We were asked to write brief character introductions for a couple of characters. I posted Henry Macken last week, a character from St Anne’s Square. This week I’m posting Hugh Wallace, my “sweary Scottish guy”. I’ve got another few pieces from him that I may post in coming weeks. I hope you enjoy him!
Morning light spilled through curtains he’d not bothered to close, wandering up his inert frame until they bathed his face. A groan, a roll and he spilled anew across the wooden floorboards of his defacto living room. Sounds were fuzzy, through the haze of last night’s deafening beats. Eyes cracked open, unfocused as he inspected the half-eaten remains of a kebab just a few centimeters away.
Hugh didn’t have a problem. The world was a problem, that’s all there was to it. Yet here he was face down on his floorboards again, his skull thumping uncomfortably with the same thrum of the techno beat of the night before. Skin was sticky with sweat and sins of the flesh. It itched so he scratched.
What had he done last night? Picking through hazy memories he picked out a girl, short black hair, large breasts, quite a looker. She wasn’t here was she? A slow inspection proved she was not. It was rare he brought them home, not even to his flat in Edinburgh.
When he got the strength to hold his head up he’d get up. It wouldn’t be like this tonight, he promised himself for the thousandth time, but it was always the same. From a distance a small, scruffy ginger bundle made its way to him; little fold ears pressed down to his skull. Almost disapprovingly he tiny cat looked him over, the stench of ale thick on his breath.
“Aye, I ken Mog. I’m a mess ye dinnae need to say it.”
Then warm fur was against him, the feline rubbing up into his face, seeking affection.
“I wis oota it last night, I dinnae mean te scare ye… jist… happens that way sometimes.”
Mog just blinked owlishly at him before tugging at his shirt with sharp claws.
For the first time in a long time Hugh found himself with someone to talk to.
Even if it was just a cat.