Unpretty

Unpretty - 13

Standing now inside my apartment by the door, I take my pills out and take one.

I have to take them now so I can feel its effects sooner. 

I have to feel numb.  I have to be ready.

Inside my apartment I lay all my supplies on the living room’s center table. 

Grabbing my first aid kit from the bathroom, I add its contents to it.

There’s a bunch of cottons and bandages, several bottles of alcohol and antiseptic and a bottle of whiskey.

I open the bottle and drink directly from it.  They said painkillers and alcohol have serious implications, but I don’t really care about all that right now.

I need to feel nothing but courage for what I am about to do. 

Looking down on my stash, I see what’s missing.

He said I can’t have a dissecting kit, well who needs a kit when you can always improvise?

I place the bottle of whiskey on the table and walk around, searching my apartment for anything useful.

I grab some scissors and tweezers from my bedroom.    I grab the old and seldom used sewing kit with all its thread and needles with varying sizes. 

In the kitchen I open all my drawers and grab the two smallest knives I could find; a paring knife and a filleting knife.

These will do.

I return to my living room and place it all on the already crammed table; the bottles of liquid on the left side, the cottons and bandages on the right.

In the center of it all, my knives and other sharp objects.

There, finally assembled and ready.

But the pills and booze isn’t.  I take another pill and drink some whiskey, sitting on the couch and wait for it to take effect.

I grab the paring knife from the table and prick my left hand, disappointingly enough, I still feel it.

Taking another swig of alcohol, I realize that the bottle is already half empty.

I sit on my couch contemplating, maybe if I am another person I will never go through with this.

But I am not a different person.  I don’t have an easy life.  I don’t have a normal life.  In fact I don’t like my life.

This is me, I am unpretty and I have to fix it.

I should be scared but oddly enough I am not. 

I prick another part of my left hand with the knife; I might be already numb after all.

My head spins as I stand. 

Everything around me looks hazy, like looking through a stained glass.

Drinking almost everything from a bottle of whiskey can do that.

I stay absolutely still, my foot firmly on the carpeted ground. 

I wait a while until I can take control of my senses once again.  I wipe my bleeding hands on my shirt and start to drag the table towards the bathroom.

Just a few steps and I reach my bathroom door.  As I stand by it I feel unexpectedly tired despite the short distance I had to travel. 

Leaning against the cold wall, I realize that dragging the table among the other stuff in my apartment is straining enough for someone that is almost drunk as me.

Inside the bathroom I open the faucet and quickly splash water on my face. 

I slap my cheeks in the hopes of losing this spinning feeling.

Wake up!

I look in the mirror by the faucet and wait until my vision clears. 

Now certain that the alcohol isn’t clouding my mind that much anymore, I start to drag the table inside.

And now, the end is near... la la la la who knows this song? haha  page 14 later!