pounded

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A drinking tale

Submitted: July 01, 2019

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Submitted: July 01, 2019

A A A

A A A


[Explicit Content Warning]

 

pounded

 

 

Summer ‘19 means two-stepping to Korean drinking songs. Head a proud billowing flag, arms inherited from a disc jockey. Bottle in hand, I slur my chaser and gulp my song. Bottle in hand, I’m a Japanese Taiko drinker, a sipper of lewd lyrics. Pounding the Svedka... bangbangbangbang...

 

The song finishes, I’m sliding against the wall.

 

“Mmm, drink till you’re drunk, raking the cheese... I’m on my knees.” I’m a grade school girl giggling at the lunchroom boys. I’m two high school sweethearts tangled in the back seat of an old car. I’m a sailor voyaging through my emotions, and this bottle steers me down winding, spiraling paths. 

 

A hand on mine, my brother, tugging my candy. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

 

Giggle. Am I being asked out?

 

“That’s very sweet of you but I’m not your type.”

 

“Come on bro,” He takes my cane from my fingers. My support system holding my brittle form up.

 

I’m a foggy window. Condensation dribbles down my chin. 

 

“Dude,” A palm pressed on the glass.

 

“Bro, come on, you’re gonna get us in trouble.” The palm smears, smacks, claws the glass. Is it trapped?

 

“I’ll free you, buddy.” I’m a snail exploring the floor. 

 

My brother sighs, grabbing my face in his hand.  “You’re drunk dude. You need to go to bed.” Two faces pressed in kisses.  Two faces melting into the softness.

 

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk, bitch. Kiss me.”

 

“I’m not kissing you. Sit the hell up it’s your bedtime.” I’m an emancipation proclamation paper-weighted to the desk.

 

“My head is heavy,” I say, dragging my face across the floor. “I’m a heavy boy.” My brother sighs again, squatting and scooping me under the legs and back up into his arms.

 

She’s saddled me, I’m her stallion and we ride wherever she wants. Who gets lashed to go faster? Whose hair is yanked? How can I please you? I don’t know the roads we travel. Her thunder and cry terrifies me. My tongue is a flash of lightning down the curls and pools of her form. Thunder rumbles hot into my ear. 

 

I’m face down in my pillow, my brother stroking my head softly. I’m a cistern in a drought.

 

“What’s wrong with me anyway?” I ask. “Why doesn’t anyone like me?”

 

“That’s-” a pause. “There’s nothing wrong with you, bud.. You’re very much loved.”

 

I shake my head. A numb sadness congeals me from within. “Don’t lie to me. No one messages me back. I’m a bother. I’m a nuisance. I give and give and give and give but when I’m empty who fills me? No one wants an empty jar.”

 

My brother is quiet, his fingers feeding my skin with touch. I’m famished. I’m deprived. I’m in need.

 

Our clothes are back on. Her hair is a curtain drawn over her face. I blush, reaching to brush it back. I’m a housekeeper, casting rays of sunlight on polished furniture. 

 

She pulls away. 

 

“No more.”

 

My cane snatched is from under me.

 

I still have to walk home. Somehow.

 


© Copyright 2020 Parke. All rights reserved.

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