General

Carter opens his eyes to the dimly lit room, though it is daytime no-one has opened the thick drapes. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses Celine and one look at her tells him that her head is just as bad. She squints, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and moans before retreating under the duvet.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 15, 2016.
General

The aching in my skull ebbs and flows like a cold tide, yet the pain is always there. I understand at once why they call it a hangover, for it feels as if the blackest of clouds are over my head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 15, 2016.
General

The hangover feels like a balloon under my cranium, slowly being inflated, pressure mounting. I splash cold water on my face just to feel something refreshing and instantly wish I could wash my brain free of the toxins too. The mirror shows my eyes, no longer the glamour girl of last night, a lattice of pink over the white.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 15, 2016.
General

How the smell of the wine last night was intoxicating, yet this morning it adds to the nausea. The thirst stays after each slow drink of water and my head feels fit to crack open.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 15, 2016.
General

Leon wrapped himself in the duvet, waves of nausea adding to his misery. His phone pinged with message after message, none of them from Amelia; hers was a special ring. His brain felt like it would swell beyond the capacity of his skull and now his dehydration was too obvious to ignore. He would have to bump down the stairs on his backside. Again his stomach lurched and gurgled. Perhaps some painkillers would help too. He raised his heavy eyelids half way only for them to fall shut. He raised them again and swung his bare feet to the carpet again. It was cold and sticky underfoot, he must have missed that earlier. One bleary look told him what he'd been eating last night with Val, late night fish and chips apparently. He sank back to the bed; too many jobs to do, so much mess and his life in tatters.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 13, 2014.
General

Leon was more aware of his cracking headache than the layer of dehydrated saliva that coated his cracked lips. Once on his feet the room swayed almost causing him to loose balance and he reached out for the wall. His hand slipped along the high sheen paint and he sprawled onto the carpet with a crashing thump. The room swirled before becoming stationary again and he used the bedstead to pull himself to standing. This feeling meant he'd had some fun the night before but somehow it wasn't there in his memory. Perhaps Val had come over, he was always good for a piss up. He smacked his lips and his stomach turned in an unfriendly way. A fry up was probably the last thing it needed but he was going to have one anyway. Perhaps Amelia would cook it for him, she was good at fried eggs and bacon. But first he had the stairs to negotiate. He dug his phone out of his jeans pocket to text her, but there were a surprising number of Facebook posts for him. One click told him breakfast was off...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 13, 2014.
General

From the pounding head, vomit taste in her mouth and dehydrated feeling she figured she must have been drinking heavily last night. Her throat felt like sandpaper. It hurt to move. It was like the flu only self-inflicted, which meant she'd get no sympathy from anyone. At least the curtains were still closed, she was always adverse to bright light when she was hungover. Maybe she could sleep it off. She curled under the duvet and closed her eyes. She wanted to be nineteen again when she didn't get hangovers, now with each passing year they got worse. This must be why so many older folks didn't get drunk anymore, they'd learnt the hard way.

By mudslide, November 2, 2013.
General

It was midmorning and I still had a head that felt like an axe was planted in it. My eyesight struggled to cope with the daylight and I fumbled tying the belt on my dressing gown. With my brain still struggling to recover from the previous night's abuse I had very few options. Reading would be impossible, the TV too garish and I was staying away from social media for fear of what I might see. So instead I elected to feed myself and dragged my heavy limbs into the kitchen to make a fry up. Eggs, bacon, sausages, perfect for a hangover.

By sallydavis31, October 22, 2014.