Meh
He dropped down into the wet grass, allowing it to embrace him as his mother would. He was drunk, again, but that didn’t matter. His shattered existence allowed only the extremes of feeling, despair, elation, ecstasy, agony…

The tears flowed in rivulets down his face, melting into the soil. Above him the stars glittered, like spray from a windstormed sea scattered across the heavens. It was pointless. The gnawing dread and despair didn’t go… he’d tried to drink it away, but instead it seemed to grow the more he drank, bundling up in a black knot in his stomach, chewing through his body, spreading lassitude and indifference.

The tears fell with renewed fervour. He felt so sick he wanted to vomit, but he choked it back. He thought back to the first time they’d met… her coal black hair had caught his eye first of all, as she danced at the party. He’d been drawn to that hair, as though something in it called to him. Then he saw her eyes, large, deep and brown, a veritable portal into the depths of her soul. She’d smiled at him, and they’d danced. Her skin was soft and the colour of coffee… and with a smell that was warm and welcoming.

He’d walked her home that night, and they’d stood, talking, outside her house for hours, discovering so much in common. They’d arranged to meet again, and as the days passed he found himself thinking more and more of her.

Gradually, they had become friends, but she haunted his dreams, both at night and during the day. He wasn’t aware of the moment when he fell in love with her, but suddenly became aware of it – a warm, reassuring feeling when she was near, the desire to protect and to support her. He had been afraid at first… she was strong and independent and he had felt unequal to her. But the more time they spent together the more his feelings grew, and he could no longer hide them. At night they would almost overwhelm him and he questioned whether he loved her, or whether he merely lusted after her. He realised that to be near her was akin to being bathed in light, pure and happy… the smell of her hair made him weak at the knees and he thanked the god he didn’t believe in for the chance of meeting this girl.

Now that was gone. She had turned him down. His world had been destroyed. His mind felt poisoned. He tried to hate her, but instead it collapsed back in on himself and he hated himself more. He was inadequate, unworthy, unequal to her. His head hurt, his limbs were limp, and he felt as though he had been dealt a heavy blow to his stomach.

All that was left was the bottle of vodka cradled in one arm, and the cool, enveloping embrace of the grass. He wanted to cry.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Sat 5 Jul 2008, 21:40, Reply)