Original Fiction >> General
The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.
Instead of In
Comfort in My
I wake up, feeling like I have a herd of goblins pounding on my head. I feel sick, and the thought
of stuffing anything solid down my throat, make me feel worse. I hear my family moving around. I
hear my dad go down the stairs, with his heavy boots, my mom mince down the stairs in her delicate
velvet flats, and my brother race downstairs wearing his new football boots. Of course, no-one comes
into me. Why should they? I'm a failure- a disgrace to the family. The front door slams shut- an
I jolt upwards, tears rushing to my eyes, and the all-too-familiar lump in my throat ready to choke
me. I moan, and hold my head. I always forget- sudden movements are a huge no-no when hungover.
I feel my way downstairs, lunging towards the sink where I gulp down water, straight from the sink.
It doesn't taste right- it's not my preferred version of “water”.
I cast my eyes around the kitchen, and notice an obnoxiously pink piece of paper wedged under the
empty fruit bowl. “Izzie,” it says. “There's lasagne in the fridge.” I
angrily blink the tears away, and crush the note in my hand.
I stumble towards the glass cabinet. I find my “water” the only thing tying me here
right now. Forget love, family, friends- alcohol is my thing. Boyfriends can leave, friends can
bitch, family can forget- alcohol never leaves.
I pull the bottle of vodka out, and caress it gently. It will never be missed- at least, not for
another three months, when m aunt comes over.
I tuck it into my “Mario Kart” messenger bag, and leave the house. I catch my
reflection in the shiny window, and grimace. On my way to nowhere in particular, I muse about how
much fun it would be to go into school when I have this full bottle gone. I giggle to myself,
downing a mouthful.
I get disgusted looks from passer-bys. They roll their eyes at me, shake their heads, cast their
eyes anywhere but at me. I challenge them silently to say something- no one does. Well, almost
One old dear says, “Poor girl. So young, and the drink has a grip on her already.” She
looks at me, her eyes full of pity, and shuffles on.
I stare at the sidewalk moving beneath me. “Wow,” I think, gripping the bottle tighter
in my hands. That really hurts. People used to look at me in admiration- pretty, popular, never in
trouble, straight A's, prodigy pianist… Now what?
I look at the bin beside me. I consider throwing the bottle in the bin, and running straight off to
the nearest church- I'd been told my whole life, “Tell the priest! He's able to save anyone,
I'm a broken shell- no-one can fix me. Not even a priest, super stars that they are. When the
person you love the most in the entire world leaves you because you're not who you used to be,
because he doesn't know you anymore, you know not even an entire Super-Glue factory can put you
Not that anyone would care enough to use up that much effort on me, though.
I sit on a bench, think over my life. Right, I decide. Today is the day. I begin walking towards
the church. I catch my reflection in the window again.
I stare, and stare, and stare some more. My hair, which used to be brown and bouncy, is a dark,
disgusting colour, with enough grease to fry an army sized batch of chips. My eyes have huge rings
beneath them, circling them in darkness. My face is greyish, not the clear paleness it used to have.
Something heavy hits against my ankle. I blink, and look down. Something glints back up at me. I
see the half-empty bottle of vodka smile up at me: mocking me.
In a sudden fit of rage, I grab the bottle and fling it on the ground- enjoying the noise the glass
makes as it shatters on the ground. I smile, full of accomplishment.
But as I watch the clear liquid pool around my Converse, panic builds up in me, sending me into a
I swear, wondering what possessed me to do such an idiotic thing. “Stupid, stupid,
stupid,” I chant, stepping away from the pool.
I stand outside the newsagents, begging people to buy some more alcohol for me. Most people avert
their eyes, shutting me out. Finally, one girl, around college age, grins at me, and ducks inside
quickly, coming out with four bottle of vodka for me.
“I remember asking people to buy some for me and my friends. Say, where are they, down the
park?” she asks, casually striking up a conversation. “Uh, yeah,” I say absently,
tugging the cap off. Her eyes widen, and she walks off, clearly thinking, “Did I just make a
heee-uge mistake?” Yeah, darling, you so did.
I head down towards the park- in a city as big as this, you can always find fellow teens drinking
their lives away.
We have a great time, downing drinks, smoking weed. A creep sits beside me, snakes his arm around
my waist. I start to feel scared, and a little nauseous. My mind starts screaming, “Stupid
girl! If you had just listened to Ryan when he told you that new crowd was dangerous, you wouldn't
be in this mess!” I try to excuse myself, but he doesn't let me.
“How `bout you an' I hav' some fun, eh?” he asks, his mouth over my ear. “No
thanks,” I slur, trying to escape the cage of his arms. He laughs. “To be honest, I
wasn't giving you a choice,” and encircles me tighter.
I remember vaguely the self defence rules Ryan had taught me that time I went to see Bowling For
Soup in The Academy that time without him. “Knee to the groin, heel of the hand to the nose,
and run as fast as you can.” I'd laughed at him, and told him he didn't need to worry, that
I'd be fine. He smiled, and said, “I just like to know you'll be safe.”
He loved me so much, and I threw it all away. Concentrating on his face, his beautiful face, that I
still haven't forgotten even after six months of never being completely sober, I thrust my knee
right up to where it hurts, and run like fuck.
I manage to get myself onto a bus, and sit right up next to the driver, shaking uncontrollably.
I get home, more or less in one piece, and stumble through the door.
I give my parents a fantastic welcome- a techni-coloured rainbow all over the door-mat.
My mom, with tears sparkling in her eyes, cleans it up, while my dad asks me, “Why?”
That was the very first time I'd ever heard his voice break, and hopefully the last time I'd ever be
the cause of it.
I shake my head, and murmur, “I have no idea.”
Believe me, I'd kill to give it up- to be free of this, the dryness in my mouth unless I get that
acidic taste there. I'd love to wake up in the middle of the night, and be able to get a drink of
water to moisten my mouth again. I'd love to be able to talk to my friends again, and to see Ryan.
But I can't. I can't survive without my “water”, and I know that, so why bother trying?
[Return to Top]
The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.