Crime Story

THE BLAST of Sunday morning glared through the blinds, something my eyes were not prepared for. I flung the duvet aside and searched for my balance through blurry vision. The bed made a horrific creak as I got up, I had to remind myself. Get a new mattress. When my eyes decided to return to a clear state I caught my reflection in the mirror propped up on my worn desk. Straggly hair and unkempt stubble, the look of drained ability. I certainly looked the part for a working writer. However, this didn't reflect reality. My view rolled down to the blank pile of paper adjacent to my trusty typewriter, it certainly would be trusty if it wasn't such a stranger to me. I looked up to the reflection again, behind me lies a drab, dull apartment bedroom. An amalgamation of lifelessness and loss of colour, hardly an environment for a creative mind.

Then again I could not blame my desiccated room when I have the pleasure of cherishing the world's most noisy and obnoxious roommate. A first-class blistering distraction. I could no longer tell whether my wallpaper was peeling due to its quality, or his racket. When someone's been your best friend for six years you tend to get used to their downfalls, the noise, the random array of women, the house parties, the noise, the drink, the drugs, the constant noise, did I mention the noise?

Well I must admit, after all this time, Danny seems to have kept me in a better mood. He tends to look on the bright side, his humour and lack of care seems to brighten up the staleness of the place. I failed to notice a crack across the corner of the glass, I had to remind myself. Get a new mirror.

I stumble over to the blinds, dust seems to rise up from the floor boards with each staggering step. I really needed t...

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...money to replace them. You're my best friend but I just wish sometimes that you could gain a little perspective. You treat women like throwaway toys, as regard to drugs you act like there isn't any laws to follow and god knows how you can pay for that shit. I just want you to understand this apartment isn't some brothel-drug den hybrid. I'm fucking worried about you. Okay”

I heard the lock of the door turning, I'd clearly said enough to motivate him. “We need to clean up this whole mess Danny.”
He looked up at me with a face of excruciating guilt and looked over my shoulder at the wasteland that was our living room. He finally let everything go with a sigh.
“You're right man. I'm honestly really sorry about this, I'll start cleaning it now I promise.”
I grabbed his shoulder before he ran off.
“No Danny, I mean the mess you can't just brush away.
Us.
Our life.”