FIRST PAGES OF AN IMAGINED NOVEL, NEVER PUBLISHED. NEVER READ.

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July 20, 2014 by sshhoobbmmxxbblloogg

BLACK RAINBOWS : A NOVEL BY (insert pen name later)

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One.

I woke, as I always did, before the alarm sounded. My body always felt it the most hilarious of follies to deprive me of sleep. Today was a new personal best. The alarm was set for six-thirty. The taunting glow of the read-out proclaimed a galling five sixteen AM. Seventy four fucking minutes lost to the pre-dawn chorus.

Fuck it, I need a smoke. And not the weak shit I stank out my flat with on a regular basis. Please don’t confuse the strong / weak parallels for a craving for marijuana. I hate the stuff.

I reach over, feeling my abdominals spasm as my still reeling body contorts to palm ineffectuallyat the drawers stiff, unyielding handle. Grunting softly, I yank and tug, but to no avail. My indignant snorts resonate louder, as I haul my stiffened form out of bed, legs slapping against the divan, feet unceremoniously splattering on exposed, cold pinewood.

Mustering up more than a modicum of upper body strength, I pull at the handle. It opens, finally to reveal its hidden treasures. Treasures being a loose term, of course.
A few old notebooks, half a packet of gum, four condoms, one slightly sorry looking calender (empty – but of course. Nobody calls, no one makes plans with me.) and da-da-dahhhhhh the jackpot.

A small silver tin, mildly water damaged, a bit scratched. No bigger than the size of a fist. Inside, roughly twenty five grams of Morrison Way tobacco. The preferential smoke of the terminally alone. It fucking reeks of old man pubs, of forgotten pasts and dirty little trysts. This stuff was as vile as it was heavenly, coarse strands of smokeable gold dust.

On top of the night stand were the remaining components, some cardboard, papers and a matchbox from somewhere called “Grace’s”. I’ve no idea who or what that is, but it seems more than a mild irrelevancy at this unholy hour.

It’s at this point, my troubled mind, having woken like an angry toddler decides it wants to ruin my fleeting moment in the sun. How dare I actually enjoy my morning!? Why should I have any brief interlude of happiness?!!?

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