One For the Road

Time to write the newsletter and enjoy the rest of my evening.

“Just one more drink,” she kept telling them. “I can stop at just one. I promise.”

Her friends had heard that tale before, and they weren’t about to fall for it again. They weren’t stupid. Not anymore. No longer will they fall for her lines of supposed sobriety. No, this time, they were taking a stand.

She hadn’t always been a drunk. Her friends could remember when she was fun and happy-go-lucky, and always there when they needed her. This was their chance to give back to her, and make her feel sheltered and protected.

She needed help. She knew she needed it. Everyone knew it, but she was scared. Who wouldn’t be scared in that situation? She just had to take that big first step.

She looked at the glass in her hand. The dark red of the wine called to her. “Drink me,” she could swear it kept saying to her. “Drink me, and you’ll feel no more pain. Drink me and all of your problems go away.”

She dropped the glass, watching as it fell, seemingly in slow motion, straight to the ground. The wine splashed out as the glass shattered. The base. Then the stem. Finally the goblet part. The glass shards were spread across the floor, the beads and splatters of wine making it look like a glass murder crime scene.

She laughed at the thought. A real and true laugh. The spell of the alcohol had momentarily been broken. For now, she was free, and ready to accept the help.

“Someone, please. Help me. I need help.”


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