A glass half empty. A glass half full.
The clinking of bottles was eminent, and the chiming of those half empty and half full rung throughout the small space. With a gust of air behind her foot, Taj struck the cabinet shut with a hard slam. A bottle in hand was soon uncapped and brought up to her mouth, to its inevitable draining. This was her third today and it wouldn't be her last. Nothing drove her to drink other than the feeling that she needed to, the feeling she was hiding from with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Even as an alcoholic, the caustic taste still burned her throat. A shiver ran up her spine and into her neck as the taste hit the back of her mouth and slid down. Her eyesight wavered and her speech was slurred, just how she liked it. Like this, she could hold those terrible thoughts at bay and focus on the simpler things. A crack in the ceiling dripped solemnly while a lean and long cat lounged about lazily by the lamp. He watched his master drink away whatever sorrows she came up with now and only looked toward the clink of the cap as it was thrown to the floor and crushed underfoot. The wooden boards creaked at the stomp, much like the whine that sounded from the half elf from the shooting pain that flew up her nerves towards her lazy heart.
"Not now Oiyo…"
She spoke to the cat yet directed her words at the mirror across from her now, a scraggly and ruined image staring right back at her. A disgrace. An arm reached out to grab the counter and the night's leftovers stunk before her. It was almost enough to crack her awake from this slumber. Almost. Her hands began to play this stone piano, no keys to move and no music made. They pressed over memorized spots and learned notes, hoping and begging for some sort of sound to emit from the stone other than the harsh, low tapping coming from her sore fingers. The half full glass was slammed against the counter by its neck suddenly, wrung like a pheasant before a feast. It's half empty contents were spewed across the counter and into the carpet, staining both with the harsh smell of reeking alcohol. By now, her entire house stunk of it, the kitchen nothing new. Glass littered the wooden boards and down her eyes traveled, towards her bare and now bloodied feet. The veins along her foot were harshly cut into by the now drained bottle, other drinks readied to be emptied and wasted in this time of little to eat meals and expensive fruits. She should be more careful. She should be working on this addiction. She should be looking after herself. She only wanted to change for the better. She only did what she knew best: looked at that broken glass half empty.
The clinking of bottles was eminent, and the chiming of those half empty and half full rung throughout the small space. With a gust of air behind her foot, Taj struck the cabinet shut with a hard slam. A bottle in hand was soon uncapped and brought up to her mouth, to its inevitable draining. This was her third today and it wouldn't be her last. Nothing drove her to drink other than the feeling that she needed to, the feeling she was hiding from with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Even as an alcoholic, the caustic taste still burned her throat. A shiver ran up her spine and into her neck as the taste hit the back of her mouth and slid down. Her eyesight wavered and her speech was slurred, just how she liked it. Like this, she could hold those terrible thoughts at bay and focus on the simpler things. A crack in the ceiling dripped solemnly while a lean and long cat lounged about lazily by the lamp. He watched his master drink away whatever sorrows she came up with now and only looked toward the clink of the cap as it was thrown to the floor and crushed underfoot. The wooden boards creaked at the stomp, much like the whine that sounded from the half elf from the shooting pain that flew up her nerves towards her lazy heart.
"Not now Oiyo…"
She spoke to the cat yet directed her words at the mirror across from her now, a scraggly and ruined image staring right back at her. A disgrace. An arm reached out to grab the counter and the night's leftovers stunk before her. It was almost enough to crack her awake from this slumber. Almost. Her hands began to play this stone piano, no keys to move and no music made. They pressed over memorized spots and learned notes, hoping and begging for some sort of sound to emit from the stone other than the harsh, low tapping coming from her sore fingers. The half full glass was slammed against the counter by its neck suddenly, wrung like a pheasant before a feast. It's half empty contents were spewed across the counter and into the carpet, staining both with the harsh smell of reeking alcohol. By now, her entire house stunk of it, the kitchen nothing new. Glass littered the wooden boards and down her eyes traveled, towards her bare and now bloodied feet. The veins along her foot were harshly cut into by the now drained bottle, other drinks readied to be emptied and wasted in this time of little to eat meals and expensive fruits. She should be more careful. She should be working on this addiction. She should be looking after herself. She only wanted to change for the better. She only did what she knew best: looked at that broken glass half empty.
