapes and a strawberry on her flank.

"What... the... flip?" I say between struggled breaths.

My name is Miles Taru and I am Berry Punch.

Comments

[TundraStanza]

I'm a firm believer in the phrase, "Finish what you start."
At the same time, it's taking me forever to finish some of my long-term projects (some of which I have yet to finish).
I might be a hypocrite.

[Gene_Roddenberry]

Yes. All my yes! Have a mustache!
Or two!
Or 17!

[lol2424242424]

The potential of awesomeness here is amazing. Can't wait for more!