My Heart Is Ablaze

A Story by Sean Augulewicz

It's a hot Wednesday in New York City. I'm stuck here in my three room apartment that has no air conditioner. I'm sitting in ball soup and drenched with my perspiration. The TV gets the same four channels on it, the ones with all the spanish soap operas. My dick is limp and sweaty (don't that sound delicious).
I sit on my couch, half conscious, and utterly drunk. A slight chuckle slips from between my chapped lips. I stare at the almost empty bottle of 151 in my limp hand. I start to laugh hysterically. Mid-laugh, a pressure builds in my stomach. A gray, brown,and red, sort of muddy substance erupts from my mouth. My wife's old college roommate enters the room and wipes the vomit from my chin and my clothes, like a mother cleaning the dribble from her baby's chin.
She's beautiful. Skinny as a toothpick (which probably ain't too healthy, but who cares). Her skin which was once glowing and smooth is now pale, pasty, and dry. Her beautiful, flowing, blond hair is now the equivalent of a mechanic's rag. She dons fresh red marks on her inner arm, outlining a bulging, blue and green vein. Her pale blue eyes have lost all signs of emotion. They are sunken in and have dark purple and black circles surrounding them.
I hear myself say in a slurred, almost incomprehensible voice saying, "B***h, I wanna f**k!" She tells me to just keep drinking. "Ha ha ha" I chuckle somewhat sarcastically. I leap to my feet, feeling sober for a moment. I grab her tight around the wrist. Suddenly, the room is spinning. I regain my composure. She's laughing in my face, telling me I'm too drunk to f**k. Honestly, this pisses me right the f**k off. I slap her right in the mouth. I hear the smack but, she doesn't fall. Next, I feel a tight grip on my c**k. I forgot she was just as dangerous when she was fucked up as when I am sober. She pulls out a switchblade and tells me if I touch her again I'd no longer fit the physical characteristics to qualify as a man.
I return to my seat on the old, dusty, torn up couch and take another swig of my drink. I watch as she snorts her last line. While her head is still buried in her pile of dust, I pull out my pistol from under the cushion, under my a*s. I'll never forget how wide those sleepy eyes of her's got as the stared down my barrel. She blinks and sighs as if she was disappointed in someway. I'll never know what she was disappointed with. Her life? The way she should've seen this coming? Disappointed with me, maybe? I don't know. Hell, I don't wanna know. But, no matter what it was, when her brains hit the wall, it really got me thinking.
I take one last swig of my drink and pour the rest all along the couch. I shuffle over to her cold, fragile body and retrieved her switchblade. I carve two words into the wall behind the couch. I pull out a seven inch blunt from my coat pocket and light the f****r with my Zippo. I take a puff and nod. I begin laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing. I take another puff and slowly lay myself out on the couch. I light my Zippo once again and let my arm fall to the surface of the couch.

My heart is ablaze.
I love her.
Let my last words tell you everything about my final thoughts...
I'm Sorry