This is the first writing I've done in quite a while. The urge just suddenly hit me to start again. This is all coming out with just a vague idea, the rest is off the top of my head.

(Reposting this here too.)
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Nighttime. Your friend, and your nightmare. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Two thirty seven, you haven't rested at all. The thoughts inside your head raging ever so, like the fiercest war. No matter how hard you try to escape, you're still haunted by what happened. Mindless entertainment, alcohol, any and all of it can't make you forget.

You curse yourself silently as the sick feeling enters your stomach again. You sit up and wipe the light sweat from your brow. Shaking your head you toss the covers aside, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and place your feet on the floor. A glance back over your shoulder at the bed, reminds you that you're alone again. Your eyes start to well up but you fight it back, you can't let yourself grieve anymore.

You reach out and take the cigarettes from the sidetable, removing one, you place it between your lips. The lighter comes next, a flick and the end of the cig is glowing. After a long draw, you exhale and the cloud of smoke escapes and dissipates.

A moment or two later and you rise from the bed. Slowly you make your way out of the bedroom. Used to the dark now, you amble through and pause in the kitchen. You glance down upon the table there, eyes making out the outline of a whiskey bottle. Before you know it your hand is upon it, hating yourself as you down a drink. It hits your stomach like a gunshot. You feel like angrily tossing the bottle against the wall, but don't have the heart to do so... so you sit it back down and wander towards the back door.

Placing your hand upon it you turn the knob and swing it inwards. As you step outside, not having drawn upon the cigarette in a while, the ashes finally fall from it on the ground as you step outside. Thunder rolls closeby, a storm is coming in. You sigh as an old song runs through your mind... your song with, that person.

The cigarette falls from your lips as you drop your head into your hands. Again your eyes well up, but this time you don't fight it. The tears come slowly at first, and as you start to sob the thunder booms loudly and the rain starts... almost as if somehow existence feels your pain... and the sky weeps... cries... alongside you.

Your a very good writer. I need to start writing real stuff again lol
» lyndeep on 2007-10-15 11:23:31

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