The parts feel like they’re getting shorter and shorter… Well as long as they satisfy your need for some hella good writing, it’s all cool right? (But they don’t, so now what?) (previous)
Thud. ‘What the…’ Mitchell woke up. He had fallen out of bed, and it was the noise that woke him, not the pain. That quickly kicked in though. ‘Oww…’ He rubbed his head. A bump was starting to grow on his head, amplifying his already rough headache. He was thirsty, felt grumpy and- Wait. What time was it? ‘Fuck!’ Now he remembered. His group was leaving early in the morning, and it was already bright and bustling outside. ‘Fuck!’
As he put his clothes on, he ran –almost fell– down the stairs. ‘Morning Mitchell! You feeling…’ Galven asked him, but he ran out the door without a word. ‘…better yet?’
‘Excuse me!’ ‘Coming through!’ Mitchell started wondering if going around the market wouldn’t have been faster than trying to force his way through it. ‘Sorry!’
When he finally arrived in front of the Bastion, he found the three musketeers waiting for him. He saw Roy didn’t look too healthy either.
‘What ya been doin’ man? You’re almost an hour late!’ Nigel bursted out. ‘Not cool, showin’ up like this. Next time, you hang.’
After Mitchell made his apologies, and Nigel refused to buy them, they set off.
‘Pretty weird huh,’ Roy whispered to Mitchell, ‘how much a single beer can screw you over.’
‘That wasn’t a single beer I’m pretty sure.’ Mitchell shook his head. ‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that smart.’
Roy laughed under his breath. ‘We had a great night though, no regrets.’ He held his hand up for a high five, and Mitchell didn’t leave him hanging.
I like writing like I did the first paragraph. Did it turn out okay? Harshness lasts longest. (And yeah, they are indeed getting shorter.) (next)