Monday, 23 June 2014
08:31:41 PM (GMT)
I'm not great with writing full stories (I get the ideas easily, though), so here's
a few short segments that I planned on making a story with but I just couldn't figure
out how to continue. Maybe if I write more then I'll post it.
Along with freezing of the ground in December, my brain freezes along with it,
causing me to slip into my yearly seasonal depression. Or, at least that’s what
everyone says I have. My friends all diagnosed me as if they were doctors themselves
and began giving me amateur therapy sessions during ‘that time of the year.’ As
if it would help. After I was “diagnosed” I started receiving at least one gift
every Christmas pertaining to my “depression.” Happy pills and happy lights—as
I like to refer to them—were the most common, but I also received a lot of junk
food because apparently carbs were supposed to help make me happy; but who wouldn’t
be happy biting into an Oreo?
With whiskey induced rage, he pushed me against the closest wall. Since he
pinned down my wrists, there was absolutely no escape from his strong grip. He came
dangerously close to bashing my head against the sharp edge of a painting mounted
nearby, missing by only an inch. I must admit that it hurt; both the impact of my
body against the wall and the look in his eyes. It was a look of hunger. He was the
predator and I was his weak, defenseless prey.
When I broke my eyes from his to glance over his shoulder at the bottle he had
slammed on the table upon his return from his night out, he grabbed my face forcibly
and crashed his lips against mine in a way that wasn’t romantic like his sober
kisses. While I was alarmed by his aggressiveness, I wasn’t completely unfamiliar
with it. Being intoxicated seems to give him a sense of dominance that I’ve
encountered all too often these past few weeks. The first time was a surprise, but as
the second, third, and fourth times came about, I became a quick expert with dealing
with his alcohol-induced mild sadistic tendencies.