I don't drink, but when I do... Nah, I honestly don't really like drinking anymore, not because I don't like the taste or effect, but because the day after becomes like the week after. It's like paying off a fine for a time that was fun, but doesn't seem to be worth it anymore. Stay thirsty, stay lit, keep the fire burning.

Henry's Hangover

“Uggg, my fucking head”

Henry hadn’t drank in a while and he was quickly remembering why that was. His head hurt, his body sore, and, worse of all, his guts were all over the place. I felt as though his insides had been ripped out and stuffed back in the wrong spots.

“Henry, get up, you drunken louse!” Henry had an unwanted visitor pounding on his shack door.

With a groan and a grunt, Henry swung out of bed and opened the door.

A woman, red haired, fair lipped, and far prettier than the squalid exterior of the shantytown Henry resided in, stood at the entrance, arms crossed and an impatient scowl in her jowls.

“Henry, for Christ’s sake, put on some clothes.” She glanced down. “I can see your small dick.”

Henry grinned. “Come on, Gwen, you know it’s a grower, not a show-her.”

Henry did a little meatspin and then turned around to grab some clothes.

“Henry, I swear to God, if it wasn’t for that cute butt I would have shanked you in your sleep long ago for putting that little thing inside of me.” Gwen said after catching herself being fixated on Henry’s derriere.

Henry got dressed through his painful hangover, glancing over to see Gwen leaning against the door frame, impatiently huffing with arms crossed. He didn’t know what Gwen wanted but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the antics of the night prior.

After a long respite and promise he would never drink again, Henry went and did just that. He got so drunk that he was still processing the night as he buttoned his faded green shirt and zipping up the fly on his tattered jeans.

He remember something about the desert, then a war? It was too hazy, like a fog that might lift, just not right now.

“Hurry the fuck up, Henry,” Gwen started to raise her voice in anger. “You’ve got a trail of bodies leading right up to your door.”

Henry peaking around Gwen and confirmed what she said. There was a trail of bodies leading up to shanty.

“I had a bit of a drink last night, Gwen. That’s all.” Henry looked a bit nervous, silently hoping that those he had killed weren’t too important.

Gwen smiled a bit at Henry’s apparent worry. She had known him for a long time, longer than anyone else he guessed. Why she still came around and checked on him, even after they broke up years ago, wasn’t entirely known. Henry guessed it was because she felt responsible and therefore made sure not too many people got hurt around him.

It looked like she had failed on that task the night prior.

“Well, let’s get to it.” Henry cleared his throat. “Who do I repatriate first?”

Gwen looked at the stiffing corpses and Henry’s horse, Pebbles, trembling beside the shanty, The poor creature had been steered into the forest, obviously by a drunken Henry. Sticks and thorns were stuck in Pebbles’ mane, the saddle slid off to the side. Some people shouldn’t own horses. Those people were named Henry.

“It’s reparate, Henry,” Gwen began. “And I think poor Pebbles deserves an apology and a bit of the brush first.”

Henry looked at his horse and felt bad. Pebbles didn’t deserve this. He went to retrieve the brush and unclasped the saddle he had fallen out of when he returned to his shanty last night.

“I’m sorry, boy.” Henry cooed into Pebbles’ flickering ear. “I promise not to do this again, at least till next weekend.”

Gwen uncrossed her arms, a little less annoyed at Henry now. He had a good heart, he just needed to not drink, no matter what his friends might say. She still loved him, as a person, another reason why she helped him clean his messes.

Henry carried the bodies off to a cart, paid the fine to the town guard to avoid any jail time, and repaired his broken clothing and armor. His nights out were becoming more expensive collaterally than actively. Another couple of drinks and he would have ended up spending a day or two in the local jail, something that wasn’t bad, just boring. Henry didn't like being bored anymore than he liked being hungover. Combining the two would make the day feel like a year.

After the damage had been cleared, the consequences dealt, and the hangover slowly lifted, Henry went back to adventuring and clearing the land of bandits and foreign invaders. More of the usual, only now with a free conscience.

And so ends the short tale of Henry’s hangover. May God continue to bless his soul, keep mercy on Pebbles the horse, and give penance to Gwen’s patience, amen.