K.C.Member Since 26 Mar 2011
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About Me? About Me? About Me? What do you people want to know???
I'm a writer...sooooo here's something I wrote:
72 Hour Hold~
Laying on the bed and tossing the hacky-sack, it hit the ceiling with a thump, leaving a dusty circle on the off-white paint.
It looked like a happy face smiling down at me.
Will I remember how that got there in the morning?
It’d been days since I slept…I tried to remember how long, but my brain couldn’t think. Was it two…maybe three…oh wait, I think it’s been four days since I last slept.
The repetition is relaxing, but not enough to drift off to sleep. I closed my red blurry eyes, yet sleep was still beyond my grasp.
Reaching up, I didn’t need to look. I knew exactly where the bottle of Jack was on the headboard. Earlier, I had mixed the whiskey with soda to deaden the taste, but now, I was drinking it straight from the bottle.
The summer night was muggy, seeping moist balmy air into my tiny apartment, through all the cracks and crevices in the paper thin walls. My boxers clung to my sticky body.
The last time I took sleeping pills, they didn’t work. I was wide awake an hour later…maybe I should take two? Heck, its summer vacation and I’m not scheduled to work at the leather shop tomorrow…I can sleep all day if I want to.
Rolling out of bed the sheets stuck to my sweaty back.
My small bedroom was separate from the only other room that was the kitchen, dinning room, living room and bathroom all combined into one. There was a partition so guest couldn’t see the toilet, but let’s face it; you couldn’t take a shit without everyone knowing. It was best to tell guest that you were sorry before stepping behind the wall.
Didn’t need to worry about that tonight, nobody's visited in weeks. I don’t really blame them. As bad as my moods have been, I wouldn’t want to be around me either.
I know those stupid sleeping pills are here somewhere, but never expected to find them in the bottom of a cluttered kitchen drawer…along with a bottle of painkillers.
Dislocating my shoulder a few months ago hurt really bad at the time, yet somehow the bottle still felt half full. Both bottles in hand, the room started to spin.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get some sleep, dull the pain, and pray that tomorrow was a better day than today.
Why do they give childproof lids to people like me? Can’t they tell I don’t have kids?
The whiskey burned washing them down. I forgot to screw the cap back on and dumped the last bit of alcohol across my bed as I tucked it under my head like a glass pillow.
The hard edges are going to leave weird marks on my face.
Will I remember what happened tomorrow?
Feeling sleepy…I’m calm…my skin tingles…I’m relaxed as I drift off to sleep.
“Oh my god, KC, what have you done?” The voice is familiar. I think it’s my own…nope…it’s Ebby.
Mom can never tell who’s on the phone when we call. We look and sound exactly alike.
Flashes of light!
What’s that annoying sound?
Who’s shaking me?
Why do they keep shouting my name? Of course I know who I am. They obviously do too or they wouldn’t be yelling my name.
I smell vomit and piss.
Why am I tied down? I pull at the restraints, but they don’t budge.
This isn’t my bedroom.
It’s too white…too neat…too sterile…
Great, how will I explain this tomorrow?
If you like my writing and want to read more, here are my Stories:
(help put my kid through college
(Enjoy stories for free, but comments are always welcome)
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- Age 42 years old
- Birthday November 10, 1973
Under your bed