Bottle In The Basement

VII

Jimmy cried for some time before regaining his composure. He couldn't say how long it had been since he had thrown the bottle, he had no light or clock to judge time on, but when he returned to the cellar wall, he could still feel the wine dripping down it.

He shuddered at the feeling and kept walking. He hitched the rope up over his shoulder and readjusted his grip on the sealed wooden crate under his other arm.

He winced in pain as he stepped over the shards of glass with bare feet. He felt them slice and cut but could not tell exactly how badly it had injured him. All he knew was that it hurt like Hell and that he wished he hadn't kicked off his shoes before coming down.

He walked in pitch black for some time without any of his surroundings changing. He thought that he might go insane if he didn't see something soon. If he didn't have some kind of change in visual. Just a peek of the sane world, just to know he was still alive and sane.

So when he saw a dim glow from the corner of his eye, he knew he must be advancing on the old wooden staircase. As if to immediately confirm this suspicion, he felt his unprotected bare pinky toe slam into the wooden frame of the bottom stare.

Jimmy winced in pain, feeling as though his foot was spontaneously becoming engulfed in white hot magma. He gritted his teeth and breather heavily through them until the pain lulled and he was able to proceed his climb up the stairs.

Limping with both feet, one more than the other, Jim struggled to ascend from the darkness of the horrid basement. Between the years of alcohol abuse, his injuries from the car crash, and his more recent wounds, he found moving to be difficult.

The splintery wood was bad enough as it was but to be digging sharp blades of wood into Jim's raw, exposed, bloody feet was almost unbearable. Tears began to swell in his eyes from the increasing pain.

Yet despite the mass difficulty to reach the light, Jim found himself getting closer to the apex of the stairs. He was beginning to get close to the thin line of light shining from under the door, casting dusty rays only a short way into the basement before cutting off.

With a final huff and heave, Jimmy pulled himself up the last few steps. Happy to be ending the journey, he sat down with a sigh of relief. He sat and appreciated what he had for a moment.

He appreciated that he was back in the light. That had been fortunate enough to find a rope, a pill bottle, and some kind of heavy wooden crate. He went over all he was thankful for. It was a little game one of his therapists had taught him.

So as Jim sat at the top of the stairs in that dark cellar, going over all he was thankful for, his father was miles away, in an office building downtown, wondering where his beloved son might be at.