Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Pills and Misconceptions

The bottles sit in front of you, and you read the labels multiple time, but they resemble each other too well. Your hands shake. Do you remember when you were a little girl, and your mom overdosed? It wasn't like the movies you saw, the ones you watched to gain some sort of understanding. She wasn't clutching the bottle in her hand, her arm limply hanging to the side. Instead, her mouth had foam around the corners, drool dribbling down her chin and neck. She was softly curled up on her side, quivering, and awful looking. It made you wary of taking pills, as if it was genetics, that if you had a bottle in your hand you would reach in, grab a handful and stuff them down your throat. No, the action wasn't genetic-but the suicidal tendencies were, they came free with depression. Maybe you remember the trip to the park-the one time you've been. Your mother thought everyone there was out to steal you-to sell you for money. You were twelve then, ripe. You never went in a public place with her again. Her sister would drop by every week with supplies and money, in case of an emergency. There was only one time you used it. She made you go to the corner store when you were 16, to buy sleeping pills. She told you she was having trouble sleeping, and you believed her, because that's what kids do. You woke up the next morning, found her, and called your aunt. You never saw your mother again. But what does this have to do with you? Simply a migraine; simply one pill, two pills, swallow, sip, down. Easy, right? No. You can't hold the bottle without dropping it. But no-that's not the point. The point is that there's two bottles and only one pill going down your throat. Only the colors are different-but that doesn't matter. What matters is that you're close to ripping your own throat out and that's not the way you want to go. Oh, yeah, you're suicidal, sorry. There's no easy way to tell someone that. Well here you go, you know the outcome, right? Of course you do, but do you like it? Anyways-your turn, your hand, shake out a few pills, swallow, a few more, repeat until your throat burns and you feel as if you've swallowed ice. Do you taste that? It's your hand. Knock knock, who's there. Only you. Feel better now? You could say you're with your mom-but that's not true. Let's leave it at that.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site