Watch Your Step

HUNGOVER [ep. 2]

GROSS. Now that I have a clearer look at it. I'm now lying on my bed sideways—as far away as possible. I glance at the dried mark of puke on my bed. Head spinning, I stare at it until I can count all the smidges of last night's dinner. "Should I clean it?" I ask myself. Of course, what else? Am I capable of doing that? Yes. But am I capable of doing it right now? No.

As I thought, my dizziness shakes my head every time I try to sit on my bed.

"Here it goes again," I say as I cover my mouth and place my hand on my navel. When I run to the loo, my eyes are dead shut from the contracting chaos in my stomach. As though vomiting liters of acid makes you promise you'd never take a sip nor smell a pint of alcohol again. Afterward, I look at the toilet. What I first see is my spit dangling in my mouth and the strange pitch-black water underneath.

"Must be the dark chocolate cake and 'pinapaitan,'" I mutter as I wipe my chin with the side of my wrist. But the strangest thing is the dirty water became very still even though I just puked on it. I wouldn't call it food but some solids already stopped moving. Or the strangest thing is me still staring at it. No, literally, I can even see my vague reflection on it!

After I wiped my mouth and flushed the toilet, I returned to my room again. All those exotic foods I ate as side dishes last night must have added atop another to my suffering, taking its revenge on me.

They said it's common for our culture to eat those farm pests, most of them include rats, snakes, frogs, and several insects but I only ate crickets. They also said those pests are clean and edible. Maybe it's just not smart to try all of 'em.

This time, I already brought a pail because I highly doubt that I can manage another trip to the bathroom. My nose has to adapt to the smell all over again. What even time is it? I groan, "8:30." 

Great! Barely slept at all. My body alarm still works even when I'm hungover. Good thing I don't have to go to school today. But time seems to slow down every moment the urge to burst everything inside me awaits.

VOMIT. In the bathroom—for the fifth time—the pail is too small. I hydrate myself as much as I can. However, fluids come out of all of the holes in my face. My eyes and nose are watering; my mouth is leaking without restraint. Furthermore, the holes would be countless, if I included my microscopic pores because I am also sweating vigorously. Flies are all over the bathroom. I finish with a darting spit at the toilet, hoping it will be the last.

As I turned my back against the door, I heard the oddly satisfying noise created by the whirling splash of water in the bowl. One more step away from the bathroom, and I can already feel the emptiness in my stomach. I'm starving. At the same time, a sound like droplets of water coming from the toilet—as though something's swimming in it—prompted my detour. 

Staggering back to close the plate glass window at the far end of the bathroom, I pretend not to notice what's inside the bowl. Still, I manage a side glance amid the darkness. There is the black, cloudy, water again, untouched and puzzlingly motionless. I pushed the flush three times but it doesn't seem to be working now. I gesture a fan in front of my nose, to brush off the pungent smell. I breathe through my sleeves and finally close the door, as well as my eyes.

I can feel my head starting to clear. My hand was still clutched on the doorknob when I heard the noise again coming from the toilet. I leaned my head on the door and listened closely. It's almost as if something...

"Amanda."

"AAAAHHH!" my heart jumps as I scream in a shrill voice. It echoes in the cavernous hall of the house as I grasp my chest for stability. A silhouette of a small child appears before me, and I progressively become calm. He asks in a monotonous voice. "Are you clean?"