Polaroids Lost in Time

Rosie

Pouring the burning liquor into the glass, she contemplates on whether or not to drink the whole damn bottle. It takes two whole seconds for her to decide.

Screw it. Screw the whole goddamn world.

"Cheers," she whispers to the empty room.

She brings the glass to her lips, anticipating the hard liquid.

She downs the first drink, tasting it for a second before it burns her throat.

By the fourth, she consumes it with ease, already used to the feeling.

And by the seventh, she feels the walls around her move and the table shift from side to side.

A cold laugh escapes her lips, although nothing seems to be funny. I'm going crazy and there's no one to see it. The alcohol clouds both her vision and mind with darkness.

By the fourteenth glass, she finishes the bottle, smiling at her private accomplishment. And somehow, she feels a tug of regret. But it wasn't just the alcohol that was burning, but the image of him flashing in her mind. Stupid alcohol. Make me forget.

So the alcohol obeys and the only sound she hears is her own cold laugh in the empty room.