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empty; I felt the room moving up and down, side to side. I looked for a focus. His beard. His long ginger beard. I picked out the grey hairs, stared and concentrated. I wondered if I could change the entire colour of his beard, turn it all shiny white. A Scottish Santa serving single malts. A Scottish Santa serving single malts. A Scottish Santa serving single malts in the tune of 10 green bottles. Then I slammed my right hand onto the bar and shouted “Hey, barkeep, pour me a whisky.” “Make it your last, eh?” in his high pitched Edinburgh drawl. “Just do it.” And he obliged shaking his head as he poured. He turned his back


and threw his towel over his shoulder. It was at this point that time slooooooooowed to a stuffed bear’s pace. I stared at the varying levels of liquor in the spirit bottles; at the fairy lights’ reflections dancing, revelling in their choice of tipple. Then the barman’s birthmark, just underneath his hairline, turned into a set of lips and started blowing me kisses. Mwahhhhhh. The coldness of the wooden stool shot up my spine which in turn threw my hand into the air. I turned it so my palm faced my face and bit into the fleshy pad under the thumb. Blood shot into the empty whisky glass, then fountained into the empty next to


it, then cartwheeled into the other then exploded in the air and rained onto the floor. The birth mark cheered at this firework display. “Bravoooolismooreeeeemoooreeeeereeee”.


I awoke with a sudden jolt. I felt horrendous; luckily I was sitting on a toilet. Liquid came out from my buttocks. I passed water and vomited over my shoes. My feet paddled in the pool of sick and kicked around the thicker parts of the mess. My entire body suddenly erupted with sweat. Something inside of me wanted out, and searched for every available escape route. My hand throbbed; I turned it over and saw an infected wound under my thumb. I sat there for an hour shaking, emptying when there was something to empty. I managed to lift my head out of my lap and looked at the silver wall in front. I FOOKING LUV JAMES….. Biffy Clyro Rules….Wanna game of tennis? Look left. I looked left. Look right. I looked right. Look left. I pulled my knickers and trousers up, stumbled out, walked to the sink and


stared at the mirror. “Your Mother would be proud. You silly cow, what are you looking for? The same eyebrows? Go home, go see your Dad, grieve, go home. He loves you, he brought you up. He adopted you. He’s never let you down, always there for you. He held you when you needed to be held, pushed you on the swings higher than any other, put plasters on my knee when I fell of my bike. He’s handsome, strong, loving. I never wanted for anything, but he didn’t spoil me, just treated me when I needed it. Stop this.


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