Fear Your Mother

04:30 am. Drowsy. Cold. Wet. Flip but my bed is uncomfortable? Maybe I should roll onto my side – ah, no that is kak as well. There is a stone stabbing into my side, why did I put a stone in my bed? Why is my hair so wet? Why can’t I feel my feet? Geez like this hang over is a shocker – I think I will just go back to sleep.

21:00, the night before. My Father always had a theory that nothing good will happen if you go out at that time of the night. Now don’t get me wrong – that does not mean you can’t leave at 20:30 and stay out until Rapture – but don’t trust the 21:00. “Ag, Dad we are just going down to Tin Cups. You know Angie and them – if it gets out of hand they will call you.” Tin Cups was an awesome place. Great rock style pub venue with an awesome outdoors area that nurtured Prime Circle in their younger and terribly tuned years. Not a Prime fan? Fair enough, you have testicles, – how about Saron Gas, Parletones, Wonderboom and Just Ginger. They all at some stage made their way through that epicentre of Witbank rock culture.

Anyways, ranting off target there. 04:45 am. I make the slow, swaying, journey come back up into consciousness and start taking a look around at my bedroom. Hmm, flowers and an intercom system? I don’t understand…why am I so wet? As I try to lift myself up the world slowly starts creeping in, the darkness enters my peripherals and like a virus consuming my vision – it narrows down my sight, weakens my elbows and I sag back to the ground. Out.

21:30 having a rocking time, juke box is pumping out War Machine and the drinks are getting in. After the fourth beer and singing along to Nirvana Lithium, Greg and I get that familiar feeling that tonight is heading in one direction and that direction is not conducive to either of us functioning well tomorrow. We make the call to just sneak in one more then call it a night.

05:15 am and the sun strikes my face. It’s a God send. It warms me up and begins to slowly dry me off. My nervous system starts coming back on line, one limb at a time, as my eyelids flicker and my senses do their calculations. There is something wrong here. I am not at home, I am outside. As my visions blurs I reach to the back of my head to assess the pain and bring back a hand full of blood.

22:00 pm and its time to take the leisurely stroll back home. As we pay our bill and collect our things the night took a massive turn. Cousin Brad walks into Tin Cups. Kak – so much for going home. Angie spots us spotting him and just smiles in anticipation of a good profitable evening ahead. So we get stuck in. Limousine brandy and cokes with tequila as a chaser. Doubles. The juke box got louder, the bar got rowdy, the couch outside saw its fair share of action and the last bit I remember is sitting outside in the drizzle, smoking a phat Cubin cigar and talking shop with my mates.

I later find out that I (we) left there at 01:00 am. I walked out with them, we shook hands – perhaps a drunken cuddle or two and went our separate ways home.

05:30am and I am fully conscious now. My knuckles are torn and grazed, I have a blue eye and black nails. With my wallet, watch and cell phone still on board I pick myself up off the driveway where I took rest. Just outside of the Greeks housing complex down the road form where I live. Blood flowed from the top where I passed out down to the street gutter. My head was cut up, my pants were sodded with mud and I have no idea how I got there and what the hell happened. I stumbled the last few kilometres home, pint or two low on blood, to face a far more dangerous threat than whatever attacked me last night.

My mother…