the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone (whiskyinmind) wrote,
the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone
whiskyinmind

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Original writing. Flocked. (no longer flocked)

Odd little thing I had to write. This is all mine, no fanfic in here, no real story either. Just words.




I knew she had two seminars that afternoon. That's probably why I chose that day, most days our room was a hub of activity - we used to joke that we would open a coffee shop and call it C-32 after that room.
That day I knew I had at least two hours on my own.

I had never been tidy, I wasn't exactly a slob but I didn't particularly care about keeping things in neat piles. I knew where everything was and that's all that mattered.

That day I spent the whole of that first hour tidying. I saved the desk till last, not sure exactly why, maybe it felt like I was really making that final break. Drawing the line.

When the desk was clear, I got her whisky out of her locker - Bells, ½ bottle - and I poured myself a mug full.

I set it at the back of the desk - right hand side - and made sure the surface was clean. That was important.

I thought about a note. I thought about a lot of things, but really, what was the point?

I opened up the pill bottle - laughing a little that the girl in the chemist had asked me the whole "For what purpose are you buying these pills?" spiel. At the time it hadn't even crossed my mind. At the time I still had a future.

Gridwork.

Rows of fifteen. That was important. I remember it was important but I don't know why it was.

Little white circles lying on cheap aqua Formica in neat little rows.

The whisky burned and I gagged. Would have been better with single malt, but hell - I was a student, and the whisky wasn't even mine.

I picked up the first circle - nothing like an eye - and swallowed. Left to right, that was important too. Don't know why anymore.

End of the first row, I couldn't see. Tears were blurring the grid. The pattern was gone.

I started from the right this time. Right to left. I don't know anymore if that was important.

Not even halfway along the row and the white blurred into the aqua.

I took another drink.

I gagged again. I'll never again drink blended whisky.

Tags: writing
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