Pineapple Skies

PINEAPPLE SKIES

CHAPTER ONE:

"Dusk slowly merged into darkness as Jeff stumbled down the street, trying to keep out of the rain as his five O'clock stubble chafed against the paper bag containing his beloved whisky." typed James.

"Duuuude, you can't write that, it's so cliché" his flatmate interjected.  "Honestly, can you get any more pretentious?  Talk about a bad start to a bad book.  Also, you spelt Whiskey wrong."

Henry was one of those insufferable people who always thought they were right, even on topics purely subjective.  He once claimed that the best way to ensure success in life was to make a six foot square collage out of fruit pastilles of a hand extending it's middle finger, and he swore blind for months that it worked, even after James finally got sick of Henry calling him a 'collageless loser' and actually made one. 
Apparently, you weren't supposed to include the green ones, but James had pretty much blown an entire week's wages and evenings on fruit pastilles and despite actually being fairly proud of the collage, wasn't about to waste the large amounts of time and money required to make another.

James sighed silently and deleted the text.  He'd had the sudden urge to write something, but the urge was fading and quite rapidly being replaced by the urge to drink, or possibly cave Henry's skull in with the toaster.

"What now?" Henry inquired, "Why did you do that?  Y'know, you give up too easily, grow a backbone dammit.  Are you a man or a mouse, come on, squeak up."

The toaster looked ever more appealing. 

"I'm just not in the mood, I've spent all day at work, and I'll be honest, I just don't have the motivation.  I'm not sure why I even started.  I'm going out for a bit, I'll see you in a while.  Don't eat my yoghurt, it's my last one, and I want it later."

"I'll see what I can do, but I promise nothing."

James sighed again.  That was about the best he was going to get from Henry.  He was James' best friend, but the man's selfishness knew no bounds.  It wasn't that he was deliberately selfish, he just didn't seem to associate the fact that people's property were their own.  Henry grew up a privileged child, his parents were both former scientists and members of a hippie commune that had accidentally discovered a mutation in pineapples that led to increased hair growth in men.  All across the globe, follically challenged men were falling over themselves to buy the juice of the pinapples grown on the small commune, and the econonics of supply and demand enabled the hippies to charge an inordinate amount of money per bottle.  Somehow, despite the might and wealth of the giant pharmaceutical companies, nobody else had managed to get even close to replicating the properties of this miracle fruit.  This had led to the conclusion it was the land itself responsible for the amazing properties the pineapples developed, but the hippies were happy, and no amount of money would budge them.  Not least because now they had a supply of money that seemed to be increasing exponentially with every year that passed, and money was never really an issue for them in the first place, let alone now they had what can only be described as a stupendous amount of money by anyone's standards.  The combination of this wealth and communal lifestyle had led Henry to take everything for granted, as well as believing that even other people's possessions were partly his, even when they weren't.

Grabbing his coat, James headed for the front door and threw the coat over his shoulders in the manner a matador swishes his cape as the bull is about to make contact, simultaneously slipping his arms in and donning the coat.  He'd seen someone do it in a film once, and much like the Michael Jackson hat flip trick, James had been most impressed and had made it his mission to learn it.  It hadn't made him cool or got him women like he'd hoped at the time, but he now had a hat and coat dexterity better than anyone he knew, and that was something to be proud of.  At least that's what he kept telling himself. 

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Somewhere, something moved, unlike anything else that had moved that way for a very long time.  A small light buzzed and flickered into existence.

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James returned a few hours later, inebriated.  To say he was drunk was probably an understatement.  He'd only been gone for two hours, but he was at the stage where a man cannot tell the difference between a woman and a badger.  It was lucky he lived in the city really.
James had a special affinity toward alcohol.  It didn't matter what type, he just liked to get drunk.  Perhaps it was living with the universally talented and lucky Henry, perhaps it was just the fact that his own life seemed so much better when he was drunk, but when he felt like he didn't have a friend in the world, alcohol was always there to comfort him.  He knew in his heart that he couldn't continue like this forever, but for now he'd managed to avoid getting a beer belly or liver disease, and thus, to him, the benefits far outweighed the long term risk.

He could hear the sound of the television coming from the front room, but he didn't go in, instead continuing to his bedroom where he tripped over the piece of metal that's supposed to hold the carpet down.  A couple of screws had somehow come out months ago, and James almost never failed to trip over it once he'd been out drinking, which was regularly.  In a stumbling run he tried to regain his balance until he stood on a plug, veering him sideways where the only thing to grab were the curtains, which he grabbed at.  His momentum was too much for the curtain rail, and as he crashed to the ground, the curtains came down around him.  He tried to get up and failed. The floor currently seemed like a suitable place to sleep, and with a duvet of curtains he swore, drunkenly vowed to fix the metal thing and then passed out, completely unaware of his best friend lying dead in the next room.

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© Copyright October 14th 2011, Ryan Kennett