Burn
By Casey Douglass
as part of #fridayflash
My insides hurt. Worse
than that time I swallowed a measure of Dad’s best whisky when I
was four. I got such a hidin’ for that. He turned his back for half
a minute to do somethin’ at the kitchen table, an’ I walk in in
my little red dungarees, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink.
I remember the sunlight
shinin’ through the dusty window. It was that late arternoon light
that washes everythin’ and makes it look real pretty. It shon on
the shot glass, the golden light hittin’ the already magic lookin’
liquid. I think my young mind just knew it was somethin’ grand. Why
would it glow like that? I snatched it from the table and gulped it
right down. God did it burn!
Dad turned around when
the coughin’ started and swore at me when the glass exploded on the
tiled kitchen floor. I don’t know what bothered ’im more. The
mess, the sick little kid, the wasted whisky. Could ’ave bin all
three. Could ’ave bin somethin’ else entirely. Three days my
tummy ache lasted. All I could manage was bread an’ milk. I
remember bein’ most upset by not bein’ able to eat my sweets. The
shop down the road sold chewy jelly worms that always fascinated me.
You could bite’em in half, stretch’em, suck on ‘em. You name
it, I tried it. Always my favourite. I couldn’t do that now,
stretch’em and whatnot. Not with my teeth. I’d swap this
tummy ache for that one any day though. Now all I’ve next to me is
a small plastic cup thing with thick green liquid inside. The sun is
shinin’ on it now, but it ain’t golden. Still burns goin’ down
though.
--THE END--
