The Letter

Charles woke up with a throbbing headache. It was as if some invisible force was repeatedly smashing a hammer from within his skull. His shirt reeked of beer and there was a patch of dried vomit directly underneath the collar. He had collapsed into a deep slumber before taking out his contacts, and his eyes were now crusty, making it hard for him to open them. He pulled himself to his feet and and dragged one in front of the other towards the kitchen. He had to grab the walls as he navigated his way through the many hallways of his home. Got to move somewhere smaller he thought, most of these rooms are for absolutely nothing. Charles made it to the kitchen and fell down into a hickory wood chair. He set his head down upon a table, messy with crumpled up papers and scattered writing utensils. In the middle of the chaos, a small space had been cleared of everything except a titled paper. The tile read:

Dear, Mother

        Sister

                    Amelie

Charles looked at the paper with disgust. I have to get rid of that he thought, no point. He reached his hand out and brought the paper to his torso. He gripped the paper like he was about to rip it. He stayed in this position for a quiet minute, and then, he neatly placed it back in it’s original spot. This isn’t a great time to be making decisions he told himself. Charles used the chair and pushed himself up. When he was standing vertically, he walked to the kitchen, each step causing him a new wave of pain. His kitchen was plagued by dirty dishes stacked up in his sink. His trash had begun to overflow weeks ago, so he had resorted to placing his discarded item at the top of the heap of garbage, hoping for the best. Charles grabbed a plate which was considerably less dirty than the rest. He placed it on the granite counter, and returned a moment later with a box of sugar filled cereal, which had a wacky cartoon character on the front. Gotta stop eating this crap he thought, simultaneously feeling the slight bulge forming at his stomach. He ate the cereal like a starving wolf, not bothering to clean up the stray bits of food that fell to the floor.

When he had finished devouring the cereal, he got up in a rush and hastily made his way to the bathroom. He ignored the pain in his head and threw himself through the door of the restroom, proceeding to vomit into his one thousand dollar toilet. His aim was sloppy, and bits of regurgitated food ended up splashing all over the floor. When he had threw up all that his stomach had to offer, Charles sat over the toilet, spitting into the bowl. After he felt confident in his walking ability, Charles slowly stood up. He felt nauseous at first, but it passed after taking a few steps. I have to get out he thought. Charles staggered over to the front door, throwing on his coat before grabbing at the handle. Before he could twist, he felt himself began to lose his footing. He stepped back just as his vision was beginning to blur. He tripped on his backstep and came crashing down to the floor. He lost consciousness right before hitting the ground.

When Charles woke up, day was in the process of changing to night. The moon shone through the dust covered window directly above his grand mahogany door. Charles grabbed at the handle and began pulling himself up. Once he had steady footing, he began shuffling in the direction of the kitchen. Once there, he sat back down at his desk. He picked up a pencil and placed the tip down onto the paper. He sat in this position for a moment, staring down at the blank paper, thinking of what to say. Charles picked up the pen, moving it to it’s original spot, momentarily giving in to the rational side of his brain. The irrational side won him over. He brought the pencil back to the paper and began scribbling away. His pen hand moved furiously, and he did not once stop to look over his work. By the time he had written everything he wanted to say, the front and back of the paper was filled with writing. Charles stood up, leaving the letter amid the chaos of his cherry elm desk. He walked in a hasty manner to the fridge. He opened it and grabbed at an unopened bottle of crystal clear vodka. He brought it back to his desk and sat down. He opened the bottle and began pouring it into a glass which he had left on his desk the previous night.

“Here we go again.” he said, laughing to himself.

Here we go again.

The End