Awakenings - Forgetfulness

It was such bliss that fugue, a feast of watercolour delights that dulled the senses and electrified the mind. It seemed in that brief interlude between sobriety and nirvana that the world beyond the confines of one's physicality ceased to exist and that reality in it's entirety resided within the stretched walls of Sigmund's psyche.

Such enlightenment however is a fleeting and fickle thing that flees the moment the shuddering metabolism of his old weatherwracked body forces the return of chemical balance and brings the mind
crashing back to the realm of sodden earth and damp wood.

Sigmund stirred heavily in his low bed as he felt a deep pain settle into his temples, and a lurching merciless nausea grip at his stomach. The world went white as he lurched over the side of the wooden bedframe and let loose a green and yellow rainbow of vomit into a strategically placed washbasin, sparing the pristine floor beneath. His mouth and throat screamed in dual burning agony as the torrent continued, only subsiding into a dull ache as he flopped sweaty and exhausted onto his back.

Beside the bed his phone blinked, a constant reminder of his world outside his room. For a few minutes he ignored it's silent call, content to wallow in self pity and hungover agony until at last it's ceaseless blinking became too much to bare. Snatching the device up with an unsteady hand he unlocked it and activated the voicemail.

"Captain Wiesinger"

Came the voice from the phone. Soft and sweet almost melodic, it made the old man pine for something he couldn't quite remember.

"The order has been quite patient with you thus far... We understand that this situation may be difficult for you however our tolerance for your misbehaviour has come to an end. So far we have received no field date since your reassignment, and our agents report that in the last six months you have scarcely left your assigned safehouse except to procure groceries and other... sundry items~" Alcohol... they were being tactful.

"~As of this moment we are issuing you an official notice, should this inaction continue then your stipend will be terminated and you will be recalled to face summary judgement"

The words sent a chill down the old man's spine. "Summary Judgement". It was a very non descript term for a very specific punishment... No one ever returned from a summary judgement, it was his final warning.

It took everything Sigmund had to force himself to sit up and swing his feet down from the bed, barely avoiding the now full washbasin that sat beside his bed. With a tremendous groan he rose unsteadily to his feet bracing himself against the wall lest he crumple back into the mess of bedsheets behind him. His free hand came up to rub at his bloodstained and purple-bagged eyes, attempting to drive the weariness from them as he pushed himself onward to the bathroom.

"Fucking order" He spat as he crossed the threshold "I need a fucking shave". With that the bathroom began to fill with steam as he turned the hot water faucet. For six months he'd wallowed in alcohol and pity... now he had to act, or else lose everything.

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