PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The acrid smell of alcohol, stale whiskey, clung to his nostrils and his breath. The bottle in his brown paper sack had been drained of every last drop, and he tossed it over his shoulder and onto the lawn. It hit the ground with a thud but didn’t shatter as he had hoped. He staggered to the front steps and made a drunken effort to sit on the first, though his eyes weren’t seeing what the alcohol was. After several failed attempts he settled for the lawn; he knew he couldn’t miss that.



The ground was cold and damp with dew, and he shivered as the moisture crept through his pant leg. A yawn stretched over his face and his eyes sagged with exhaustion, and he took to picking at the grass as he sat in a drooling stupor. After a few minutes he decided it was time to head inside.



He made his way up the steps, careful not to misjudge his footing, and stopped at the front door. He reached for the doorknob, swaying as he did so, just to find that it was locked. He rattled the knob and grunted in confusion.



“Nana,” he whimpered, “Nana, let me in!” He patted his coat pockets looking for his key, and found it in the one he kept his wallet in. He stuck the key in the hole and it wouldn’t turn. His head hurt and he didn’t have the attention span to keep trying. Instead he walked to the nearest window and presses his nose to the glass. “Nana! Baby, you- you goin’ to keep me out here? Nana?”



He saw movement somewhere in the house and he knew it had to be her. Of course, he’s completely forgotten about the cats, but that didn’t matter; she was in there, keeping him locked out, and she would pay for it. He shuffled away from the window, brought his head back, and smashed it through the glass.



By that point he was raging, drunk and bloody- not the best of qualities. The clock on the mantel rang out as it turned two, and the sound roared in his ears. He moaned and ran a hand across the bloody mess of his face. Sharp edged glass still outlined the window frame, but he didn’t notice it tearing at his sides as he pushed through the gap.



He fell, head first, onto the floor and knocked a few flowerpots off of the windowsill as he did so. The cat took off running down the hall, yet it still hadn’t registered in his mind that she was in bed. He couldn’t hear the sound of her deep, peaceful breaths as she slept over the buzzing in his ears. Peace- the sense of security in a broken world, a broken life- how did she ever find it?



And as he rounded the corner to the bedroom he could just barely make out her shape through the blur of blood and alcohol. He stumbled over to where she lay and looked upon her admiringly; her face was so appealing in the darkness of the room, yet he noticed the remnants of old bruises. He frowned and wondered what his lassie had been up to and with whom- it had to have been some animal to leave marks like that behind. The thought of someone touching his woman enraged him and he instinctively reached for her throat.



Her eyes sprung open at his touch and her skin quivered beneath his fingers. Her almond eyes starred up at him in terror, pleading him to spare her yet asking him to finish her off this time.



“Nana, you playing games with me?”



“B-”



“I didn’t ask you to speak. You’re a filthy little slut. I should rip out your throat and leave you here with just the hope of gasping for breath; but I’m feeling generous tonight.” He pressed his fingers down on her Adams-apple, chuckling as it bobbed under the pressure. “Maybe next time I ask you a question you’ll answer me.”



He tugged her out of bed by a fistful of hair and drug her to the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer and removed a paring knife. With the knife in hand he lifted her onto the countertop and ran a hand down her leg; then he traced over the same path with the knife, breaking her skin and ripping the blade down through her flesh. She winced but made no sound, only watched as their blood mixed on the counter.