Drunken Dean (Male, grim)

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tiedlad
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Drunken Dean (Male, grim)

Postby tiedlad » Wed Dec 31, 2014 11:46 pm

This is my first attempt at writing a story on here, I hope you guys enjoy it.


It was 4am, the summer sky just beginning to brighten, when a drunken young man named Dean was walking home after a particularly boozy night out. Perhaps ‘walking’ wasn’t quite the word, given his ungainly strides. It was a long walk home from the town to the sleepy farm village in which he lived, and having spent so much on his liquor he had no money for a taxi. Thus, his crazed trek ensued along country lanes and (thankfully) quiet roadsides.
However, Dean’s addled brain did not keep him on the right track, and instead of staying on the normal route home, he ended up straying along country paths, through a field, until he neared an area not too far from his village where there was a small lake and large farming fields. As dawn was breaking, he could just make out the piles of horse dung along one particular path, which he gleefully hopped over. The ground here was quite muddy, and each time he landed on his feet it would make a loud splat. Having long abandoned expediency in getting home, and enjoying himself far too much to care less, he climbed up onto the fence at the side of the track and hopped over into the muddy field, landing with a splotch in ankle-deep mud. Eyeing the lake at the bottom of the field, and deciding he could rinse the mud off in the water, he trudged on down the field. The earth has only recently been turned, and after some rainfall was quite soft but it was only ankle-deep. However his shoes were becoming caked with the stuff, and his progress became slower.
The water of the lake was glistening with the amber rays of the early morning sun that was just breaking. Dean eyed the shimmering water through the bushes and trees at the end of the field, then as he slowly lumbered through the muck towards the trees he wondered how exactly he was going to get to the water. Not thinking very logically, he decided to climb a tree, work his way through its branches and jump off on the other side (had he been sober, the path he was on would have taken him right down to the lake). Thus, he began trying to scale the tree. At first his muddy feet kept slipping off the tree, until his strength pulled him up until a foot found purchase on one of the lower branches. He climbed up a few meters, swaying like some peculiar drunken monkey through the branches before quickly appearing on the other side, and without even looking where he was dropping to, he leapt off the tree with an excited ‘yeeehaaa!’
SPLAT.
Had Dean taken the time to look on the other side of the treeline, he would have seen a small expanse of thin weeds between the trees and the lake, and nothing else but mud. Not the kind of mud that he was walking through to get here, but the kind of mud that he dropped straight into up to his thighs. Disoriented at first (and although it didn’t even occur to him he was lucky not to have broken his legs), he worked his legs trying to ‘walk’ out of the mud. All he did was sink deeper, very quickly the crotch of his expensive jeans was beginning to touch the churning mud until he dimly realised what was happening to him. Quicksand! he thought, then amazingly discounted the notion as it didn’t look like sand. Mudpit? he thought to himself, as he continued to struggle in the mire. At this point he still wasn’t aware of the danger he was in, thinking he could just climb out of the mud. His crotch began to disappear, the mud creeping up his backside making him gasp at the coldness, especially when it closed over his belt and seeped into his jeans, trickling into his underwear. Not liking these sensations at all, and cursing the state of his new clothes, he decided this was enough and he wanted out. All the churning his legs were doing had caused his shoes to come off too. He tried lurching forward to grab onto a plant or something, but his downward progress was making this very difficult, as he was now waist deep and still sinking. He clawed at some weeds and they simply came away in his hands, no pull on them whatsoever. He tried again but couldn’t reach anything, now he was almost nipple deep. He began shouting for help, which was fruitless as it was only barely dawn, even dogwalkers wouldn’t be out this early around here. He tried scooping up mud from his chest and throwing it aside, as if he thought he could dig himself out. He continued to sink, almost past his armpits, now with extra mud on either side of him and whatever he tried to scoop up, more mud fell in its place. Panicking now and sobering quickly, he carried on shouting as his shoulders were slowly disappearing below the muck. He tried looking around him to see if there were any signs of him being heard. Nothing. Only his head and hands remained above the surface now. He sobbed uncontrollably, it seems only moments ago that he was out living it up in town and.....wait! He frantically remembered that his phone was still in his jeans pocket. Thrusting his hand into the mud, his chin almost went under as he lurched to grab for his phone, it was an effort to try and bring his hand back up through the sucking mire but he had his phone. As his hand and phone tasted air once again, his chin began to touch the muck. Wailing with despair he tried wiping the muck off his phone, which was miraculously still working, but his fingers kept slipping off the touch screen and as his mouth sank into the mud, he somehow managed to call up his father’s number. As it rang, his nose was centimetres from going under. He tried screaming but his mouth just filled with mud. The terror from sucking mud down his throat caused him to drop the phone, without even knowing if he managed to get through or not. Whether his call was answered or not. As he blinked one last blink of the world before his eyes went into the mud, his one remaining hand above the surface clawed at something, anything, that might save him. As the mud closed over that hand, as well as his phone, all fell still.

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