X6 by Saunders C.M

Author:Saunders, C.M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Dawn Publications
Published: 2024-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

Grower

Gary took a deep, thirsty swig of his beer then belched loudly into the empty room. He was four deep already, and it wasn’t yet three pm. That wasn’t good. Still, he was technically self-employed so he did what the fuck he wanted and besides, it wasn’t like he did this every day. He always tried to have one day off the sauce a week to give his organs a chance to recover a little before the next onslaught.

Anyway, if the TV ever showed anything remotely watchable, maybe he would have something else to think about other than getting inebriated. As it was, counting the satellite stations, there was eighty-something channels with nothing on. Most of them showed as many ads as they did actual TV shows. And usually the same few in constant rotation. It made him feel as if he were caught in a time loop. Furthermore, he was pretty sure the stations all got together and co-ordinated their ad breaks so whenever you channel surfed you got the same result, the sneaky fuckers.

His face twisting into a grimace, he emptied the dregs in the bottom of the can down his throat, belched again, then slowly and deliberately rose from his spot on the sofa and crossed the room to the fridge. Opening the door, he recoiled slightly at the putrid stench.

Something was rotten in there.

No matter, he would find it another time. Right now, all he cared about were the eight cans of beer dripping condensation down the shelves. For half his adult life, Budweiser had been his drink of choice. Only because it was cheap, easily obtainable, and he hadn’t known any better. Later, he’d discovered craft beer and, lo and behold, a mail order company that delivered cases of the stuff to your door!

Most of seemed to be sourced from Eastern European micro breweries and went by snappy, tongue-in-cheek names like Hoptimus Prime, Citra Assdown, Stan’s Little Helper and Holy Grr Ale. Every delivery was a window to the world. He felt much more cultured that he would if he just sat on his ass drinking plain old Bud all day. What kind of person would waste their life like that?

Grabbing a can of something called Toothy Fairy, Gary made his way back to his spot on the sofa, eyes never wavering from the flickering TV, and resumed his usual position.

Fucking reality shows were the only thing on these days.

Why?

Because it was fucking cheap, that’s why. Production values were non-existent. Most were literally filmed in someone’s house and featured a bunch of desperate, talentless wannabes who would do anything to be on camera.

Sighing deeply, he cracked open the fresh can and tipped the contents into his mouth. Suddenly, even as the cool liquid touched his throat, he immediately spluttered and coughed, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“What the f-fugg?” he stammered angrily, rooting around in his mouth with his spare hand.

There was something in the beer. Inside the can. Something… hard, unforgiving, and awfully wrong.

Got it.

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