She takes a sip and looks at me, but I gulp down all mine. It's when I feel fuzzy and look at the empty glass that I sense the unfamiliar flavor of the aftertaste in my mouth. There must've been a mistake. My eyes go wide and before anything I fling the glass from Liz’s hand, it hits the ground and the sound of it shattering echo in my head like the sound of multiple gunshots ricocheting off the inner parts of my skull. I have little time before the emotion kicks in so I hurry. I run to the bathroom and shove a finger down my throat, hoping to vomit and get the liquid out of my stomach before it gets too late. Bile gathers behind my throat and I see the disgusting liquid go down the drain like a wicked phantom exorcised from my body. I throw up but not much, I'm starting to feel the dark grasps of the feelings beginning to clutch me. I need to know what emotion it is. The grappling hooks of the dark emotion claw at me and I resist, I can’t give in yet.
I sprint to the kitchen where the empty bottles rest in the garbage. I grab them and read the small-written words on the bottles.
JOY
MURDEROUS
YOU ARE READING
Crimson
Short StoryWe are vessels, containers of emotions. Like a jar of water we're filled and emptied of feelings, those feelings are what drive us...
