And not a single bit of shimmering pink liquid was left. Another empty bottle of love shattered on floor. My father was intoxicated on it for the fourth time that week. He thought clearing out three bottles would make up for being apathetic for so many years but at that point, I wanted to have an apathetic father instead of one who forced his fabricated "love" upon my mother and I. They say you can never have too much love but I say too much makes us irrational.
I left him passed out on the kitchen floor and her locked away crying in her room. The yelling was over but I refused to stay in a house that could hardly function off of a bottle of tragedy and commercialized emotion. They didn't need to know where I was going; I didn't want them to know. I had taken my keys and I drove off with my car; they just needed to know that I might not be coming back.
It was a Friday night and it was the perfect time to let loose. Why not? I chose to stop a party with plans to blow all my worries away. I was never much of a party goer but I made that night an exception. For once, I just wanted to have good time without burdens weighing me down. I had my two best friends by my side. Trisha and David did everything they could to make sure I would live that night to its fullest.
I was handed a yellow drink that had a slight shimmer to it. For a few seconds, the drink stood stagnant in my hand. I could feel my friends stare at me like how I stared at my drink. It had emotion in it and I didn't hesitate a moment longer. I downed that drink.
It was a Friday night and for once, I was doing it right. The music bounced the house; I bounced with it. "No more worries! Let loose! Be free! To our forever joy," Trisha declared as David and I toasted with her. We tapped our plastic cups together. We emptied them. They fell to the ground and we got more.
You know what's a burden too? Plastic cups. So I got three bottles. One for each of the coolest kids in school. My eyes shimmered as I handed off the bottles to my most wonderful best friends ever. I had a secret for them. "I know how to make tonight even better," my voice quivered with excitement; it was hardly a whisper. There was no time to waste; we needed to get rock n' rolling right then.
We're just like these bottles.
I took their hands and we ran laughing right out into the splendid night. "Take this, Trishy! No drinksies!" I handed my drink off to the ever-so-amazing Trisha as I performed the coolest magic trick ever: I pulled keys out my pocket and I dangled them in the air. "Let's go," Davy smirked grooving on over to my ride. Trishy followed suit. We all hopped in and let out a celebratory cheer. It was time to rock n' roll.
We all have our breaking points.
Windows were down. Music was blaring. "You're driving too slow," Davy poked fun at me. LOL. I slammed down on the gas as I chugged the rest of my drink. I let out a roaring cheer because I was living the perfect life. I loved my life. I watched the car pick up speed. It was going real fast, how beast is that?! My car had us rock n' rolling!
Sometimes we crack a little.
And not a single bit of joy was left in the bottle. It was taking up space, so I tossed it out the window and it shattered like one of those Greek plates. OPAH! Lol. Trishy was laughing so much that her joy came spilling out her nose. "Davy!" I turned to face him in the back, "Look at Trishy! Nose-agara Falls!" He busted out laughing because my joke was amazing. But I think I laughed more than he did. Yeah, I did. Hashtag, winner.
Sometimes we shatter.
They're telling me an 18-wheeler hit us right on. They hesitate when I asked to see Trisha. She died that night with her bottle of joy that shattered in her hands. I'm too scared to ask what happened to David.
Dad sits close to my hospital bed, asleep in a chair. He clutches divorce papers in his hand; Mom must have been by. He doesn't have drink on him; I suppose that's good. He probably thinks this is all his fault. And I'd probably blame it on all him if I still felt entitled to everything. Now I know. I'm not entitled to anything. After all, I don't have legs anymore.
Some would probably say having no legs would be punishment enough for me. It's not. Someone lost their life because I chose to mask my emotions with a bottle of liquefied, processed, modified hormones. How pathetic. I lost my best friend and I was probably laughing as she took her last breath. Hilarious.
David walks into my room. He wears a few scratches and a broken arm. My eyes widen; I'm delighted to see him alive. But I don't smile; smiling sickens me.
In his hand, he clutches an unopened bottle. As he walks towards me, I can see an orange liquid starting to shimmer though the glass. Empathy is printed in bold, gloried, cursive letters on the bottle.
"You shouldn't have that..." I say.
We all have our breaking points. And I'm just like that bottle.
"You shouldn't be alive," he pops off the top.
