writing excerpts (part 1 of ???)

what's good gang its loki. so like for  my blogs im gonna be posting excerpts of the stories i write, paragraphs or stuff that i felt was particularly well written or very good or wtv and talkin about em! if you like it i love you thanks! excerpt below:

“What is this?”

The air felt coarse, and clammy, all at once. He felt the bed sag beneath his weight as he tried to stretch out, and finally close his eyes.

And then… Sleep didn’t come.

“But I want to sleep…”

Obviously, he was in bed with his eyes closed. But it’s not happening.

“Why?”

Maybe it’s the bed’s fault? Yes, he was in bed now. An old one, definitely not his dorm.

He checked the pillow. Its synthetic filling had separated into hard lumps. It smelled odd. It smelled of alcohol, sweat, and grease.

He rolled over to the other side. It was a little better. But colors, scenes, and half-formed phrases still littered his mind. Part of him had something left to do, eh? Then he finally fell asleep, after an eternity of struggle. Maybe it was symbolic.

He was awake again.

In a park. 

A corpse hung from a tree. The bloated corpse of a drunk. It spoke to Bojack.

“Do you remember the scent of your childhood?”

“...I was born in a hospital, where people usually go to die?”

“You’re not kidding anyone, Bojack. You don’t remember shit. Tell me… Do you remember her hand on your face?”

“TELL ME WHAT THIS IS! I’m not answering anything before you tell me who you are.”

“You know who I am. I am the bad day. The one where you ask her, and then later in the streets, wandering– It’s the worst day of all time, Bojack dear, and it’s coming. She will hear about it on the phone. Reality will turn into a grotesque nightmare. This’ll be the last thing you did to her. Tell me, do you remember the love of your life?”

“You said.. Who?”

“Do you remember the warmth of her thighs, between her legs and in her mouth?”

“She left...”

“That’s right, funky-baby, and you just stood there! One hand on the bottle and the other on your dick, watching her go. Let it all be dragged away from you. Tell me, where are your friends? Human beings have friends, Bojack-boy. Where the hell are yours?”

“I can get it all back.”

“No. It’s gone. Three times gone and never coming back. You failed. You failed me.”

“I’ve… Talked to you before.”

“No, Bojack. You were just talking to yourself. That’s all you ever do. Even in your dreams. And the act is wearing thin, the spots of the disco ball fade around you… You’ll be back in your cold snake-skin soon, sweating up the bed.”

“I can come back from this!”

“You’re not coming back from shit! Thrashing around in that high-conductivity state of yours, bumping into things and acting like a clown. Who are you kidding?”

“I… I’m trying to..”

this is an excerpt from a story called "Addiction." the reason i wanted to use this as my first entry was because i felt like it has been one of my most personally written stories. this scene shows our protagonist, a man named Bojack Morales in a dream. the story heavily focuses on addiction, and heartbreak as a topic. and what i wanted to focus on was showing what a future of this nature can lead to, or at least, his future. something about the way i wrote this particular scene has always stuck with me, and kinda just made me introspective about it? maybe? im not sure if im saying it all right. point is, i wanted to focus on the messy destructive nature that his character was known for. he overdosed and was stuck in a dream, talking to his own future. im avoiding any explicit terms as to avoid breaking rules but i hope you have fun reading this short little excerpt!