in space, nobody can hear you soundtrip.

(so, majors class now requires us to have blogs. here's my first blog writing exercise thing with the prompt "fix." 100-150 words.

oh, and apologies for not posting. senior year is t-t-t-tedious. hnnnnggg. )

Fix

For the third week in a row, she yanked her tired legs onto the kitchen counter and slowly stood up. Opening the top cupboard, she reached her hands in and fingered the bottle tops. Olive oil… Bottled Sardines… Carpet cleaner... the names went on in her head.

Ah— there it was, she breathed in a sigh of relief. Glancing at the kitchen sink as she got off the counter, no, not there, she thought.

He’d know.

She limped to the bathroom, unscrewing the bottlecap. The putrid smell stung her eyes, making them water as she poured the bottle’s contents into the bowl. After hastily flushing the toilet and hiding the bottle under the sink, she slumped onto the door, tears staining her dirty shirt.

It’s your fault, Mama. It’s not my fault you’re gone. She got up and wiped her eyes. Sober fathers didn’t hit as hard as drunk ones.

kabel mishka ligot, 7-2-10