Tyler
***.
The meaning of life is never one person’s idea. The meaning of life is almost like a giant taste bud. Everyone decides their meaning of life. For some, it’s traveling the world and meeting new people, new places, and new animals. For some, it’s finding a job that earns them the highest wage and then buying the most expensive things they can find. For some, it’s merely falling in love and having a family, even if that means they are forced to live paycheck to paycheck.
And for some unfortunate people, the meaning of life, the meaning of living, actually learning how to live and how be, it eats away at them and destroys them. The meaning of life is letting their brain swim in alcohol, their mind spinning in circles and their arms and legs like jelly. For other unfortunates, it escalates to a needle, a spoon and a lighter.
For Tyler, however, she spent a lot of nights alone. She spent a lot of nights in her apartment with her bottle of vodka and her glass blown shot glass. She held the shot glass in her left hand as she did her best to pour another shot into the glass. The frog on the side of the glass was missing its two left legs and the top of his head had been broken off when she’d dropped it a few weeks ago. She spilled a bit of alcohol on the table. Pressing her face against the glass, she slurped up the barely spilled mess.
Vodka no longer burned in the back of her throat or made her stomach warm. Not when she was this drunk. Times before, her first or second shot still burned, but by the third one she was merely immune to the feeling of the alcohol traveling down her throat. She set the bottle down and slung the last shot down her throat. She stood up carefully and made her way into her bedroom where she sat on the edge of her bed.
Moving around so much gave her the spins. She reached over to her night stand and grabbed her spoon and her lighter, tapping the bottom of the glass to see if there was anything left. Realizing she’d smoked it all last night, she loaded up another bowl, pressed the piece to her mouth and flicked her lighter, inhaling. Once she had smoked the entire bowl, she set the pipe and lighter down on the bed next to her and laid back.
And she thought. She thought about the little brother that had once looked up to her. The little brother that usually came over on weekends and watched movies with her, spent time making friendship bracelets and cooking dinner with her. She thought about all the times that he’d smiled up at her and told her how much he loved her.
She thought about the day that he walked in on her. With her mouth pressed against her glass bong, the lighter in her hand. How she dropped it and it shattered against the tile and water leaked into the corner of her room.
She thought about how proud her parents were of her. How much they loved her and thought that she could do literally anything in the world. That she could go to school and pay for her own apartment and her own car and live alone and be safe alone.
She thought about the day that they realized she couldn’t. The day that she disappointed them the most. And tears leaked out of her eyes. And it wasn’t because she had disappointed her parents. No. It was because she had ultimately let herself down. She had let herself stoop down that low. So low in fact, that she spent every night getting drunk and getting blazed.
Being completely ripped so that she didn’t have to think about all the time she had wasted. All the money, all the support and the love. She had wasted all her time living so that she could get stoned. All the times she could have been out with someone that meant something to her, she was inside, inhaling and swallowing to lose her mind.
And finally, she thought about Brandon and how he told her that he’d always be there for her and that he’d never leave her. But he wasn’t here now. He wasn’t here to watch her drink herself to sleep every night and waste her gas money on weed.
Because she wasn’t her anymore.
She was no longer Tyler.
Tyler was gone. Tyler was drowning in a puddle of vodka and choking on the smoke of bud. She was lost in the cabinet above her stove. Locked in her dresser drawer.
Fucking gone like the smoke drifting away from her mouth, dissolving into the air.
And for some unfortunate people, the meaning of life, the meaning of living, actually learning how to live and how be, it eats away at them and destroys them. The meaning of life is letting their brain swim in alcohol, their mind spinning in circles and their arms and legs like jelly. For other unfortunates, it escalates to a needle, a spoon and a lighter.
For Tyler, however, she spent a lot of nights alone. She spent a lot of nights in her apartment with her bottle of vodka and her glass blown shot glass. She held the shot glass in her left hand as she did her best to pour another shot into the glass. The frog on the side of the glass was missing its two left legs and the top of his head had been broken off when she’d dropped it a few weeks ago. She spilled a bit of alcohol on the table. Pressing her face against the glass, she slurped up the barely spilled mess.
Vodka no longer burned in the back of her throat or made her stomach warm. Not when she was this drunk. Times before, her first or second shot still burned, but by the third one she was merely immune to the feeling of the alcohol traveling down her throat. She set the bottle down and slung the last shot down her throat. She stood up carefully and made her way into her bedroom where she sat on the edge of her bed.
Moving around so much gave her the spins. She reached over to her night stand and grabbed her spoon and her lighter, tapping the bottom of the glass to see if there was anything left. Realizing she’d smoked it all last night, she loaded up another bowl, pressed the piece to her mouth and flicked her lighter, inhaling. Once she had smoked the entire bowl, she set the pipe and lighter down on the bed next to her and laid back.
And she thought. She thought about the little brother that had once looked up to her. The little brother that usually came over on weekends and watched movies with her, spent time making friendship bracelets and cooking dinner with her. She thought about all the times that he’d smiled up at her and told her how much he loved her.
She thought about the day that he walked in on her. With her mouth pressed against her glass bong, the lighter in her hand. How she dropped it and it shattered against the tile and water leaked into the corner of her room.
She thought about how proud her parents were of her. How much they loved her and thought that she could do literally anything in the world. That she could go to school and pay for her own apartment and her own car and live alone and be safe alone.
She thought about the day that they realized she couldn’t. The day that she disappointed them the most. And tears leaked out of her eyes. And it wasn’t because she had disappointed her parents. No. It was because she had ultimately let herself down. She had let herself stoop down that low. So low in fact, that she spent every night getting drunk and getting blazed.
Being completely ripped so that she didn’t have to think about all the time she had wasted. All the money, all the support and the love. She had wasted all her time living so that she could get stoned. All the times she could have been out with someone that meant something to her, she was inside, inhaling and swallowing to lose her mind.
And finally, she thought about Brandon and how he told her that he’d always be there for her and that he’d never leave her. But he wasn’t here now. He wasn’t here to watch her drink herself to sleep every night and waste her gas money on weed.
Because she wasn’t her anymore.
She was no longer Tyler.
Tyler was gone. Tyler was drowning in a puddle of vodka and choking on the smoke of bud. She was lost in the cabinet above her stove. Locked in her dresser drawer.
Fucking gone like the smoke drifting away from her mouth, dissolving into the air.
♠ ♠ ♠
805 words for this contest.