I woke up to what felt like getting stabbed in the ear. I turned off my alarm clock buy hesitated to get up at first. Eventually I pulled my body out of what I now considered my safe place. unwillingly, I walked right into hells kitchen, because I'm already in hell. I threw open the fridge and pulled out a Bud Light. I hit the cap on the edge of my granite counter. The feeling of the ice cold alcohol pouring down my throat soothed it's dryness after sleeping for a grand total of two hours with my mouth open. Also after crying for many hours beforehand. " Fuck..." I muttered to my self " why couldn't I just come up with a God damn machine that would work for once... " I turned to see the half-complete but failed attempt at saving my mother. All it is now is a metallic burden burned into my eyeballs. I smashed the beer bottle on the counter and ran into the garage with an angry expression on my face. I grabbed my old base ball bat and returned to my living room where my burden stood before me. I raised the bat as my eyes got watery. I swung. And swung again. With each swing of the bat more tears fell down my cheeks and more metal of the attempted creation flew as if I was destroying myself as I destroyed my burdens. This time I wasn't silent as I yelled as I swung " Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! " I started to get quieter. " Fuck. Fu- " I dropped my bat and sprawled out onto the floor covered in tears and chunks of metals. I'm such a failure.
YOU ARE READING
The Cold Touch of the Hand that Holds Mine
Science FictionGarett Johnson, a lonely inventor struggles with extreme depression after the loss of his mother and builds a human-like android he can interact with to keep himself sane.
