One-Shots

Another Drunken Episode

I smashed my glass to the ground and let out a scream. It felt amazing, letting all of those feelings go. God, I hate being human. I hate having feelings. I hate being alive. Courtney rushed to my side and asked if I was okay. 

"Do you need help?" She asks.

Mentally? Yeah. I didn't answer in comprehensible english, just drunken slurs an groans. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was on my couch. Our couch. I can't say it yet. I couldn't actually bring myself to acknowledge what he's done. It's too early. Too soon. The wound is too raw. I stood up in my dim apartment, reaching for my coffee table. I felt around until the smooth box was in my grasp. 

My hands are shaking.

I grab the lighter and bring a cigarette to my lips.

After a while, my hands have stopped shaking, and I can breathe like normal. 

Vodka

I need vodka. 

I shoot out of my sitting position and stumble to the fridge, still not completely sober. I grab the large glass bottle and down what's left of it. 

Anything to take the pain away.

Anything to stop feeling.

That didn't work. Nothing seems to anymore. 

Every time I close my eyes, I see that note.

The old typewriter font.

The aged yellow package.

All six stamps. One of a melon, One of a rocking horse, then there were four more with the statue of liberty. 

"Darek Smith, KIA.

The remains of the deceased will be sent over shortly.

We are sorry for your loss.

             -USMC Marshall Cole

I let out another scream.

The irony of it all made me chuckle for a moment. 

That chuckle became a laugh, and the laugh turned into maniacal screeching. I can't take it.

Yes, screeching. Worse than a cackle. More agony is involved in screeching. 

Not like it mattered. 

Nobody understood what it felt like. When I was that version of myself, I was completely different. 

They didn't know the feeling of relying so much on alcohol that you constantly felt like you're drowning.

At that point, I was. Life was the water, and alcohol was the oxygen. I yearned, with every fiber of my being, for another sip. One more drop turns to one more bottle. In the end, this is the first time that I've woken up in my own home. 

And may I just say, I'd rather be dead.