Fiction

Ice

He drank alone.

It couldn’t be helped anymore. “This sad sap’s empty,” he muttered as he put his glass down on the table. The ice clinked, and he for a moment remembered a happier time, when the clinking was on champagne glasses, and a gorgeous woman stood next to him.

But she was gone. They were all gone. It was him and this drink, and he felt as if he was pouring more into the drink then he was getting out of it. But that was fine. He wanted to be empty.

The phrase, ‘it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all’ ran through his head and he chuckled. “Bull. Shit.” It was louder and more poisonous than he had meant it to be.

The other people in the bar looked over at him and then quickly back to the people they were talking to. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they all made the same face. Two eyebrows up, mouth down, eyes wide. Whispers flooded the room of “what’s his problem?” and “there’s always people like that. Just ignore him, all he wants is attention.”

He looked down at the ice, now half melted, and wished he could go with it. “It’s never that simple,” he whispered.

 

I wrote this today as a five minute exercise following a prompt. May or may not have been a little bit of a cathartic experience.

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