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Novelo Rectangle

The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. His reflection stirred as he realized the mistake he had made. The ice was delicate beneath his heavy boots. One movement and he could be submerged in the unbearably cold abyss that lingered beneath him.&nbsp; Frosty snowflakes fell onto his wooly jacket, he was beginning to lose hope. His eyes were hurting from the blasting winds that stabbed at him. There was no escape. He was stranded and completely, utterly alone. 	&nbsp;Regret streaked his lonely mind. He recalled his teaching days when he was surrounded by noisy students. Now, he remained surrounded by darkness plummeting into his past. Colors flashed as he relived the moment his life came crashing down. The beating of his heart which brimmed like an overflowing mixer. He replayed his wife packing her bags and having to clear his desk out at work. The mug that concealed his morning fix. His students believed he had a natural stutter.&nbsp;He had relentless wrinkles like the rim of a pint glass, scarring his forehead with ugly lines. His skin was colorless and pale. He resembled nothing but a shadow. A lifeless ghost. His bones were fragile and shaky. His teeth were rotted and chipped. He was in a permanent drunken haze.&nbsp;Time had frozen around him as he stared into the distance. This is what he had become. Slowly fading away into nothingness. The cold lake beneath his feet couldn’t hold the weight of the realization that clouded his mind.&nbsp;&nbsp;He had left every single one of his family members behind. &nbsp;He was consumed by the sickly strong smell of alcohol. He could taste the remnants of it on his quivering lips. Desperation ached in his veins. He despised the bitter taste left on his tongue, the destruction of his family. Simultaneously, he craved it. Tears blinked in his eyes as he considered all that he had lost.&nbsp;The family that he had left behind was no longer considered his. His wife had moved on, painting him as a hopeless drunk. His children hadn’t seen him for months and don’t wait for his phone calls. The only comfort he had was a bottle of whatever he could find to numb the pain in his mind.&nbsp;&nbsp;Sunken cheekbones that hold the sullen eyes of a wasted lifetime, always glassy and soulless from looking to the bottom of a bottle. His eyebags showed the sleepless nights of retching in some hopeless alley. His body was weary and broken.&nbsp;He solemnly wished that he hadn’t wasted his life away. His eyes flickered withsadness as he imagined a life where he could still run into his wife’s arms. Where he could teach history as if he isn’t living his own dull version. He prayed for forgiveness with his stumbling hands and his tormented mind. What a miserable drunk with a miserable life.&nbsp;&nbsp;

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The real killer

jessl869

jess dingley

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Alcohol kills

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jessica dingley

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