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Rated: 18+ · Prose · Psychology · #1688248
Written about alcohol relapse but could be applied to any insatiable addiction/want/need
She rolled the edges of the bill between her fingers. The air hung like wet sheets against her skin. She gazed in the window and could feel her dry throat craving the sweet liquid. She got that feeling. The feeling that she could really do it, right now, and that horrid longing would disipate like a storm opening to a blue sky. Right now, she could make it happen. Crack open the bottle, no need for a cup, wrap her lips around the cool glass and refresh what needed refreshing. Then her feet were moving, walking towards the door. Her mind raced round her head like a gerbil in a wheel. Anything could happen, she could make it so. Approaching the cooler her choices were made for her as only something icy could quench this thrist. She pulled the door open and grasped the cool glass. Holding the bottle close, she made her way to the counter. She set it down careful, as though it may break easily. The clerk behind the register met her gaze and opened his mouth to speak. His lips froze open, making no noise, his eyes opened wide and stared right through her. She did not understand. He seemed as though he should be speaking? His mouth closed and he seemed to look at her as though it was the first time he saw her. Then he looked expectant. He rolled his eyes and opened his lips to speak yet again, freezing in the exact same manner, and returning in the same. She could not decipher this non-language, these silent seizures. She gripped the bill tightly, in anger. Why would he not speak to her? Was he unable? She took the bottle from the counter and, turning slowly, walked towards the door checking back to see what the clerk was doing in reaction. He stood silent, She opened the door and re-entered the thick air. Then walked around the corner and slumped against the building. She tore the wrapping off the bottle carefully, preserving the design printed on the label, pressing it in a new shape on the cement beside her. Twisting the lid off, she licked her cracked lips. The rush of her earlier motvation filled her now. She raised the bottle to her lips and felt nothing. Nothing on her tongue.
© Copyright 2010 Jane Elizabeth (janeelizabeth at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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