It floods away tomorrows…
(1)
The bottle
was out of his hand before he could stop himself. He watched sailing across the
living room towards that fire place. The bottle instantly disintegrated against
the wall leaving the fire place bleeding with red wine. He heard himself say
"easiest hundred bucks I ever fucking spent!" The chunks of glass
reigned all over the dog’s pillow and the tile of the fire place.
He started towards the shards of the bottle so he could admire his handy work. Movement out the corner of his eyes freezes him in place. The dog is on the move, and trying to get to the mess to investigate. Even in a blind and maddening rage he wasn't out of sorts enough to risk the puppy’s paws. After all he wasn't a totally monster. Was he? In a voice the dog rarely heard he commanded her to sit and she froze in place and sat. He spun on her and ordered her to her room and took a step towards that direction. Squatting to the floor almost touching, with her tail between her legs, and ears flattened she turned and slunk towards the hallway. He screamed again get in your room now and the dog ran into the guest bathroom. He never understood how this had become her room. He wouldn’t figure that out now. However, every time he asked if she wanted to go to her room she ran into the guest bathroom and sat down and looked at him. It had become almost a joke to him to ask her to go to her room so he could giggle at her running to the bathroom. It always made him smile. Today it did not. There was no joy in the world right now, and the emptiness he felt right now, made him wonder if there ever would be again. He slide the door shut and it ricocheted off the door frame and cracked the door back over. He never had realized his own strength. Not as a kid. Not now. He saw puppy’s ears drop back behind her head and look over her shoulder at him as she cowered in the corner near the tub. His heart wanted to break. He wanted to drop to his knees and huge her and tell her he was sorry. He wanted to wrap his fingers in her fur and cry the tears that had never come. However as quickly as that came, it went again. Once again he felt nothing. He felt nothing for her or the rest of world at this moment. Looking over his shoulder he made sure that she couldn't get out and get into his mess. With that he marched back into the living room.
With each step towards his handy work fists clinched a little tighter, until he felt what little of his nails start to dig into his palms. He felt a tightness running up his left arm. His chest felt empty. His head started to throb. This was something he had felt so many other times. His breath was jagged and rough. Madness was settling in and the black was moving from the back of his mind to the front. Settling wasn’t really the right word though, no there was a blitzkrieg in his mind and nothing would stop the black. It was like trying to stem the tide of the ole uncle momentum during a college football game. Once it started you couldn’t stop it. Instead of the playing field being fully of forty thousand screaming college student, it was his mind screaming, running, and racing in a million different directions.
He turned and faced the fire place with its new coat of Nth Degree. How well the wine covered his wall and fire place. The red wine reached its blood splattered pattern way of the Sagrada Familia's tallest tower. The splash radius was really quite breath taking actually. It was like a blood red bird had spread its wings across width of the wall. He turned his head looking at his new bloody bird and was annoyed that he had cracked the glass on the picture frame.
He walked to the screen door and tossed it open. He once again was amazed by his own strength as is slammed off the door frame. He stepped back into the back yard and into the foul stench of shit that always met him now when he stepped back there. He looked up at the fly trap and murmured "Fucking Dog!" He knew it wasn’t the dogs fault. He knew a lot of things. However, sometimes in anger he blamed others. This was one of those times.
He stood in front of his storage chest. He pulled up the top and looked at all the chairs he had in there. It was full. So many folding chairs. However that was before he had decided to go hermit and actually needed them for company. He wasn't interested in chairs though, or the memories they brought up. He was after what was hidden in the other side. That which was hidden under the removable shelf?
He dug the shelf and it content out and placed it on top of his worthless chairs; he reached in and picked up what appeared to be a tool box. It had been at one point, before the world had changed. Back when he actually rode his road bike. Now unlike the decoration his bike had become, he used this box. He stored stuff in it. He popped it open and picked a bag. He held it up to the sun light and smiled that had been a great weekend with his old buddy. He smelled the bag. He had always loved the smell.
He started towards the shards of the bottle so he could admire his handy work. Movement out the corner of his eyes freezes him in place. The dog is on the move, and trying to get to the mess to investigate. Even in a blind and maddening rage he wasn't out of sorts enough to risk the puppy’s paws. After all he wasn't a totally monster. Was he? In a voice the dog rarely heard he commanded her to sit and she froze in place and sat. He spun on her and ordered her to her room and took a step towards that direction. Squatting to the floor almost touching, with her tail between her legs, and ears flattened she turned and slunk towards the hallway. He screamed again get in your room now and the dog ran into the guest bathroom. He never understood how this had become her room. He wouldn’t figure that out now. However, every time he asked if she wanted to go to her room she ran into the guest bathroom and sat down and looked at him. It had become almost a joke to him to ask her to go to her room so he could giggle at her running to the bathroom. It always made him smile. Today it did not. There was no joy in the world right now, and the emptiness he felt right now, made him wonder if there ever would be again. He slide the door shut and it ricocheted off the door frame and cracked the door back over. He never had realized his own strength. Not as a kid. Not now. He saw puppy’s ears drop back behind her head and look over her shoulder at him as she cowered in the corner near the tub. His heart wanted to break. He wanted to drop to his knees and huge her and tell her he was sorry. He wanted to wrap his fingers in her fur and cry the tears that had never come. However as quickly as that came, it went again. Once again he felt nothing. He felt nothing for her or the rest of world at this moment. Looking over his shoulder he made sure that she couldn't get out and get into his mess. With that he marched back into the living room.
With each step towards his handy work fists clinched a little tighter, until he felt what little of his nails start to dig into his palms. He felt a tightness running up his left arm. His chest felt empty. His head started to throb. This was something he had felt so many other times. His breath was jagged and rough. Madness was settling in and the black was moving from the back of his mind to the front. Settling wasn’t really the right word though, no there was a blitzkrieg in his mind and nothing would stop the black. It was like trying to stem the tide of the ole uncle momentum during a college football game. Once it started you couldn’t stop it. Instead of the playing field being fully of forty thousand screaming college student, it was his mind screaming, running, and racing in a million different directions.
He turned and faced the fire place with its new coat of Nth Degree. How well the wine covered his wall and fire place. The red wine reached its blood splattered pattern way of the Sagrada Familia's tallest tower. The splash radius was really quite breath taking actually. It was like a blood red bird had spread its wings across width of the wall. He turned his head looking at his new bloody bird and was annoyed that he had cracked the glass on the picture frame.
He walked to the screen door and tossed it open. He once again was amazed by his own strength as is slammed off the door frame. He stepped back into the back yard and into the foul stench of shit that always met him now when he stepped back there. He looked up at the fly trap and murmured "Fucking Dog!" He knew it wasn’t the dogs fault. He knew a lot of things. However, sometimes in anger he blamed others. This was one of those times.
He stood in front of his storage chest. He pulled up the top and looked at all the chairs he had in there. It was full. So many folding chairs. However that was before he had decided to go hermit and actually needed them for company. He wasn't interested in chairs though, or the memories they brought up. He was after what was hidden in the other side. That which was hidden under the removable shelf?
He dug the shelf and it content out and placed it on top of his worthless chairs; he reached in and picked up what appeared to be a tool box. It had been at one point, before the world had changed. Back when he actually rode his road bike. Now unlike the decoration his bike had become, he used this box. He stored stuff in it. He popped it open and picked a bag. He held it up to the sun light and smiled that had been a great weekend with his old buddy. He smelled the bag. He had always loved the smell.
He tossed the bag that appeared to have some dried leaves, a few twigs and some grains in the back of the tool box and instead pulled out the box that was under it. His old friend the camel smiled at him as he pulled it out. He flipped the top open and put the cigarette in his mouth. He dropped the pack back in and then rummaged for a lighter. Finding one he took fire to the end of his smoke and breathed in deeply.
He sat the tool box now on top of the chairs. He took another long hard pull off the death stick in his mouth. Then bent over a final time and pulled out what he'd really been wanting, the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon and one of his oldest and dearest friends Jimmy Beam. It was an old friend who had been stopping over more and more since the turn of the year. Was this bottle 8 or 9? He didn't know. He'd lost count. He pulled the top off it and took a long hard pull. It was tasted; well it tasted like the sweet nectar of the old gods and the new. Sure it burned a little on the way in on the first pull, but by the last he was usually feeling as right as rain.
He didn't know why he hid it. It's not as if he'd ever had a real problem with booze. Sure he freely admitted to anyone who would listen that if he hadn't left Indiana and the Midwest when he did his liver would have failed long ago. However that was binge drinking and his misspent youth. That was looking for the ultimate ride. It was never ending search for a ride on the wheel of fortune or a twirl in the whirl wind. That wasn’t this. This was something much darker and more sinister. This wasn’t about looking for the thrill. This was about trying to find the bottom of the never ending pit that he so affectionately called the rabbit hole.
He took a pulled thick smoke down into his lungs. Then another long deep pull off the Beam. He'd love to say he hid it because he roommate would judge. Perhaps because he was ashamed he was drinking. That El Beav would reprimand him and tell him he wasn’t holding his end of the bargain. However neither instance was the true. He hides it because just like he'd been hiding the wrappers from his cheeseburgers under the hat in his car. Or the pizza boxes in the neighbor’s trash cans. He hid it because he still believed he could hide the truth from the world. Like his massive frame didn’t tell the entire story. After all aren’t we are not talking about a man who actually owned up to what he was doing? Wasn’t this all part of the long suicide note he'd been weaving for the last twenty years?
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