No Easy Answer

Untitled Part 1

She danced a while and drank some wine
before she rolled her eyes at me
I picked them up and I rolled them back
And then we swam into the sea

She's Alright - Stereophonics

Oh shit! Holy, bloody, mother fucking shit!

I lay helplessly on the bed, the pointy end of a thick, sharp bit drilling through my skull!

The pounding continues, the throbbing is relentless, like a concerto of mad drummers banging away on a ritualistic death beat. I try opening my eyes, but the puncturing pressure against my skull is unbearable.

I don't wanna die like this!

Slowly, the high-pitched, drilling noise becomes faint, although the pain inside my head remains. I suddenly feel at ease. I open my eyes and an eerie silence takes over.

I am dead. Finally.

Thank God.

Well, I think so. Or...

Fuck, no. I am very much alive.

Painfully alive.

At the time, it seemed like the perfect idea – a weekend break, away from everyone. I could have gone local, maybe Eastbourne, Brighton, even venture further west to Portsmouth, or Bath. However, the more I thought about it, the less appealing they felt.

I had two weeks left to submit my article, and I had done fuck all! The approaching deadline felt as welcoming as a bailiff's visit.

As a freelance travel writer, my articles help pay my mortgage, petrol for my car, food for the refrigerator – and subsequently, dinner table – and those little indulgences I like to allow myself once in a while.

Unfortunately, not all travel writers lead a glamorous life peppered with high-end luxury. I can't remember the last time I travelled first class or stayed at a five-star hotel, let alone sipping margaritas, mojitos or any exotic sounding cocktail at the side of an infinity pool while contemplating and oozing over bikini-clad beauties – I could probably remember, at a push, the last three star or budget hostel.

I cannot feel a hole or anything to indicate my brains are spilling out, although that is exactly how I feel. Not too sure if being alive is worth all this pain.

Anyway, good to know there's no mad killer in the vicinity attempting to perform a lobotomy without the anaesthetic.

Same effect nevertheless.

More than pins and needles, I feel I've nails and daggers in my head!

Having finally figured out, not so much who I am but more around the lines of where I am, why I am here, I'm wondering why I have what looks like two large lumps lying at each side of me beneath the covers.

Shit, my head is killing me. Christ all mighty, even opening my eyes hurts.

Right, the bulging shapes under the duvet.

Dear God, please don't let them be two blokes... and for what it's worth now, please let them be alive...