One More Bottle….

A promise. No. More than that. A pledge. Yes, a pledge.

One more bottle. One more drink.

Then I’ll be done with it. Then I can give it up for good.

The apartment is a maze of refuse. Old newspapers lying on the ground. Several candy wrappers strewn everywhere. TV dinner boxes all over the place.

And around every corner lay an empty bottle of whiskey. The answer machine flashed its light, beeping every few seconds. 73 messages, unanswered.

One more bottle. One more drink.

Then I’ll be done with it. Then I can give it up for good.

….There. It’s done now.

The bottle is thrown across the ground, clinking against one that hits the leg of a chair in the kitchen.

A sound. The phone ringing again. The message begins to record. Alcoholics Anonymous again, asking when he will attend another meeting.

A walk to the fridge. The door opens. A few bottles of whiskey sit in the top rack. Two more bottles are grabbed.

Two more bottles. Two more drinks.

Then I’ll be done with it. Then I can give it up for good.

One bottle is finished. Then the other.

A run to the bathroom. And then vomiting. The toilet flushes.

The fridge door opens again. A bottle of vodka in the very back is grabbed.

One more bottle. One more drink.

Then I’ll be done with it. Then I can give it up for good.

The whole bottle is finished. And then another bottle of whiskey. The glass shatters.

The door is pounded on. A landlord gasps. The phone is dialed.

And then, crying. And then, the funeral. And finally,

silence.

The Walker Estate