Imaginative Writing The cosy bench.
I tried to open my weary bloodshot eyes and rubbed them with my soiled and viscous hands. Ooh, they were sore although a mischievous little pixie had been poking them with his favourite pointy stick.
I attempted to open them again, but this time I didn't rub them as this felt although they were being pushed through my eye sockets by my thumbs and were boring into my brain - just like in those gory men's action movies. Suddenly my ears twitched. What's that clicking sound? Resembles the sound a baby makes when sucking on its substitute nipple.
I rolled my heavy thumping head in the direction of the sound and was overcome by blinking orange lights. A memory of artificial flashing green, red and blue and white probe lights gave me a quick glimpse of the night before and a stabbing tremor went through my skull, reminding me of its heaviness. What on earth had I got up to last night to earn this appalling headache? I reached my viscous hand up to my head to attempt to catch another tremor before it cracked my skull in two.
My cumbersome arms outstretched, I tried to reach the lights to initiate contact and discover what they belonged to, but each time I did, they seemed to be edging away from me and my arm would abruptly lose control and rear off-course, and then I would have to begin the whole morbid business over again. I reached out once more, my arm nearly feeling although it would be tugged out of its socket. But alas, it was no good; I was unable to reach them. My recently extended arm dropped down to the solid floor that wasn't there. That wasn't there? Where was it? A floor can't exactly skip off with two suitcases and have a weekend break - it would have nothing to pack.
Rolling my head vertical for a second time, I noticed that the sky was exceptionally grimy considering I felt nauseated by...