Long Walk Home

It was dark. Pitch. No moon glow to light the way. No stars.

Henry was stumbling home from a house party at Deeks, Henry's best mate from uni. They'd all graduated, all of them. Even Scottish Angus, who went in more for the booze and the lads than study, passed. Angus was more amazed than anyone. Henry had drunk too much, that was for sure. He'd have been okay with just the beer, but the Jeaggermeister shots, that Deeks had got especially for Joey who, shall we say, became much more inclined with Deek's company when he'd had one, or ten, were probably what had tipped Henry over into "rotten" and a long walk home.

Henry was so closely concentrating on his foot steps, one in front of the other, that's all you have to do, was what he'd been telling himself, that when Bunty Rodgers thoroughly miss judged her speed at the corner of Elm Street and First Avenue, just behind Henry stepping it out, the sudden screech of brakes, in the otherwise desolate surroundings of suburbia after mid night, completely startled him. He flung his head around to the left, in the direction of the sudden shattering of the quiet midnight glass. He flung his head with such force, he was so startled, his glasses flew off his face and into the nearby house's garden. He flicked his head in such a way that the glasses could have landed in a 180 degree range, at what speed was anyone's guess. Henry was blind without his glasses even when he was sober. The world suddenly shut down on him.

He took two steps and tripped on landscaping, succulents. "Ah!" Cactus. "Ouch!"

Bunty had been driving for two days. She had only drunk coke, because she had driven, first night out under her own steam. Her father had lent her his old Monaro. He'd only hung onto it because he thought it would be worth something someday. He didn't use it. Bunty might as well. It was an achievement. She didn't know that Ivan had been spiking her drinks with bourbon, as he'd fancied her all year. When Bunty had started to feel queasy, she excused herself and headed home. There was a nasty bug going around, every one had had it, she didn't want to disgrace herself on her first night of driving, getting sick and having to be fetched home. She was maggotted by the time she hit Elm and First and the car skidded and Bunty hung on, that was the only thing she knew to do.

Henry was spot lighted. He rolled onto his back to see two blurred lights heading at him. Screetching of brakes. The roar of the engine. Some thing rushing by. A loud scrapping noise. A huge bang and silence.

Bunty was flung forward with such force, as the car came to a stop, that her hearing aids flew out of both ears, bouncing off the dashboard and out of sight under the seat some where. Bunty was deaf without them. It was a genetic defect in her family. Jack, her brother, was also deaf.

"Hello?" said Henry. He looked in the direction the wind blew past him.

No reply.

What street was he in? He stepped some where at that thought, as if looking around at the terrain. He couldn't see a thing. He couldn't remember. His head spun. He hadn't taken any notice.

"Hello?" he asked again.

Silence. What the fuck?

Bunty puked bourbon smelling vomit, that was brown and the consistency of snot, all over her pink dress, steering wheel and dash board, before she passed out.

Henry crouched, felt the ground hopefully for his glasses. He thought, suddenly, he might be sick. He stood back up. His stomach slipped closer to his throat. He could taste the acid, at the back of his tongue. He headed slowly towards the car. His foot went out from under him. The air suddenly rushed past him as he fell forward. "Ahh!"

It was dark. Pitch. No moon glow to light the way. No stars.