MORNING HAS BROKEN
Jack woke up. Well it was more like a coming to! His head was spinning and it hurt. He was aching all over. He thought he must have a virus. But the rotten taste in his mouth told him another story. Hung over again. He put his sore head back and tried to drift off and sleep. Hopefully he would wake up feeling a little more human and with a little more memory.
Putting his head back did not relieve any of the discomfort. If anything it made Jack feel worse. His neck hurt and he couldn't breathe properly. He decided he really was ill. He lifted his arm and felt every muscle burn. Jack decided he must have contracted one of the many new age flu viruses after all. This was more than a hangover. It was dangerous. He could die.
He strained to open his eyes but they were stuck together with some kind of adhesive bodily discharge. This was serious. He licked his fingers and rubbed his eyes hard trying to rub in the spit to loosen things up so he could see. He had a nasty metallic taste in his mouth now. But the pain in his arms was going and his head was clearing. His eyes open like there were zips on the lids and all he could see were the branches of an oak tree filled with green leaves. He then saw the steering wheel of his car. He was in the park. He had driven drunk. Again!
He turned to his left and saw Billy asleep in the passenger seat. He knew he would be mad with him for this. Jack reached across his pal and opened the glove compartment. He grabbed a fist full of tissues and blew his nose hard. There was a rush to his head as his nasal passages cleared and he could breathe again. The tissues were full of sticky gunk so he tossed them straight out of the window.
Then he smelt it. It stunk. He could smell puke and shit and other stuff. He began to gip. He turned to Billy and saw he had puked vodka and coke all down his chin and the front of his shirt. Jack tried to curse him but the feeling of nausea was overwhelming. He had to get out of the car. He opened the door and stepped out into the fresh clean morning air and plummeted forty feet through branches and leaves and knocking the wind out of what life was left in his smashed and ragged body in an instant.
His last thought was about the Beano comics he read as a kid and how The Bash Street Kids could make question marks appear above their heads.