this moral has a story

By September 3, 2013stories


Trey fell down some steps. He’s alright, but extremely intoxicated. The keys to his green ’96 Camaro fell out of his pocket. He didn’t know this happened, so he ventured back upstairs.

A closed bottle of Heineken caught his eye and relieved him; he needed something for his head.

The party was still raging in his head. Around him too as herds of people moved about enjoying themselves. Trey tried to read his watch but all he was able to see was a bunch of stick people either having sex or trying to start a fire; it didn’t make any sense to him. He wasn’t worried though; if it were too late, the music would have been turned off, although he’s sure the ringing in his ears wouldn’t have stopped.

Speaking of ringing, the fire alarm went off. Time to leave, with a capital T, thought Trey as he headed for the door. Fresh air would help the earthquake in his head. As Trey reached the door, it seemed to give him attitude. It didn’t want to stay still. Annoyed, Trey started yelling at the door as Jason bumped into him.

Jason needed a pack of smokes and it was a tad bit far to just walk there. Harassing Trey to give him a lift, Jason became angered that Trey refused to drive. Driving under the influence is a stupid thing to do, everybody knows that. Everybody knows that. Well, everybody besides Jason. This confrontation started to become messy, in that Trey’s beer was being spilled. Jason tried to get Trey’s keys off of him, but to no avail; they were nowhere to be found. So Jason did what any dumb drunk would do: he punched Trey and went to find his next victim.

The Heineken spilt all over Trey so he went to clean up in the bathroom. The fluorescent bulbs attacked his eyes and his face attacked the shelf hanging by the door and then the floor.

An undetermined amount of time later, Trey awoke in a daze. He was awoken by a paramedic. Through the corner of his one open eye, he could see a gaping hole in the den. Well, the hole wasn’t exactly gaping; there was a yellow Mini neatly lodged in it. Beside the Mini was a stretcher with a pack of DuMaurier lying on top. Trey was able to notice somebody take the smokes as he was lifted up by the paramedic.

As it would turn out, drunk driving killed Jason before the cigarettes could get to him. Or maybe both are to blame; he was after all trying to light one as he parked into the house.

Regardless, Trey didn’t feel too much sorrow. He was still dazed and didn’t know Jason very well. Besides, everybody knows that drinking and driving don’t mix; especially Jason, although it won’t be helping him now.