FOREWARNING: Today's post isn't as fun and purely entertaining as I usually do (let's face it, I'm hilarious)
Now when you're done laughing at how I'm not that funny, you may avert your eyes down the page to my short story. I write short stories for fun on my free time. Weirdly enough, I write depressing stuff.
Whaddyaknow?
Anyway, take a look! Hope every likes it!
Broken Bottles
The liquor store’s funk dispersed throughout
the surrounding environment, welcoming the stumbling regulars to their daily
trips. Day in. Day out. Day in and day out, they make an annual visit getting
their booze to drown themselves in for the entirety of what was left of their
evening; they’re left with their wandering thoughts of why they chose to purchase
that same bottle of The Captain again
and again and again. Sometimes their minds travel towards why they chose to
purchase any alcohol in the first place, but somehow they are brought back to
that same aisle in the same liquor store purchasing the same damn bottle. In
their perception it was dream, but it was really a curse. They felt fine during
that delicious (but mostly dark nowadays) drunk; where all the worries about
whether they could pay their bill that month, or last, has run away. Or how
they lost the one they loved to the treacherous curse titled Captain Morgan.
Those thoughts sailed out of their minds and drifted away, hiding from them
until they took that last sip, because they think maybe, just maybe this time
thinking about it wouldn’t tear them to pieces after that drink.
Dean faltered step by step from the
last bus stop going through a town
in Louisiana, about an hour outside of New Orleans, a place where people roamed
happily. However once night fell, the doors were shut and the drunks,
“druggies,” or whoever else awakened from their afternoon slumber after passing
out around 7:00 am. No one could ever be too careful in such a secluded little
town.
“Keep the change,” Dean slurred as
he threw four quarters at the driver followed by a pleasant burp as he slid off
the bus. His eyes continued to roll forward and backward in his head.
“Yeah, just get off my bus buddy,
you reek of cigarettes and bad whisky,” the bus driver snapped at Dean, “And
take a Tic-Tac for the love of God.”
“No…God no Tic-Tacs from the store,
that I would—err get them candy,” Dean stammered to himself as the bus drove
off in the distance. He wobbled his way into the liquor store where the bottles
awaited for his leisure. His stench diffused throughout the store causing a mix
between the several scents of the establishment. Watching his feet one by one
he made his way to the Vodka aisle. He just had his whisky fix and had to
switch his options. He eyed the brands of the Vodka, but suddenly changed his
mind and cast his eyes to the Tequila section. He smiled because he suddenly
remembered he had salt at home. As he went to grab the Jose Cuervo off the
shelf, he realized he had no lime at home to use to take his shots of Mr. Jose
Cuervo. He then quickly remembered that he had half an apple left from lunch a
couple days ago, though.
“Same difference,” he said to
himself as he swayed back and forth attempting to keep his balance. He acted as
if he was a puppet being strung along by the puppeteer—who probably had one too
many himself.
Dean wiped his dirty, sweaty hands
on his worn out jeans that he forgot to wash the day before. His bright purple
neon LSU sweatshirt he grabbed from a Lost and Found box at the local
recreation center beamed so loudly in the store, the clerk couldn’t help but
notice Dean stumbling his way around the store as if he was learning to walk
for the first time.
The clerk cleared his throat, and
called out to the sad stranger, “Hey buddy, you doing okay over there?”
He looked around folding his hands
together on the sticky counter, which suddenly reminded him he had to clean
that off before his boss ripped him a new one again for leaving the store “a
shitty and utterly disgusting pig pen” again. He scratched his dry hands
nervously, his eyes darted back and forth as he shuffled his shirt cuffs.
Dean glanced up at the clerk,
swaying back and forth some more and squinted. After a moment of silence
between the men, Dean finally replied back with a belch. He rolled his eyes
around eventually venturing their way to back of his head again.
“Huh?” he finally said back to the
clerk awaiting his response.
He cleared his throat once more.
“I said, uh, are you doing okay,
sir? I have seen plenty of people passing through here. Believe me, they never
fail to surprise me with the types of drugs or how much alcohol they physically
can consume and somehow still stand, but you, aside from the obvious smell of whiskey
on your breath, seem different than the rest.”
Dean set aback from this rubbed his
eyes and straightened himself back up, for just a second, then shrugged back
down into a slouch. He felt his emotions and mind sink to the floor, beneath
the tiles. He didn’t think anyone would even notice, or care for that matter. He
possessed this emptiness inside of him that he never realized would disseminate
so quickly in such a desolate town; nonetheless, such a vacant store on this
Wednesday night. The Wednesday a week after he lost the love of his life. Well,
he thought she was. He didn’t know what to do. His love, the true love of his
life gave him that ultimatum: it was her or the bottle he had sucked halfway
down already. Dean decided a lifetime with his buddy, alcohol, was better than
irrevocable love from his beloved, beautiful woman. Sadly, he made the bottle
of Gin, Whisky, or whatever kind he was in the mood for, his soul mate.
“Lemme tell you somethin’ sir,” he
slurred out to the clerk, now moving closer to the counter, booze still in
hand, “I…am in love…and you know who that is?” He zigzagged back-and-forth
until he eventually fell onto the counter, using his Tequila bottle to hold
himself up.
The clerk shrugged.
“My love is this beautiful baby
right here,” Dean continues. “Awh, you’re looking fabulous tonight baby…mwah!”
Dean laid one right on the bottle, and continued to caress it, with a big smile
on his face.
“Sir, I’m getting a feeling you’re
pretty lost,” the clerk replies, “It seems like more so you lost someone more
than something.”
Dean’s face suddenly went down. He
finally realized what he was upset about. The bottle wasn’t fixing anything nor
did it make him forget. All his memories with her suddenly rushed all back into
his brain, breaking down the alcoholic wall blocking everything else.
“I…need her,” Dean sighs.
The clerk looked at Dean and said,
“Listen, I work here five days a week, and I have witnessed a lot of things. I
don’t say much, because well it ain’t any of my business, but buddy…you got to
get yourself together. I’ve seen way too many broken hearts and crushed lives
stumble through here, and it’s tough watching it happen. I see people ruin
their lives because of this store right here.”
“I feel like I’m ruining my life.”
“You still have a chance to fix
it,” the clerk said, “Put the bottle down. Leave this store, and get your woman
back. You ain’t gonna do yourself any good drinking your way into the ground.”
“She’ll never take me back...but
why are’ya helping me…you’re sayin’ to put the bottle down.”
“You got to try, because there is
no life coming through here, it’s only gonna take it from ya. I can’t allow
another life to diminish coming through here, so I need to say something before
I explode.”
Dean propped himself up, and opened
his eyes wide. He scratched the top of his head making sure he was listening,
and then smiled big at the man behind the counter.
“I’m gonna get’er back!” Dean
shouted, “Damn it, I want her back and I’ll get her. Screw this life. I’m gonna
fix it. I’m gonna fix it!” The clerk smiled as Dean raced out of the store, tripping
a few times, but nonetheless running with a purpose. Dean disappeared into the
darkness, and the clerk sat back in his chair and smiled to himself.
The next morning, the clerk parked
his Toyota in the lot right next to store. He got out of the car, and rummaged
through his key ring to open the store once again. It was a beautiful morning,
and he took in a deep breath.
It was 11:00 a.m. sharp when he
officially opened the store for the day, and as he was counting his drawer for
the day he heard the bell from when a customer walked through the door. He
perked his head up, and checked the clock. It was 11:02 a.m. He heard the
clunking of bottles from the rear of the store, and felt the heavy stumbling
footsteps near the counter. Startled by the heavy footsteps, he dropped his
keys. When he looked up, he saw the same bright LSU sweatshirt staring at him,
the overwhelming smell of whisky, and that same bottle of Jose Cuervo in that
dirty hand.
The end! Hey, lemme know what you think! To pick up your spirits here's a picture of a cute puppy chilling in a mug. Bye ya'll!!!!
