Slab Of Butter

James had few true pleasures remaining in his life. Time, divorce, and the company had taken most everything. His doctor seemed intent on taking what remained.

"You're going to have to cut out alcohol and fatty foods."

James stared down at his bowl of greens. Across the table, George was cutting into his steak. Steven, keeping it light, had a baked potato topped with sour cream, chives, and bacon. They both drank from judicious glasses of red wine.

"Can you pass me that plate?"

Ignoring the stares from his friends, James smeared a large slab of butter onto his salad.

Drinking

There was a time that drinking carried with it a thrill. The flash of acceptance by his peers, the risk of being caught.

Then it became a habit. An expectation, though not a conscious one. It was just a part of everyday life, like the friends he no longer really connects with, but finding new friends seems complicated and lonely.

Now it is no longer drinking. It is alcohol, and he needs it to not feel sick, to not hate himself.

Maybe he should quit. But that strikes him as uncomfortable. Better just to not think about it too much.

Year Of Atonement

The Grim Reaper took things slower, started to travel by tricycle during the week and by donkey on the weekends. At night we kept warm around matchsticks and dumpster fires. For entertainment we compared peanut butter and jelly recipes. Snooze buttons recorded high anxiety days. Snooze alarms provided the year’s soundtrack. Almost everyone drank alcohol to mournful excess. Even coffee was served wrapped in brown paper bags. Coincidentally, that was the last year for the Miss America pageant. The final talent show, with an extra-large flame thrower, was really something. For months afterwards people sold charred auditorium remains as souvenirs.

From Guest Contributor Mike James

It Would Be The End Of Prohibition For Harry

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Harry didn't know what the big deal was. Sure, alcohol was prohibited (it was called Prohibition after all) but it was readily available if you knew where to ask. Harry knew where to ask.

His favorite place to get a bottle was the jazz joint by the river, the one popular with the colored folk. As far as Harry was concerned, they had the best gin and the best music. There were plenty of white folks there too, but Harry did his best not to be seen.

If his Ma ever found out he was drinking on a school night...

From Guest Contributor Jesse Debbins

Old Flames

A haggard creature across the bar clutches her G&T with claw-like hands.

The aquiline nose stands out from the sunken skin, triggering a disconcerting recognition.

“It can’t be,” he thinks.

Sensing his gaze, the woman looks over.

The shiny dome where once was hair, the double chin, the beer paunch, are a disturbing parody of the man she’d known.

“Lawrence?”

They’d been passionate lovers a generation ago.

Overcoming mutual revulsion, they chat a while, no chemistry between them now.

The only chemical they have in common is the alcohol anesthetizing them until they go their separate ways into the night.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Step Nine

He rode that one hit as far as it would take him. Now all he had left was the blue guitar. He had hocked, sold, or left behind everything else, including the royalties. The blue guitar, even with the missing string; he couldn’t bring himself to part with that.

The alcohol and cocaine haze had lifted long ago, leaving memories from that time scrambled.

He knew she was blond, she wasn’t just any groupie, and he’d broken more than just a guitar string.

He needed to make amends but he couldn’t remember where the tour had been playing that week.

From Guest Contributor Simon Hole

Simon lives in rural Rhode Island where he taught fourth grade for 35 years, publishing essays and co-authoring a book focused on life in the classroom. Since retirement he has been playing poker, gardening, and writing short fiction. Some of his work can be found on-line at 101Words, The Zodiac Review, 200cc’s, and Bewildering Stories.

Drink

"Drink!"

Gunnar raised the cup to his lips, the sickening in his stomach impossible to ignore.

"Drink!"

Gunnar gagged down one more cup, a temporary respite from the bile in his throat.

"Drink!"

Gunnar could barely focus on his hand, let alone make out his fellow revelers. The entire universe had shrunk down to just him and his cup.

"Drink!"

There was echoing laughter as Gunnar collapsed to the floor. It sounded distant, like it was coming from another hall.

"Drink!"

Gunnar's final thought was that he hoped losing a battle with his cups was good enough to enter Valhalla.

Peace Of Mind

Gus was only able to survive day-to-day under heavy sedation. It was always a mixture involving alcohol, barbiturates, and valium, with a healthy dose of cocaine to taste. He'd learned ages ago how to fake his drug tests and before today he'd never suffered from even a minor forklift accident.

The foreman didn't care much about Gus, and certainly didn't care about his bouts with depression, but he did care about his safety record. Forgetting the fact that he had killed Gary by leaving his body hidden in the foundation shaft would be best for both their peaces of mind.

Jordan And Mandy

Jordan was a drunk who made sure everyone had fun at his own expense. He was a clown.

Mandy, on the other hand, was a goody-goody. She never drank alcohol and did her best to avoid late-night parties. In other words, she wasn't any fun.

Mandy and Jordan couldn't have been more different. The only reason they knew each other's names was because Mandy was a tutor for the English department and Jordan was trying desperately not to flunk out.

But thanks to Judge Smalls, they've been ordered to marry.

Watch Jordan and Mandy every Friday night at 8:30 on NBC.