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Flash Fiction Story
I sipped the coffee out of a Styrofoam cup, as I looked out at the falling snow. The scene was peaceful, serene even, so different from the thoughts and emotions rolling through my mind and soul. I ignored the whispers behind me. The lady that ran this show was trying to hush the others, but her whispers were the loudest. She was telling them to give me my privacy, but I am sure if it wasn’t her pastoral duty she would be gossiping with them. I looked down at the fountain pen in my hand, I had been playing with the lid, how easy it would be to take it and carve a world where I could escape this hell on Earth.
I snort at myself. I am a world famous novelist and I couldn’t communicate with the people suffering with me. They, the ones that ‘love’ me, think that in this group I will just sprout all my feelings. I have played my feelings close to my chest since childhood, I don’t see that about to change… but for them I could try.
I heard the lady running this think call order. She came and touched my shoulder, asking me to introduce myself, I just nodded at her and then dropped the lukewarm cup of coffee into the garbage. I turned and faced the others. I took a deep breath. Steadying my thoughts, though it would never work, I tried, for them, I tried.
“I am Rowena, and I am an alcoholic.” I mentally snort at the cliché. “The reason why is a year ago, today, I lost my son, we were in a car accident. He didn’t make it. I did. I didn’t want to, and turned to drink.” I told them the truth, though the pain stabbed me in the chest as I thought of that day three hundred and sixty five days ago. “I am sober one day.” I announced, today was the first day of my attempt to heal. For them.
“Welcome, Rowena.” The group whispered.
I nod and sat down. I would do this for them, my remaining family, but I still wished for that blackness that tequila gave to me. I still wished for oblivion. I still wished for the darkness of death…
But for them I will try.