Sore throat flushed by graceful whiskey, drunk from the tip of the merciful bottle. He drank consequently. He drank desperately. Smooth candle light reflected through the bottle. No more than a sip left for his emptiness to prey on.
Cracks between the closed curtains in front of him leaked thin rays of light, it seemed as dawn. Depression translated in his surroundings; broken glass on his left, spilled alcohol on his right, the candle in between. He could hear the wind and rain from behind the walls. It has been going on for days now; this never ending storm. His hands trembled as he drank the last drop. The sound of thunder broke his silence. As a thin line of lightening struck earth, as rain dropped rapidly, he broke down. He was sitting on the couch now he's sitting on the ground. Like a four year old child robbed from his favourite toy, he sobbed. No words could get out of his mouth.
His hand desperately reached for the table on which laid pictures and papers. He went through them all, threw few on the ground until he found the one he was looking for. He held on to it, as if shadows were pulling it away from him, he pulled back. His fingerprints instilled on its edges, next to her smiling face. In an anger rush, he threw it away. He pushed the table. The candle lost its balance, its flame touched the floor and in a matter of seconds, the room illuminated. He did not get up, he did not run. He sat still looking at the flames going up and down twirling with the smooth wind. He smelled the burning flesh, yet felt nothing at all. Numb since it has occurred, numb till it's all over. He closed his eyes and rested as hot light took his memories away.
No comments:
Post a Comment