Very Short Story - The Saga of the Hangover.

 Ironically, I don't drink so have never experienced a hangover myself but I have been in the company of those who have and out of those observations arose the below. I wrote this short story for a writing group challenge years ago and for reasons I probably can't ever explain, I decided to write it in the form of epic prose. I'm like that...;)

The Saga of the Hangover

Once upon a time there was a man. This was not unusual. Nor was the fact that this man was holding a party, for twas his birthday and such things are often augmented by the copious consumption of alcohol. And lo, were a great variety of drinks clustered on his table together and lo, did he consume them and the world span greatly and he was glad and fell in a heap of joy.

But upon the morn, the joy had departed from him. So, verily, had much self-respect, a copious volume of vomit and all of his brave companions of the night before. And lo, did he upon first waking and finding his eyelids glued to his eyeballs and the carpet plastered to his cheek, did he plead unto the Lord above for the tender release of death but he did not get what he requested of him and found himself instead alone to face the horrible carnage of messiness wrought upon his room. The remains of much food lay heaped upon the carpet and smeared upon the walls, with much draped out of the now opened fridge in the nearby kitchen to rot cheerfully in the low, dull light of a winter’s day. And faced with this catastrophic scene, lo, did the man stagger to his feet, bewailing the horror in his heart for he had not told his dearest partner of his plans and upon this morn, he knew, she would be returning from her trip away to join him!

And in that terrifying instant of recognition, lo! Did his phone ring.

Aware that the end of his world was nigh, the man did weave his way betwixt the bottles, kicking aside a partially consumed apple in a desperate quest for the source of the ringing. And lo, beneath the remains of one of his sofa cushions did his precious phone emerge, its screen, to his heartfelt horror, cracked ruthlessly across its front! But still did it function and although the reception did set a crackling upon the line, did he answer the call of his lady.

And thus did this man take deep breaths and reassure her with full mistruth, yes, all was well but perhaps before she returned home, they might meet and he give her a special day, planning in the silence of his soul to summon back his wayward mess-making mates and utilise them to make all the horrors of his ruined home better. But thus did he hear her voice darken, and a command to turn around and there, at the window, her face written full and fair with the language of purest death, his lady surveyed the carnage of house and man with a coolness more wintery than the day without.

And thus did the man know the greatest and most tortuous penance of his life was just about to begin…

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