One more day

Individually invisible to the naked eye, collectively the slurry of filth permeated the room as a blanket leaving everything to chance. The dead tiny soldiers lay silently, longing to be put to rest, desperately clinging and cautiously shifting with the subtle movement coming from under the sheets; a toss, a turn, a constant shallow breathe in, breathe out in between fitful nightmares. To the words engraved into the surface of the dusty silver coin by the bedside, life would go on whether or not it’s recipient interpreted the symbolism, or valued the significance and followed through with his promise. It was the 29th day of a 30 day month, one more long excruciating day to go for the red coin to be pulled out of the bag before the group confessional and handed over, entrusted by covenant, defined as daily crapshoot.

Slow to leave slumber, nonsensical images flooded the mind of the body unable to grasp the newness of the day, or the incomprehensible desire to leave his demons behind. He reached towards the bedside where there would surely be a bottle to be had with something left, if not vapors, knocking off the dusty silver coin and it bounced. Light as it was, the sound was enough to remind him of the words he thought would never be his to embrace, 24 hours of sobriety. And then it hit him. “Get up, get showered, get to work, get to a meeting, don’t drink and one of these days, find the strength to clean up this mess.” But as long as he continued to clean up his act, the dust would remain settled, and a new milestone awaits, if only he can make it one more day.