Post by Mr. X on Oct 5, 2010 9:41:40 GMT -5
Hi, I am planning to submit to another edition of an Anthology I was previously featured in. This time I am trying a very short story and would really like feedback on what is wrong, what is good and maybe what more I can add before I go to submit it.
My day begins just like anyone else’s. First I wake up, my mouth salivating; crying out for what my brain tells me I need. I shower, the chilled water piercing through the feelings I once had. I proceed to eat through agitated hands before I go to work. Upon closer inspection however, you will see I'm not like everyone run of the mill individual. I wake up with the promise I will not drink today. My head pounding, I only have the drinks from the day before to thank for that. The feeling leaves me weighed down all day.
I proceed to make my way to work. As I sit down to my white desk I pat myself on the back for trudging through the morning without a drink. As the day progresses I find myself trying to find ways to have a drink. Lunch time is a struggle of willpower as I walk by the bar on my way to the sandwich shop. Somehow I envy the lonely drunk at the bar table, looking as if he never left, night and day, just drinking. Part of me says that one drink will take the edge off of me, while another part reminds me of the promise I made to myself, to my wife, and to my kids. More often than not I give in and order a drink. One becomes two and two becomes three and lately I have been losing track. I've learned to cover it though, so that when I go back to the office, no one knows. I often feel better after a few drinks and I convince myself that I need the alcohol to get work done.
My drive home is gruelling and all I crave is another drink, I cut through a red in my liquored thoughts. The determination from this morning to quit has dispersed and I can only think about the warm liquid.
I arrive home and am greeted by my family, bending down to hug my kids before kissing my wife, she returns it softly, convinced today was a struggle of sobriety for me. As I head to wash up, I make a sharp turn into the garage; there are leftover beer cases there, behind the cabinet. I manage to finish most of them without even noticing it go down. I know I have hidden more, but I forget, finding them later on has become a dark game I play every night.
I stare at my reflection wherever I can find it and tell myself I do not have a drinking problem. I can quit anytime and it doesn’t make me lash out. I have never struck my kids or my wife. If anything, it helps me. I rationalize this repeatedly so I don't have to face the sad truth of what I have become.
I ignore the signs that I have a problem, lacking the courage to admit my days are filled with broken promises because the call of alcohol is so strong. I disappoint myself and those who believe in me. My days are those of an alcoholic.
My day begins just like anyone else’s. First I wake up, my mouth salivating; crying out for what my brain tells me I need. I shower, the chilled water piercing through the feelings I once had. I proceed to eat through agitated hands before I go to work. Upon closer inspection however, you will see I'm not like everyone run of the mill individual. I wake up with the promise I will not drink today. My head pounding, I only have the drinks from the day before to thank for that. The feeling leaves me weighed down all day.
I proceed to make my way to work. As I sit down to my white desk I pat myself on the back for trudging through the morning without a drink. As the day progresses I find myself trying to find ways to have a drink. Lunch time is a struggle of willpower as I walk by the bar on my way to the sandwich shop. Somehow I envy the lonely drunk at the bar table, looking as if he never left, night and day, just drinking. Part of me says that one drink will take the edge off of me, while another part reminds me of the promise I made to myself, to my wife, and to my kids. More often than not I give in and order a drink. One becomes two and two becomes three and lately I have been losing track. I've learned to cover it though, so that when I go back to the office, no one knows. I often feel better after a few drinks and I convince myself that I need the alcohol to get work done.
My drive home is gruelling and all I crave is another drink, I cut through a red in my liquored thoughts. The determination from this morning to quit has dispersed and I can only think about the warm liquid.
I arrive home and am greeted by my family, bending down to hug my kids before kissing my wife, she returns it softly, convinced today was a struggle of sobriety for me. As I head to wash up, I make a sharp turn into the garage; there are leftover beer cases there, behind the cabinet. I manage to finish most of them without even noticing it go down. I know I have hidden more, but I forget, finding them later on has become a dark game I play every night.
I stare at my reflection wherever I can find it and tell myself I do not have a drinking problem. I can quit anytime and it doesn’t make me lash out. I have never struck my kids or my wife. If anything, it helps me. I rationalize this repeatedly so I don't have to face the sad truth of what I have become.
I ignore the signs that I have a problem, lacking the courage to admit my days are filled with broken promises because the call of alcohol is so strong. I disappoint myself and those who believe in me. My days are those of an alcoholic.
