Accidents Happen...

Accidents Happen

It crumbled gently between his fingers, sticking to his skin and falling into the waiting paper with a small pattering sound. He could still feel the warmth from the flame where he had burnt it.
He moved the clipper back into the right position in his hand and lit it, carefully holding it against the side of the tiny bit of blim that he had poised between the nails of his fore finger and thumb of his left hand. He stopped as the smoke started to rise up and sniffed at it before moving the clipper, breaking a piece off the blim and crumbling it into the waiting papers. Finally, he finished; he had used up all of it and would have to go out for some more. He wondered briefly if any of his housemates still had some in their rooms. They were all out clubbing but he had stayed home, nursing a broken ankle with a couple of gangster movies on DVD, a bottle (or two) of wine and what had started out as a healthy eighth. He glanced at his fingertips and frowned at the amount of blim now stuck in the ridges of his fingerprints, stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked. Once he had cleaned his fingers he pulled out one of his B&H and licked it along the join, held the filter in one hand and bent the cigarette, pulling the filter away at the same time; the tobacco fell neatly into the papers, on top of the blim.
He glanced up at the telly, the advert break was still on; he couldn't help but be annoyed at the sheer volume of crap he was being bombarded with. He turned his attention back to the task at hand and started rolling the spliff up. He supposed that he would just have to put on the next DVD, but he had watched four hours worth already and had gotten suitably inebriated too: putting another DVD on would require movement, and he wasn't ready for that kind of commitment to the cause. He chuckled to himself as he inspected his own work. Joint looked fine to him, but then again, as far as he knew, it could be about to fall apart on his lap and he would still call it perfect; 'Perfect for the moment!' He said to himself and lit up.
He sank back into the sofa and searched around blindly with his hand on the cushion next to him for the remote. Found it and began his absent minded channel hopping. It was something he was known for. In fact usually his housemates did everything in their power to prevent him from gaining control of the remote. But he was alone now. They were probably wide eyes and grinning, bouncing around in a cramped, badly lit, sweaty and rather smelly little club, having a ball. Surrounded by what they would think were stunning women all grinning stupidly back at them. He wondered if any of them would manage to pull, and what they would manage to pull. He chuckled at the thought and changed the channel again. He watched as Ian Botham kicked over the wicket of some kids' cricket game and tried to convince his audience to look after their heart. He flicked through to another channel and sighed as Botham's face appeared yet again. He was beginning to get very annoyed at that man. A brief respite from Botham came in the form of a Halifax advert. It never failed to amuse him that Halifax would use such an ugly person to try and sell their bank accounts. He flicked on. A couple of hours later he finished the last of his two bottles of wine and was feeling quite merry. He had saved half the spliff he had been smoking earlier and sparked it up happily, lost in the rather weak plot of a B movie. He was only watching it because the lead lady in the film had rather large breasts and it amused him to watch them bounce as she ran away from the 'baddies'. It was two in the morning now, and he supposed that they would be back soon. His ankle was aching and he was bursting for the toilet, so he retrieved his crutches from the floor and heaved himself out of the sofa. This was not an easy endeavor as the sofa had seen better days: It sagged badly in the centre from all the drunken squirmishes and romantic encounters that had taken place on it. His head spun as he managed to roll out and get to his feet,swaying unsteadily while leaning heavilly on his crutches, he coughed and followed that up by an almighty sneeze. His eyes watering, he hopped forward and started to make his way to the living room door, taking care to avoid the piles of dirty plates, empty wrappers and the occasional pot noodle that littered the living room floor from wall to wall. Once he had made it to the relative safety of the hallway, (only because here the level of mess was considerably less) he made good progress toward the bathroom. He didn't bother to lock the door behind him as he was the only one at home, sat down on the toilet, trousers round his ankles, and smiled contentedly as he felt an almost orgasmic relief as he emptied his bowels. He sat there a while, feeling quite pissed, enjoying the coolness of the bathroom. He let his eyes wander around the patterns of the tiles on the floor. He was following a squiggly line into the corner under the sink when he saw it. He couldn't believe his eyes! It looked like a hardly touched eighth nestled between the wall and the back of the sink stand! He lurched forward, forgetting, in his eagerness, about a) his ankle and b) the fact that his trousers were round both. As his hand closed on the blim his crutches slipped; his legs gave way and he was catapulted forward, head first onto the side of the ceramic sink bowl.

A key turned in the lock. The front door was shoved open and the happy, drunk, pilling housemates tumbled in one by one. Eyes like saucers, they stormed into the living room expecting to find their injured mate sat there clutching the remote control. They hesitated in confusion as they saw that the living room was empty and one of them burped loudly, turned around and bounded up the stairs to his room. Another forgot who they were looking for and jumped onto the sofa, pulling a little tin out of the crack between the cushions and set about making the world's biggest spliff ever! Honest. The third looked around dejectedly for a moment before deciding it was time for a piss. He turned around, walked to the bathroom door, pulled it open, paused and burst into uncontrollable giggles. There, where he had fallen, was their housemate; drool pooling into a small lake next to his head; hairy butt exposed, up in the air supported by the wall; hand wedged behind the sink in a fist, snoring in quiet contentment.