Housing Words of Horror

Happy Pills

Happy Pills
Word Count: 500
Just Write It | December 29th Prompt: #OneMore

Making my New Year's resolutions wasn't difficult. A middle-aged man still living under his mama's basement, freeloading and leeching off the steady paychecks streaming in from his brother's job. The list of resolutions could go on forever. Get a job, get married, find a new place, to list only a few.

A sudden urge pulled me away from the show blaring in the TV. Resisting was futile.

Grunting, I hefted my weight from the worn couch, tripping over a bump on the rug. I kicked it to the other side of the room, where the ornate purple swirls crawled up the wall like ivy.

Scratching at my belly, I trudged upstairs, the wooden steps groaning beneath me.

Darkness and silence embraced me, but I didn't bother to turn on the lights.

Blundering to the kitchen, I grabbed the handle of the refrigerator. A pool of light illuminated my blue cotton trousers, and my cracked, filthy brown toenails. Foot hygiene. Yet another addition to the list.

Pushing aside a line of beer bottles, I reached inside for my stash of pure bliss. My heart began to pound with an excitement I had only felt once before when I almost kissed a girl.

Happy pills. One of the last things in my resolution list. Even though my body craved them from the moment I inhaled them, I knew the consequences They were responsible for my bloodshot eyes, the crazed whispers in my head, the rotting teeth blackening my gums. But it wasn't time yet. The new year was a few days off. One more wouldn't hurt.

My hand tapped on nothing but the transparent shelf, where my happy pills should have been residing. I shoved the beer cans out to find that what I felt was indeed true. The resealable bag filled with pastel green tablets was...missing.

"No!" My heart jumped to my throat.

The kitchen lights flickered on; I suspected the clatter of cans on the ground woke my mother. Shutting the fridge, I whirled around and froze. Between my mother's hand, the bag of smiley faces hung.

"John, how many times have I told you to get rid of these. They're not healthy."

"Mama, please. Just one more."

She knitted her eyebrows and scowled, the wrinkles in her old face deepening to the look of disapproval I had come accustomed to.

"No." With stern firmness, she simply turned around and walked to the hall.

Happy pills.

My feet stalked after her.

Happy pills.

She flicked on the switch to the bathroom.

HAPPY PILLS.

I nearly burst into a run. She opened the bag, ready to turn it over and pour my happiness into the toilet bowl. Somehow, I clutched a golf club in my hands.

"Just one more."

I swung.

Splat!

A moan.

"One more."

Splat! Cruuuunch!

The pills scattered on the ground, and I dropped the bloodied club on my mother's convulsing body. I pinched a pill between my fingers and popped it into my mouth.

"Just. One. More."