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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1672314-What-do-you-think-of-this-writing
Rated: E · Short Story · Adult · #1672314
This is the beginning of a story I'm writing.
There's vomit on the keyboard. It falls from my bottom lip, oozes over the F and the G and the H. I look down, smear it with my sleeve.

It crosses my mind I should care. I should care that my shirt is three days...four days...dirty. The puke thats starting to crust on my sleeve should bother me. None of it does. There's a water bottle on the desk to my left, its still halfway full with liquor. Its a shaken mixture of the last drops of everything in the cabinet. I've nicknamed the drink “Leftovers.”

I throw some of it back, it twists up my face pretty bad. It calms me a little, not so much the liquor but just the desperate frenzied motion. I take one more chug. It makes me feel like some kind of fucked up poet. All I'm missing is a suicide streak, and I don't think that would be too hard to dig up.

I settle my hands on the keyboard again,

It all started when things turned bad, and life got deep.

The G key sticks a little, I wipe it again. The radios still on, still pumping last nights beat. I turn up the volume a little, let it bring back where I started. God, I remember when it was my song, too.

Now it's a little too last night, and I'm too much this morning.

I try to keep banging out word and stringing sentences, instead I pull up pictures and study the smiles. I'm mid laugh, can't stop for a minute. My mouth won't close, it's talking and joking and kissing. I'm leaned up against Jim. Jim's flashing whites and blood, his tooth's broken but he can't feel it yet.

Jim always had such right teeth too, completely white, and same size and straight. A shame really, but it doesn't faze us then. Kay's shoe is in the oven, we don't find it until Jacob turns chef and turns it on. She trying to get in Pete's face, because of course he put it there, but he can't stop laughing. That was the reason Pete drew me at first, the world could be spinning right, sliding left and sending us all to the floor and he'd just be sprawled on the rug laughing his head off. It was hard to hate him, when he was the only one laughing.
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