I don’t even know how long I’ve been lodged in here. The numbness woke me up. The headache immediately forced my eyes shut. I’m afraid if I get up my legs will let me drop like my world that has long ago abandoned me. My husband warned me over and over again “One day you’ll wake up and find yourself at the bottom of the barrel.”
How did I end up here?
The wine bottle is between my legs, held up between my knees. One glance tells me its empty. I know there was more. Had to have been more. One bottle doesn’t affect me this way.
I rub my eyes and turn on the faucet. Although I’ve got the hot water on, it’s running cold. Very cold. I’m shivering, my heart is shaking and the fear is overpowering. I fill my cupped hands and splash my face. I fill them again to pour over my head but my fingers get trapped in my knot-filled hair. And I fill my hands a third time to bring to my mouth and drink. My lips are dry, I’m parched and I feel as if I need to shave my tongue.
I can taste the saltiness of my tears mingling with the water.
This is it. It must be. I always thought it was a cliché… Bottom of the barrel. I’m in my kitchen sink and I have a problem.
WRITING PROMPT! I found a new place for prompts. The prompt was from Kirsten who chose Dodie Smith’s “I Capture the Castle” whose opening sentence is:
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.