Vodka & Dreams (Re-edited)

The sweet melody plays, just loud enough to be heard over the chattering voices of the other skaters.
As I continue to skate, I notice the round glass walls of the rink towering 80, maybe 100 feet into the air, sloping in at the top, to a much smaller open hole.
Stopping, I become aware of a massive sign. It is on the outside of the glass, and the writing is backwards; the letters towering up in front of me:

a k d o V f f o n r i m S

I gaze at this puzzle, now reading it backwards...

S m i r n o f f V o d k a

“Oh my god...”
“I’m ice skating...”
“INSIDE A GIANT VODKA BOTTLE!!!”

As the music continues to plays, the scene slowly changes...

The ice rink and giant bottle have now gone, and my view is
Of myself, reflected in the tv.

I reach for my mobile phone and turn the alarm off, stopping the repeating melody from playing.
Slowly looking around the room, I spot an empty vodka bottle laying on the floor.

“Another fucking day!” I mutter, as I sit up from the settee.
I run my hand down my face and wipe off the layer of dribble coating my skin.
Sitting rubbing my eyes, I stare at my refection...

“Weird fucking dream!” I think, “Anyway, none of that matters now, I have to pull myself together; today is the day!”
“I thought I would feel differently this morning, but no!”
“The moment of clarity that I experienced last night was real, and not just a drink induced state.”
“I have spent too long hiding like a coward, scared of facing rejection; today I am ready!”
“I’m going to show them what I’m capable off;”

“my writing;”

“my songs.”

I gather up the pile of A4 papers from the floor, holding them together, and banging them down on the table to square them up.
Grabbing my old briefcase, wiping away the dust, I try to open it:
“6325...”
“No!”
“6326...”
“No!”
“Shit, what IS that combination lock number?”
“6327... 6328... 6329...”
“That’s it; 6329! I knew it was something like that; 63 something.”

I open the case and tip out all of my old papers from work.

“I haven’t seen this lot since I was sacked; that’s over 2 months ago.”
“Well, everyone makes mistakes!”
“It was one stupid drink!”
“Ok, a couple; what’s the big deal anyway?”
“If it’s so bad then why’s it legal? Ha?”
“Yeh, exactly!”
“That was just the excuse anyway. They just kept going on about how things hadn’t been right for a while;
how my work had gone down hill.”
“For fuck’s sake! Everyone forgets things once in a while!”

I fill the case with my songs, shutting the lid until it clicks.

“I’ll show those bloody idiots from the office; they’ll be sorry when I’m famous!”

Showered, shaved and groomed I feel re-vitalised.
“This is a new man I see before me in the bathroom mirror;
distinctly dissimilar from the reflection I saw in the tv earlier.
Everyone looks crap in the mornings, don’t they!”

I grab a small bottle of Vodka from the cupboard.
“Dutch courage,” I think, taking a swig before slipping it into my pocket, and walking out the front door.

During my journey, I think about all the songs that I have written, and how meaningful they are to me:

“Which ones will they be interested in?”

“Perhaps some of my poems?”

“I could convert them easily to songs.”

“Maybe they’ll just ask me to write something new, once they see my talent.”

As my destination draws closer, I start to feel slightly nervous.
The impending visit hasn’t exactly been planned...
In fact, It hasn’t been planned at all!

With the entrance to the record company ahead of me, I stop and admire the magnitude of this huge shimmering building.

The enormous rounded tinted windows look robust in their construction, and through the glass and chrome doors, a constant flow of people traffic backwards and forwards.
I sit on the steps leading up to the entrance; the sound of a water fountain behind me, filling the air with the calming quintessence that defines the building.

I think about the dreams and aspirations that I have hidden from an early age; the fairy tale life that I would lead;
the money;
the success.

As I smile, I brush away a tear.
Standing up, and slowly reaching out to pick up my tatty brief case, I hear a voice;

“Can I help you?” a security guard politely asks.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I answer.

He stares, inquisitively at me, half smiling.

“It’s ok, really!” I laugh, “I just got so lost along the way that I ended up coming to the wrong place.”

“Oh, I see, and where do you need to get to?” the guard asks helpfully.

I look him in the eye, “Somewhere I should have gone a long time ago!”

Thanking him I leave, taking my box full of dreams with me.

Reaching my new destination, I survey the scenery through the evening dusk.
An old brick built building, the entrance being an old wooden door with yellow paint peeling from it.

“What a far cry this is from the scene that I visited today,” I think.

Crossing the threshold, I follow the corridor to the end, stopping to read the sign on the wall, which directs me up the stairs.
Going into a room I sit down, resting my case down on the old wooden floor.

“You look like you’ve had quite a day,” the warming voice asks.

“Yes, I certainly have,” I reply.

“So my friend,” he says, “tell us about yourself.”
Slowly standing up, I look into space and take a deep breath...

“Hi, my name’s Graham, and I’m an Alcoholic!”
Everyone claps.

“That’s a really good start, well done!” he says, ”and do you have anything else to share?”

”Well... I could read you some poetry I suppose.”