Let’s try again. I’ll keep it simple.
(I was 15 years and one month and two days old.)
One year and three months ago, I slipped into my mother’s medicine cabinet.
I was completely alone (for a change.)
The Cranberries’ song “Dreams” played and The Exorcist was on.
(Never did finish that film.)
I slipped one white pill onto my tongue. Bitter, I let it lie stagnant for a second before pushing it down my throat.
(The remaining nineteen Vicodin followed their lost sibling: in pairs and chains of three or four, clasping together their dusty white hands.)
I expect I drank water at some point thereafter.
(I felt pleasant. Warm, fuzzy, nice. Obviously […]