The wall of bottles rattles as the train roars by outside. I jerk into consciousness, instantly regretting it. My head is hammering. I can’t remember what I did this morning. One of the bottles looks new, still has some liquid lingering in the bottom. I crawl to the edge of the mattress and lever myself off.
The kitchen is catastrophic. A heap of plates lingers near the sink. I open the fridge, drag another bottle from the dimly lit appliance. I wrench off the lid, hurl it into the sink. My headache doesn’t change after the first long swig, but I tell myself it will.
I shuffle to the window and pull the curtain aside. The light pierces my skull. I recoil. The world outside is as empty as the space inside. I raise the bottle again, hoping the bitter liquid will help fill the void.
Everything rattles again. The train making another round. How long has this journey taken me? I look at the counter to see another six-pack full of empties that hadn’t been there the last time I looked. My head throbs, and I close my eyes, staving off the nausea. When I open my eyes I’m back in bed. Bottles rattle as a train passes outside…
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction
Read more responses HERE.
8 thoughts on “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow”
Sounds like a very long journey, to the same bad place, over and over. Great job conveying the disorientation and sense of futility.
such a good portrayal of when someone drinks to forget – they usually forget everything -the good and the bad – sad that they can’t have filter.
A gritty take on the prompt. Feels uncomfortably real.
Tragic take – so many stories like this, reminded me of ‘The Lost Weekend’ film from years ago. Well written.
A long journey and he doesn’t seem to be making it easy on himself.
This feels real. The title nails it.
A very long and difficult journey at the least. Well done.
The true tale of the alcoholic. Groundhog day inside his head.
Comments are closed.