Next Morning Signs

His excellency Standor Fol, or as he called himself in this kind of morning, “Fucking Asshole”, threw up all over the bed. He dribbled the last remains of all the spit he had ever swallowed, rubbed his temples and took a deep breath after sitting up. That turned out to be a bad idea; the smell of cheap brandy and even cheaper meat dumplings made him want to retch again, and if he’d had anything left inside of him, he would have.

He stood up naked, feeling way older than he was, and scrambled for his robes. He threw them on backwards, though he only realized when he looked at himself in the mirror. The light of the early morning reflected in his eyes like tiny-needles.

When he managed to open his eyes, he cursed at himself as he saw the enormous cock drawn on his forehead. He did not know who had done it, although he could vaguely recall someone having bet him a penny he would not do it. He checked on his back (front) pocket and found it.

He cursed himself, blaspheming his god and all of the others, existing and non-existing, for being so damn stupid. He scrubbed strongly at it in his basin, and managed to make it look like two parallel lines with a small tip; it might pass as a religious symbol. The cock might have been more suitable.

He got down from his rooms, suddenly hungry, and fetched some bread from the kitchens, glad to never have taken a vote of abstinence. The only thing that would be fast in his life was the way he would inhale his next meal.

The monastery was empty, as always; Fol was the only one tending it in the summers. The thing that made him most proud was that the townspeople seemed happier when he was around. He then went to the bathroom, to try to see if god would grant him the wish of shitting out the remains of the night before. That felt like glory, and he would know about that.

He then heard a noise, a small scream that bounced around inside his brain, coming from the bathtub. He poked his head in and saw a baby goat, baaaing at him with the innocence of animals that do not know if they are going to have a meal or become one. Fol rubbed his temples once more, wondering if this was a sign from god himself. He should stop drinking. Be an example for the community, at least until autumn came around. He then looked out the window and saw two townsmen, rolling a huge ball of cheese, and two more rolling a keg of ale towards the inn.

The sign could be postponed, he thought. In the end, he was the one to interpret them.