holidaze

alcohol on her breath as she stumbles into the gas station bathroom.

the light swings to and fro, flickering gently, like the glow of the lights on the decade old,

polyvinyl christmas tree at home. home, well. place of residence this holiday.

or, maybe the light is more like a...like a, fuck it, nevermind.

she flushes the toilet, growing dizzy at the quick swirl down the drain.

she stumbles out and catches herself on the sink that likely hasnt been washed recently.

the mirror is sparkling, but somehow dirty, refecting the light but multiplying her reflection. the three versions of her vary greatly; one is normal, one is the current, drunken, state. the other has oozing black eyes and a tongue that drops for miles, framed nicely by sickly-sweet, blood dipped fangs. she's kinda hot, that version, she thinks.

she leaves. she thought she heard footsteps behind her.

getting to her car was not in a hurry, despite her better judgement. it was freezing cold, breath fogging out like her joint from a couple hours ago. she shouldn't be driving, but what's the worst that'll happen? death? merry christmas to her!

the footsteps grow louder as she gets closer to her car. it doesn't phase her. she unhooks the pump from the side of her car that, come to think of it, needs new tires and oil. she climbs in and revs the engine, cutting on the highbeams and driving off down the long, winding road back to her parent's house. there's a looming figure resting in her rearview, grinning devilishly, ear to ear. she hadn't notice. she won't notice. long fingers wrap around the headrest, ready to strike, but she ruffles her hair and cuts off the lights, locking her doors before walking inside the house with a deep sigh. the being lingers on her back like a leech; sucking her every fiber out, demonic smile growing wider and wider with the more blood it consumes. no one notices, they never have. not when she was a child, not when she is nearing 30. a quick hello to dad and a successful grab for the bottle of tequila, and up the stairs she goes. the more she drinks, the more it feeds, the more it grows and festers and explodes in pure ecstacy; it feels so good, so bubbly and warm and, oh that's it, click off the lights and cut on that lovely hippie music, smoke another joint and feed it, let it devour you whole, like you need it to. like the only way you feel good is to embrace that darkness. let the blood dipped fangs and endless black eyes eat you whole, little girl, just like you let your mother eat away at you, like you let your unsuccessful love rip you to shreds, like you let every single blood thirsty animal drain you to a crisp for just a second of bliss. you haven't changed, you never will. your best friend is a lighter and a never-full bottle of liquid death, what do you expect? oh, you hear your father yelling about the tree lights flickering, but you're flickering too, darling. you're going to burn out, just like those yellowed lights that suffocate the plastic trees.