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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Dark · #2162099
A fiction short story about alcoholism.
The Stench


Another restless night with no one to share your despair with... Again. The pain walling up in your eyes and the sting in your throat, too many broken mirrors and tears shed. The burning sensation of the broken glass on your knuckles, and the warm blood dripping down your fingers is the most of the pain you feel.

You're thirsty, but not for water, for alcohol. Your thinking of walking to the bar down the street, hoping and believing that it will take the pain away. You get out of your bed, migraine, as usual, and make your way to the bathroom. The smell of black mold and a hint of sulfur seems to taunt you, adding to the splitting headache. You get to the bathroom and hold onto the sides of the sink, you sulk your head down, relaxing your back. You look up slowly to see the smashed mirror with some of your own blood on the shards. You turn on the ice cold water, and splash some on your face, sending goosebumps down your spine.

In about an hour and a half, you have prepared yourself for the night. You grab your bag, and leave. You get to the bar and sit in the far back of the bar. You order Vodka shots, Moonshine, and a few beers. You get the Vodka first and take the first shot almost immediately, your eyes watered slightly, and your throat burned like fire, you've never had most of the things you ordered, but you didn't care. Soon the beers came, and you were starting to feel tipsy. You get two beers, and you practically chugged it. The alcohol was getting to your head. You thought that more would fix it, but you were wrong, it added to the headache from earlier.

After drinking the rest of the stuff you ordered, you were starting to feel as if you were in a dream. You left the bar, and walked down the street and started to stumble a few times, until you fell face first on concrete. An unfamiliar man calls 911, because you were hurt, and you fell in front of him. The police arrived with an ambulance, the police questioned you, and you said nothing. They took you to the hospital, they said you fractured your forearm. They saw your ID, and looked up closest family nearby, they found your sister.

Eventually, she arrived, and she did not look happy, quite worried actually. She sat by your hospital bed without saying anything to you. You were still very drunk, and slightly in pain, but the alcohol numbed it. You slept through the rest of the late night, wishing not to wake up there, or anywhere else.

You wish you never woke up, but you did. You wake up to the sound of your sister on the phone, maybe with your family. Your migraine had worsened, you try to open your eyes but your eyelids are too heavy. You feel as if nothing can help your thirst, not even alcohol. You open your eyes. You can feel the sudden shock of pain through your forearm, and you try and move your other arm to rub the hurt one, but you're strapped to the bed, some kind of elastic to hold down your arms, shins, and torso. Your knuckles have been stitched up, and our arm wrapped.

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