Art, Pen

Pieces of My Whisky Glass

I gulped it in a single go as the bartender looked at me with surprise mixed with a little bit of condolence, just like the cocktail she served me few seconds ago. It’ll take few minutes to work. Few minutes and then they’ll fall apart, one by one. These senses which prefer to see bad over good things. It listens cars honking, people shouting but when the little bird across the yard chirps in the dawn it chooses to ignore it. My imaginations are turning nastier day by day. Give me some colors and I’ll make a mess out of it.

Our imagination are like advertisements these days. Little flashes of ideas and we choose only those ones which can make our pockets heavier.

 

Nighthawks by Edward Hopper

Nighthawks by Edward Hopper

So here I’m, trying to loose my wallet up. Trapped in this money circle. I had a dream that when I’ll make good money I’ll be spending it for buying my happiness. Seems like I can’t buy it with money but I sure can buy a momentary escape from my sufferings. Huh! That cocktail seems too light. I’m still thinking like a sober. I’m still vulnerable. Still can see all the people sitting beside me on the bar table.

Some of them are frustrated, looking at their glasses after every sip as if they are drinking their lives up. Or may be it’s the part of life they don’t want to remember. Others, just drinking it for doing things that their sober mind doesn’t allow them to do. So if they do it they can blame it on the booze. Pretty convenient!

 I ordered another glass of whisky. Bartender put two ice cubes in it. That jingle it produced was soothing. Our life is more or less  just like this glass of whisky. We came pure in this world, with so much to give, so much to live. God! Such a spirit we had. But then time started sipping us bit by bit. It put some ice cubes to fool us. To make us believe that loosing some good spirit can be compensated with some materialistic happiness. It is still melting in me. It’ll stop only when I’m too cold to live.

 I turned the last key of my escape when I drank the last drop of my whiskey. Ice cubes were still there with no purpose left. Then I paid the bartender for her courtesy. She smiled when I gave her tip and a wink. I unknowingly forgot to leave the glass at the table. Scene was blurred already. Couldn’t see those sorry people on the table anymore.

 With some combined effort of my fumbling hands and legs I pulled myself out of the chair. I was trying to look fine and happy. After two steps and my feet gave away. I dropped the glass on the floor before it dropped me. With my head lying on the floor I saw some pieces of my whisky glass and two ice cubes, one melting on the floor and the other one, inside me.

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