He swallowed it whole like a pill that made him choke. And then he died. He stopped coming around after 16 years of being consistent in our lives. My life. For the last two years I saw him maybe three times. Guilt suffocated me. As humans we try to move on from a death because there is nothing else to do about it. My family had to move on from his death. Sometimes I noticed we were doing it with the very thing that killed him. Alcohol.
It tingles, bubbles and most importantly it burns.
I held my chest after the shot of Smirnoff Vodka; it made my throat catch on fire.
“Another one!” Abby shouted, as she poured shot glasses of the sticky clear liquid. Around our small apartment there were faces I didn’t even recognize. They started to blur.
“Cheers” we all clanged our shot glasses together. Alcohol swished out from the collision.
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