It had been hours. At least, it felt like it had been hours.
Jenny forced her arm up and reached for the water, at last able to bring the glass to her lips. That was better; much better. She was no longer akin to a limp noodle and could actually move. Her head still swam, but that was okay, she could handle it. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she climbed to her feet and swayed unsteadily for a full minute before urging herself onwards.
She didn’t really know what she wanted to do but she sure as hell didn’t want to be in bed. She wasn’t tired and couldn’t just make herself fall asleep. Ever since Joey left her on her mattress, her mind had been spinning and racing all at the same time, trying to form thoughts but never stopping long enough for her to focus on a single one.
One image kept repeating itself over in her mind though, and that was Joey’s sad and worried face, an expression so unlike him it was nearly heartbreaking. It was almost as though she had kicked a puppy. She had to apologise. She had been completely out of line accusing him of paying off the health department to shut down the pub. He was rich but he wasn’t that rich; he would have to be political levels of rich to be able to afford that type of bribery.
With a hand on the doorframe to hold herself steady, she paused. That could only mean one thing. The News the other day, with the man who had the wife who exploded, with the goat who had started to eat her… whatever it was, it had spread, and there had been a cloud of green fuzz in the air after that strange popping sound at the pub. Maybe Blair hadn’t been speaking out of his arse.
Home containment. Public health emergency. Green fuzz. This was absolutely mental.
Joey’s sad and worried face formed in her mind again and she shook her head to remove the image, then wished she hadn’t as a wooziness spun the hallway into a spiral that tried to tip her upside down.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself, blinking hard to stop the spinning. “I’m going. I’m apologising.”
Wobbling out of her room, she clung to the railing as she headed downstairs, then stopped, mid-step. Joey had installed some sort of metal pole system along a section of the ceiling during the time she had been gone and was now hanging upside down from it, swinging from his feet, like a monkey at the zoo.
“Uh.” All of her words suddenly vanished as she stared, her mouth agape. “I’m… I’m not drunk still. Am I? No. No, I’m not. Just fuzzy. That’s all. What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m stretching, of course!”
He swung forward and back, only his feet keeping him in place. That looked so dangerous. Jenny bit her lip, stepped backward, and fell into a seated position on the stairs.
“Care to join me?” he asked.
Jenny licked at her lips and tried swallowing. It didn’t work very well. Her throat was as dry as a cotton bud.
“N-no… not really, sorry. If I did that, I think I’d puke.”
“That’s a pity,” he said, swinging his body backwards like a contortionist so that he was a living letter ‘U’. Several of his bones cracked, the sound echoing across the loungeroom, and he relaxed his body and fell limp, dangling from his feet, upside down, with a happy smile on his face. “Oh yeah,” he moaned. “That felt amazing.”
Without a word, Jenny stumbled back to her feet, turned back up the stairs, and went back to bed. She couldn’t deal with this right now; she would apologise in the morning. Falling back onto her mattress, she tossed and turned and drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep until at last the morning sun swept over her face and convinced her to open her heavy eyes.
Today was going to be a long day.
After a long, hot shower she felt slightly more ‘human’ but her mind was still a fuzzy mess. Rubbing at her tired face, she descended into the loungeroom and shook her head at the metal poles still attached to the ceiling. Well, that had been real and not some weird mind-game her drunken thoughts had created. She was unsure if that was a good or a bad thing.
Joey sat on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table dirtying up one of his aunt’s doilies, and he waved her over.
“Hey, Jenny! Look at this.”
“Joey, I wanted to apologise—“
He waved more vigorously and pointed at the television.
“Sure. Come here. Look.”
She sat beside him on the couch and grabbed her favourite fluffy cushion. Hugging it against her chest, she leant against his shoulder and stared dumbly at the images on the screen.
The Prime Minister stood behind a podium and spoke straight into the camera. There was no one else in sight, no reporters or journalists, no parliament members, just the man himself… alone.
“I repeat: this is a public health emergency. Please remain calm and stay indoors. Calvatia podaxis crepitus is a highly infectious disease and will result in your death and the deaths of those close to you. If you are sick with fever and flu-like symptoms, please contact your local health officials immediately. We are doing all we can to find a cure before it’s too late, but for your own safety and those around you, please, stay indoors. This disastrous disease cannot be allowed to spread any further.”
Too late. It was already too late.
Jenny paled. She had been job hunting yesterday and there had been so many sick people around. Hell, the line was out the doctor’s door! She had touched the sick receptionist’s hand as she handed over her resume, that man had coughed and spluttered all over her as he had shoved past, she had been drinking in an overcrowded pub where there had certainly been a couple of ill people.
At that thought, the Whistling Fart appeared on-screen. It was a stock photograph, taken several years ago, but it was clearly the same establishment.
“Last night at the Whistling Fart, a heritage pub located in the sleepy town of Dovebrook Downs, a violent episode of calvatia podaxis crepitus struck just as police and health correspondents were directing patrons to their homes in accordance with public health guidelines. Several people were contaminated and immediately placed into isolation for observation. More information, coming soon!”
“Ohmygod.” Grabbing onto Joey’s arm, she stared wide-eyed at the television. “I was there! I’m probably contaminated!” She looked down at her hand, latching onto Joey’s arm, and ripped it away from him and leapt to her feet. “Oh, my, god! I’m sorry. You’re contaminated now!”
Joey shrugged.
“If you’re contaminated, you probably infected me when you were rubbing yourself all up against me last night. It’s fine. Sit back down.”
“Rubbing myself all up against you—?” She blinked, vaguely remembering poking his cheek. “I don’t think I did that.”
“You did.” He winked. “You even said something about wanting me all to yourself.”
“I did not!”
“No, you’re right.” He rolled his eyes with a smirk, but not before he failed to hide that kicked-puppy expression again. “That was me. You said something about me wanting you all to myself.”
She closed her eyes so tight light displays starting dancing amidst the shadows of her brain. Would he please stop looking at her like that?
“I remember accusing you, blaming you because the pub was forced to shut down and clearly that meant you wanted me home when I didn’t want to go home. I mean, you’ve paid so many people to foil my plans, what else was I supposed to think? All I wanted was to pass out at the bar, get dragged to the medical centre next door, and spend some quiet time away from here.”
“If you are contaminated, then you can spend all the time in the world at the medical centre away from here.” He flung his arms out in the air in a sarcastic display of exuberance. “Win-win.”
Jenny slumped back down onto the couch and rubbed at her head.
“It’s not a win-win. I’m tired. My brain is fuzzy. And I’m sorry that I laid forth my drunken judgement upon you.” She peered over at him and repeatedly poked at his shoulder. “I’m… sorry if I said something hurtful.”
He waved her hand away and returned to the television, eagerly awaiting more news. “How long do you reckon we’ll have to be stuck indoors?” he asked, as though her apology hadn’t even registered. “The basement counts as indoors, right?”
“I’m sure it just means we stay on the property, inside or in our yard, and don’t interact with other people.”
“But what if someone explodes while they’re chilling out the back. Look!” He pointed at the new video playing on the screen. A person lay on their deathbed. Little green mounds grew on their skin then rapidly expanded until they pop-pop-pop’d, then the body exploded in a hazy green cloud of spores that completely filled the person’s room. “See? Those things could go flying for miles! No. I’m sure they mean for us to literally stay inside.”
Hot saliva flooded Jenny’s mouth as the little pops sounded on the telly followed by the explosion of guts and spores. That was definitely what she had heard at the pub last night, and that cloud of spores was identical to the fuzzy green mass she had seen. Her hands flew to her mouth in an attempt to hold back her nausea.
“That’s absolutely disgusting!” she shrieked through her fingertips. “Gross! I can’t believe they’re showing this on TV.”
Joey shrugged.
“People have to know, Jenny.”
“If that was the case we should’ve been told sooner! Blair knew about this weeks ago. I thought his gay arse was tripping, but evidently not. Ohmygod.” She winced and looked away as another video of a person exploding in a fountain of fuzzy green clouds showed on-screen. “That’s so fucked up. Ohmygod.” She grabbed at Joey’s arm again and looked up at him, pleadingly. “What if that happens to me?”
Standing up, Joey helped her to her feet. Silently, he put his arms around her and gave her a long, warm hug. Jenny wanted to relax and melt into his arms, but couldn’t, and instead stood rigid for the entire embrace. “Now you’re definitely infected,” she whispered, but instead of leaping away from her his arms only tightened further.
At last, Joey stepped away and offered her a big, cheesy smile. “You owe me a camping trip up Mount Esraelle before you go boom,” he said, then chuckled as she punched his shoulder.
“That’s the last thing on my mind right now.”
“You need to live a little!”
“There is a very high possibility that I’ve been infected and am going to wind up like those people on TV.” She pointed at the television with a shaky finger. “And all you can think about is going camping?”
“That’s not all I’m thinking about.” Joey tilted his head to one side and winked. “I’ll be in the basement, working on the wine,” he said, heading out the back door. “Ugh. I’m going to need more cucumbers. This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”
Jenny threw her arms up into the air and fell back onto the couch. How could he possibly be this calm? She was going to die and he was going to drink wine in honour of her demise. He was probably going to kick her off the mountaintop just before she exploded… and was probably going to laugh maniacally as her gaseous green fuzz expanded across the sky and rained down upon the town. She could not go camping with him; would not! That would be irresponsible. She was going to lock herself in her room and never come out.
Leaping to her feet, she raced upstairs as fast as her fuzzy head and limp legs would allow. With any luck she’d explode before the week was out and leave this cursed existence forever.
Helloooo! It's Day Eight of a sudden onset of Writing Madness -- a NaNoWriMo-inspired challenge that uses the daily #freewrite prompt to help create a full story within the confines of a mere month.
@mariannewest's prompt for today is ~ clothes napkin. I honestly don't know what a clothes napkin is. I tried googling and only found results for cloth napkins, so I just went with your standard decorative napkin, or 'doily.'
I'll be taking a break tomorrow!! It's my birthday and there really won't be much time for writing. 😅 Have friends to visit, a different town to run off to, birthday lunch, shopping, and I'm demanding some time at a park or the beach or something so I can take pretty photos.
I'm around 5000 words ahead of the average target though, so I'm happy to spare the day. xD
This is a very rough first draft of an upcoming book and will be tidied up and polished after this Month of Madness is finished. 😊 It might read like fast-paced-rushed-word-garbage at the moment, but it will be refined! (I over-edit like a madwoman.)
Title is a placeholder and will probably not be the final name of the book. 🤣 This story has nothing much to do with whistling but the local pub is called the Whistling Fart, things will go down there, and there will likely be a terrible amount of fart jokes. Because I'm uncultured and farts are funny. 🤷♀
Today's wordcount is 2,067
Total wordcount is 18,198 / 50,000
📝 A Quick Blurb 📚
Genre: immature adult comedy, reverse coming-of-age, apocalyptic silliness
Warning: irreverent, offensive humour
Jenny is a young lady in her mid-20's who finds herself out of work, out of home, and out of luck. An old friend from school has invited her to stay at his house until she gets back on her feet, but she just can't seem to land on them.
Every job opportunity she finds goes spectacularly wrong. The Great Fungus is spreading across the world and consuming all in its path. Then, to top it off, a solar flare renders electricity a thing of the past.
Faced with the end of the world as she knows it, Jenny has a choice. Will she embrace this apocalyptic madness... or will she, too, be consumed by the fungus?
Thank you for reading! 📚😊
See you in a couple of days for Day Nine! 📝🤓