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Tuesday, September 13. 2005Alone
He probably didn't even know they were there. He closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief, leaning against the door, and closing his eyes. A quick flick of his fingers shot the bolt; a quick turn of his wrist closed the blinds. Alone at last, he must have thought. But he didn't notice the smoky shadows that slithered and swirled around him.
He set the glass on the bar, sank down onto the stool. As he stared down into the glass, one of the shadows wedged itself into the glass, and stared back at him with the face of a lost love, while another whispered in his ear about mistakes of the past. As he lifted the glass, and caught the scent of alchohol, a shadow hissed to him that before long, his breath would smell like his father's. He trembled while refilling the glass; he watched as the purple soaked into the white paper towel, and a shadow's sibilant voice reminded him how much it looked liked the bruises that had covered his mother's face. "You're just like him," it whispered. Heavy and slow, he sank into sleep. The shadows wisped around him, floating on his breath, sinking through his skin, waiting eagerly for the next time when he wanted to drink alone. Trackbacks
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