Drunk Mind Speaks Sober Thoughts Novels & Stories

" I let out a huff. He looked at me and then looked outside the window as if thinking hard and then nodded. "Yeah, it's better if I am sober to tell you." He said as if telling himself. "Okay. Good night, Alesso." I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. "Good night, I love you." It was barely a whisper but I heard it. My eyes shot open and my head snapped in his direction to only see him sleeping peacefully. Should I apply, drunk words are sober thoughts? Mhm, I took some time out of my study to do this.

"So you are confessing that you remember what happened that night?" "I'm confessing to nothing." "Should I jog your memory then?" "No! I covered my ears with my hands to block out his voice. He chuckled again. "You know how people become a brand new being when they are drunk? That is what happened to me." "I disagree with that analogy actually. I think that perhaps it only enhances a person's true trait or bolden them. Maybe even loose control, but a new person? No." "In my sane mind, I'll never call you daddy." I fired back.

That medieval looking water bottle. I internally cringed so hard that my organs ate themselves when he placed it near my mouth. I reluctantly nodded and drank. Please, no weird thoughts. Your brain is already filled with self-deprecating thoughts right now. You don’t need weird ones. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t— ‘It’s like sucking on—’ SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! I finished—

ADAM VAUGH I first open an eye and after a few seconds the other one, the lights bother me, my head throbs as if a heavy metal band was playing an inferno guitar solo on my temple. I’ll never drink like this again, getting wasted definitely doesn’t agree with me, I spend thirty five years without getting drunk once and now I can figure out the real motive: I’m an intelligent guy, I was right in being sober. The wet umbrella taste in my mouth, the sore muscles as if they had been crushed in a grinder. Anyway, all this torture after a drinking day, it’s definitely not for me.

he spits, his voice dripping with boldness; you would think he is campaigning for the most sacred thing in the whole world. You know, there is a saying that arguing with a drunkard is so pointless. He is drunk. He is confused. He is not in his sober senses. He might curse me if I tell him in the morning that he said all this nonsensical nonsense. With a slight doubt, unless he was drunk four days ago when he landed, which I doubt, leaving me with just one option. We both are confused, and we need to find our senses. This is the very first shit that I am handling. We need to sort out our feelings first. But not like this way.

I rubbed my eyes, my vision blurred from sleep or exhaustion, I couldn’t tell which. Maybe I was drunk. That had to be it. I couldn’t think straight. Everything felt disjointed, like my mind was playing tricks on me. I sat up and started to talk to myself, trying to make sense of it all. "I’ll be done with college soon," I murmured. "Then I’ll go back to the company. Take over like I’m supposed to."

Alone with my thoughts, I lifted the glass to my lips. In the midst of the crowded room's pulsating energy, my thoughts echoed aloud, "Another drink won't heal a shattered heart. But perhaps, just perhaps, it will blur the sharp edges of this agony, even if only for a brief moment." As the rich amber liquid cascaded down my throat, I welcomed the familiar burn accompanying each sip. Music blended with tumultuous thoughts, providing a temporary haven from the cruel reality I desperately wanted to escape. In this altered state, memories of their betrayal played like a broken record in my mind. Each swig from the glass became a futile attempt to wash away the bitter taste of deceit. The room sp

Sienna I lay flat on my back across the sofa, one arm draped over my forehead to block out the sharp glare of the overhead recessed lighting, while the other hand loosely dangled off the edge of the cushions. The smooth, cool glass of a heavy crystal tumbler was pressed against my palm, threatening to slip from my fingers every time my mind drifted. I was drunk. Drunk as fuck, honestly. The heavy, burning heat of whatever expensive amber liquid I had poured from the bar was currently sloshing around in my empty stomach, turning my thoughts into a thick, slow-moving fog.

“Sooner or later, you’ll thank me.” As his breathing slowed and the alcohol began to dull his thoughts, the house sank into uneasy quiet—haunted only by the faint echo of two minds trapped in one body, waging an endless war in the dark.

Why is my mind fucking blank. I'm cooked!