Flash Fiction Friday: The Horoscope

Today's Flash Fiction Friday post is . . . The Horoscope.

"Damn," George said looking in the mirror.  What the hell did he do last night?  His eyes were sunken and blood shot, his skin was a pale yellow color as if he was literally full of piss.  His black hair was all a-tussle and some of it seemed to be matted together.  And there was an aching in mouth and blood dried in the corner.  And his mouth felt as if he'd eaten something not meant to be inside a human orifice.  He grimaced.

"Oh fuck!" he exclaimed, which hurt his head.  Right in front of his mouth was a missing tooth.  One of the big ones in front.  The black gap stared back at him like the gates of hell.

"What in the name of God did I do?"

He looked down, trying to think, remember.  There was a lipstick tube on the counter next to the sink.  From its haphazard angle it seemed someone just tossed it down.  He thought about picking it up but he was afraid of it, as if represented everything wrong with this morning.

It started with his horoscope.  It was Friday, last day of work for the week.  And his horoscope seemed to know this.  "A good day for celebrating," it said.  "Enjoy a good time with friends."

Well, if I had friends, George thought.  George read a lot, studied a lot, but friends, no. 

He remembered the bar.  He remembered the shots.  He remembered the dark-haired girl egging him on.  Who was that girl? he growled.  And what happened to my tooth?

He jumped when the hand touched his naked back.  He turned.  She was there: the dark-haired girl.  She smiled sweetly and grabbed the lipstick.  She was dressed in the same outfit she wore last night at the bar.  And she had a five-o'clock shadow on her chin.

She kissed his cheek and he felt the stubble against his dermis.  "You were wonderful last night," she whispered.  He didn't remember her voice being so deep.

"Who are you?" George asked, staring at her, trying to make the dark stubble go away.  It didn't work.

"I'm Chastity," she said.

The woman looked in the mirror.  "Oh, damn, do you have a razor I can borrow?  I can't go out looking like this."

George felt light-headed.  She was, he was, it was a dude!  He fainted, hitting his head on the toilet.  "Chastity" gasped and bent over to pick George up.  She was, he was strong.  "Oh baby," he said.  "You did that last night, too.  Knocked your tooth out."

George looked up at her, at him.  "Did we?"

She smiled.  "We did.  And like I said, baby, you were fantastic."

George felt the bile rise in his throat.  "I was?"

"Chastity" smiled.  "Yes, you played Quixotic on a triple word with the "q" on the triple letter.  I have never played Scrabble with someone as good as you.  It's so great to have a challenge for a change."

We-we-we played Scrabble?"

"Oh yes!  You were bragging how good you were at the bar and I thought it was the shots talking but you came through."

"Then why did I faint?"

"Chastity" smiled sweetly.  "I guess I surprised you."

"How?"

"I played 'jeez" on a triple word with the 'z' on a triple letter . . . twice."

Chastity looked in the mirror again.  "Really, darling, can I please borrow your razor.  It's bad enough I slept on that lumpy couch and now my back hurts.  You can't send me in public looking like this!"

George stammered out that the razor was behind the mirror.