Jono Starsmore

Jono had woken up today with a headache. Or, rather, with a roiling sense of wrong that surged and twisted and beat away at the inside of his head as though an entire footie team was running practise in there, cleats and all.

It didn't settle in so well with the rest of it; how he still felt like the butt of some cosmic joke, how he had managed to nearly kill his girlfriend and now everybody and anybody who had seen him on Friday was likely to just look at him in pity. It made him decide, somewhere over the course of the day while he attempted to will himself into a sitting position at least, that the universe could just do him a great bloody favour and swallow him up.

... He hadn't been expecting it to listen to him. It never had before.

[And another one bites the dust! NFI and establishy, natch.]