The Hangover
"Ahhhh," I groaned, my hand resting on my head as I frowned.
The sun filtered in through the windows of my chambers, the warm golden light doing little to ease the pounding in my head, the thick syrupy sensation of hangover that weighed upon me like a curse.
I groaned again in pain, my voice a low guttural sound as I sat up in bed, my eyes squinting against the bright light, my fingers massaging my temples in a vain attempt to ease the pain.
"Another night of revelry, another morning of regret," I muttered, my voice thick with the vestiges of sleep of alcohol.
As I struggled to remember the events of the previous night, my mind was a swirling, foggy haze of revelry that obscured the memories of last night like the fog obscured the view of a mountain top.
