A Coughing Short Story
BELONGING STORY(2)
Coughing violently, I passed the glass pipe along to the young man beside me, who took a long drag before handing it on the next in the circle. I could feel the foul-tasting smoke tear down my throat and withstood the urge to vomit. The entire room was overflowing with a fetid haze; it grated against the back of my throat as though it were sandpaper. I fought to maintain my composure and appearance of serenity, but if anyone looked close enough they would easily be able to distinguish my sense of discomfort. Just as I began to recover from the last intake of noxious fumes, a nudge on my right shoulder signalled to me that it was my turn. Reluctantly, I took the pipe and began the process again.
This was my weekend socialisation. …show more content…
“Stand up and tell me the truth.”
My father grabbed me by the collar and wrenched me to my feet. My body was in a slouch, looking only at the ground.
“Now tell me the truth, you lying shit. Are you stoned?”
I shook my head slowly and prepared myself for another blow, before a different voice rang out from across the room.
“Stop it, Mark.”
I glanced up to see my father’s clenched fist raised above his shoulder, ready to strike again. Behind him, the sturdy frame of my Uncle Jed stood tall against the off-white walls. My father’s grimacing face and angered eyes swung to look at him, and he released his firm grip on my collar. I took the swift opportunity and retreated to my room. I lay down on my rickety single bed closing my eyes. I don’t know how long I lay there, eyes shut, but by the time I opened my eyes the effects of the drugs had worn off. I headed out of my room and back into the kitchen. I rounded the corner again, this time finding the looming figure of my Uncle, Jed, waiting for me.
“Ricky, I need to talk to you. Can we sit?”
I nodded curiously and sat at the dining table. Jed occupied the seat opposite.
“I have an offer for you. I need you to consider this carefully. Are you thinking clearly
Coughing violently, I passed the glass pipe along to the young man beside me, who took a long drag before handing it on the next in the circle. I could feel the foul-tasting smoke tear down my throat and withstood the urge to vomit. The entire room was overflowing with a fetid haze; it grated against the back of my throat as though it were sandpaper. I fought to maintain my composure and appearance of serenity, but if anyone looked close enough they would easily be able to distinguish my sense of discomfort. Just as I began to recover from the last intake of noxious fumes, a nudge on my right shoulder signalled to me that it was my turn. Reluctantly, I took the pipe and began the process again.
This was my weekend socialisation. …show more content…
“Stand up and tell me the truth.”
My father grabbed me by the collar and wrenched me to my feet. My body was in a slouch, looking only at the ground.
“Now tell me the truth, you lying shit. Are you stoned?”
I shook my head slowly and prepared myself for another blow, before a different voice rang out from across the room.
“Stop it, Mark.”
I glanced up to see my father’s clenched fist raised above his shoulder, ready to strike again. Behind him, the sturdy frame of my Uncle Jed stood tall against the off-white walls. My father’s grimacing face and angered eyes swung to look at him, and he released his firm grip on my collar. I took the swift opportunity and retreated to my room. I lay down on my rickety single bed closing my eyes. I don’t know how long I lay there, eyes shut, but by the time I opened my eyes the effects of the drugs had worn off. I headed out of my room and back into the kitchen. I rounded the corner again, this time finding the looming figure of my Uncle, Jed, waiting for me.
“Ricky, I need to talk to you. Can we sit?”
I nodded curiously and sat at the dining table. Jed occupied the seat opposite.
“I have an offer for you. I need you to consider this carefully. Are you thinking clearly