The Drunk
"Double whiskey, neat", I said aloud in my empty apartment. Nearly filling the glass, I admire the disorganized strands of liquid belching from the bottles spout. How fickle is my life, that it is so heavily influenced by a golden brown fluid? As I think back on my life up until now, I tilt my head and sarcastically think, "No, I definitely get it."
I won't claim that my struggles are anymore than anothers, but I guess I'm just not as strong. Focusing through the brief windows of clarity in my distorted vision, I sometimes see the past. In those rare refuges, a home of solace and tranquility exists. How I yearn to stay there. How fervent my wish to cease the prolonging of my inevitable downfall. I just want to remain here for as long as I can maintain.
Pouring my final glass, I sit down on my bed and let the time encroach the night. Darkness envelopes me and I drift away, comfortably numb. Resting in darkness, I feel a light tap on my chest. I grumble, unable to open my eyes immediately. "Brice, wake up already!", a voice sounded as if it echoed through a deep system of caves. "Heather?" i whisper to myself, still unable to speak aloud. A second tap lands on my chest. "Wake up!"
I sit up quickly with wide open eyes. "Heather?" the room is silent except a clock ticking back and forth. "Its morning.." Looking over to see the half empty glass on my desk, i hunch over. Resting my head in my hands, I slowly wipe the crusting fragments from the corner of my eyes. "So it happened again." I thought to myself as I reached towards the glass. Gulping down the remains, I fell back and returned to my slumber.
