First attempt at creative writing. Here goes nothing.
Pierwsze podejscie do pisania fikcji. W obcym jezyku. Zadowolona z efektu.

***


The morning after.

As reality slowly but surely sinks in, unlinked flashbacks of the previous night perform the role of a painful reminder of the effects that alcohol has on the human body and, most sadly, the human mind. Faces, places and situations roll in a nauseating cascade of images and sounds bringing back memories of escapades you might not necessarily want to remember.

Finally, with the brave attempt of opening your eyes, you come to the conclusion that the room is still spinning. You grant yourself several seconds to overcome the blurry mass of light invading your eyes and come into focus with reality. A brief scan of the surroundings makes you issue a sigh of relief at the fact that you at least ended up in your own apartment. No questions of how or when. Not just yet. The next act in this morning theatre of hell is when you realise that your mouth not only feels like the Sahara desert, but that it also might have been a spot which some furry critter has chosen to terminate its life.

Forcing yourself out of bed, a Herculean task in the least, you unsteadily make your way to the water-hole, the one in the closest proximity, the bathroom sink. As the first drops of refreshing tap water caress your dehydrated mouth, you reckon that you probably overdid it again. Was it all that necessary? Well no, it never is. But how can you resist the temptation of having yet another drink, when alcohol is already cheerfully splashing through your veins.

With absolute ease you yanked open can after can of that favourite malt drink of yours and poured it down your throat. Cohesively, you decided to worry about the consequences later. It was the here and the now that mattered. Everyone around you seemed to have developed the same attitude towards the situation, and you would never want to stick out like a sore thumb, oh no. The only question that comes to your mind is why the things that are so pleasant need to have such a painful aftermath.

Glancing down at the floor you notice numerous bruises on your legs and your sore blistered feet. Of course, there was dancing and those new slippers of yours haven't proven themselves worthy to aid you on such an expedition. Lack of co-ordination infused by your bodily liquids consisting mostly of ethanol made you bump into people and objects, but heroically enough you were immune to pain.

Your next witty observation is the sorry state of your manicure. Not only is your cherry red nail polish chipped off making you look like a cheap hooker, but somehow you also managed to break half of your nails, the nails that you've groomed and grown for weeks, striving for that vampy look. Nothing a polish remover and a pair of clippers cannot fix. A quick glance in the mirror leave you in a state of shock. Looking back at you is an unfamiliar face covered in red spots, you system's revenge for imbibing alcohol. Solemnly, you decide not to comment on your hair, expecting nothing better than the occurred. The humidity of clubs is lethal to the sleek smoothed-out style you like wearing, making loose strands curl and wave, sticking out in all possible directions.

To avoid further horror you lazily trudge to the kitchen with the intent of rummaging through the fridge and finding something to soothe your upset stomach. What came as little surprise, the contents boiled down to a pint of milk with a prehistoric best before date and some leftover pizza. How much worse can it get? Hopelessly, you pour yourself a glass of water, when you notice your mobile blinking on the table.

9 missed calls, 5 new messages.

Suddenly, an image of a short hideous guy stalking you all evening springs to mind. But how did he get your number? Having problems remembering half of the night, you sagely decide that some things are better left forgotten. One never knows what evil lurks at the back of one's mind. Scanning though the texts you find out that in your drunken stupor you've managed to insult your best friend's new girlfriend in not the most sophisticated manner. Apparently, you also had no moral objections against making out with a newly engaged guy, whose beloved fiancee called it an early night and left her unaware sweetheart to become prey of such ruthless carnivores as yourself. A sudden rush of sickness, as your stomach turns inside out, makes you return yesterdays dinner down the kitchen sink in choking spasms. Enough is enough, you vow to never drink again.

At least not until next weekend.