Drunken Fantasy

Chapter 2

"Phew...whew.....phuwih.....

"Oh god, why is this so damn hard!"

I scolded myself for my inability to do something as simple as a whistle.

Many people my age and many who were just a grade-schooler; they whistled from such a young age as if they were born with a talent for it, and by they I mean almost everyone; except me. However, I was not just an exception. I was an exception even among the exception.

There are many who can't whistle as easily as those with an inborn talent for it. However, with a bit of practice, they can at least reach a decent level and maybe become a professional at the whistling game. But, for some reason, even when I practice regularly, on a daily basis, on my ten-minute commute from home to school and vice-versa for a total of twenty minutes a day, I wasn't able to manage a single sound that could be passed off as something even close to a whistle. It was as if the God of whistling had some personal vendetta against me; what it was, I had no idea of. Even the kid who just passed me by, who was no more than four and a half feet tall, laughed at me and whistled as easily as breathing, as if to mock me, saying 'See, this is how it's done.'

I was mad at the young boy. I almost wanted to smack that kid's head. I understood how wrong it was and that I was just trying to vent my frustration at the boy who didn't deserve such punishment (actually, he might deserve it, thinking about how he was openly mocking my inability to whistle). But even though the logical part of my brain was fully recognizing that fact, the emotional circuit was resisting and even overwhelming it.

The logical part of my brain gave up and I turned around, acting on impulse. My brain had already ordered my hands to move up but before it could carry on that order, my brain received signals of pain from my buttocks, stopping me from achieving my goal and calming my nerves.

Angry at how I was suddenly interrupted, I wheezed and cried, "Who the hell is this?!", only to be met with a punch straight to my gut, that probably smashed the few undigested pieces of bread that I had had early this morning.

The girl that had just punched me had her hands raised to her chest level, fists still clenched, and looked at me with narrowed eyes. 

It took me less than a second to take in the whole of her face. She had a round face with similarly big and round eyes that had the gentleness of the blue sea in them (though right now dangerous waves were surging behind those eyes). Whenever she smiled showing and flashing her teeth, the smile was so soothing and magnificent that you couldn't take your eyes off her; the dimple in her cheeks was the pit of holy energy (though she wasn't smiling at all right now).

I recognized her.

"Oh, Alicia? Good morning." 

She didn't respond and just continued to glare at me with her round eyes changing shape into narrow ones and her brows furrowing.

I wasn't sure why she was behaving strangely, so, although I was hesitant, I dared to ask her the reason behind her foul mood so early in the morning.

"Is everything alright? Why are you angry?"

"Because of you."

The answer was straight and she delivered it without wasting any time and without mercy.

I had taken a good bit of damage but I still had to figure out why she was angry. So, trying to suppress the fear of receiving another blunt response, I asked her again.

"What did I do?" 

This was the first we had been meeting today and, as far as I can remember, I don't think I have done anything yesterday or even the day before yesterday that will make her angry.