Lurking Inside a Bottle - A Dark Story #otherwords

On the 3rd Thursday of the month I've decided to post something different. I belong to a writer's group. Not an online one - one with real humans, meeting in a real room - interacting with each other!  Sometimes I can make the meetings - other times - I'm in belly dance class. Each month there is a challenge, which can be addressed either as fiction or non-fiction. I use the challenges, whether I make it to the meeting or not, as a writing exercise. So on the 3rd Thursday of the month, I'll post the literary results of my tackling the challenge. The challenge for this essay was -
Describe the last time you played musical chairs! Please end with: aiming for that last chair then I passed out, with no memory of what happened next.



Lurking inside a bottleThe coolness of the wall leeches through my t-shirt as I press my back against it, trying to become invisible. More invisible.The laughter and music filling the room grates against my psyche.I hate these people. I hate this game. I hate my life.With no worries of being watched, I slip my hand into the front pocket of my jeans. The smoothness of the brown plastic soothes my soul. Relief. Respite. Revenge. Lurks within the bottle.I slip the small green pill into my mouth. Fourth? Or fifth one? It sticks to my throat. I choke it down. Sniffing, I swipe at tears. Unconcerned that anyone noticed. I'm invisible.The music stops, but the noise ramps ups to sickening with shrill giggles as asses race for chairs. Cassie fakes a fall off her seat, squeals and races over to glue her chest and lips against Michael Stanton. I turn away as his hand snakes under her blouse.A chair tossed aside, slams into the one in front of me. I edge further back against the wall.Does anybody even remember I'm here? The game begins again. A child's game played by drunken teenagers.Lydia screeches with triumph. She's the last one seated. She's the victor. Of course she is. She always is. My perfect little sister. Flawless skin. Perfect teeth. With boobs and a butt that grabs every XY chromosome crotch's attention.Why did she drag me to this party? To humiliate me. Again. No one spoke to me. No guy's hand snaked up my shirt. Steven Maitland pushed me off that chair so I was first one out of the game. They all laughed.To the world, I am nothing. Lydia's laugh drowns out all other sounds. A razor blade across my wrist would be more enjoyable.  My little sister. Mom and Dad said I had to look out for her. I'm the big sister. Had to share my toys. My parents. My life.She took them all away. I exist no more. Unloved. Forgotten. It's always Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. Lydia.Look at her. A false smile glued on her face as she humbly confesses amazement that little old hercould have won.There'd be hell to pay if she hadn't.Mommy and Daddy's little princess.The room sways. Steadying myself, my neck muscles protest as I squish the back of my head against the wall.The flick of my fingernail against the stolen prescription bottle gives me comfort. I could slip ten - or so - of the little round contents into her beer. Leave it an hour then, as the magnanimous sister that I am, offer it to her. She'd be too drunk to notice. Then she'd sleep.A long deep sleep.Possibly forever.The thought fills my heart with joy. I squash it back. No joy until no Lydia.She's standing in front of me. Speaking to me. No – speaking at me. Laughing. I hate that laugh. My deepest desire at this exact second is to rip her eyeballs out of her head.Her face blurs.  Movement slows. She drags me back to the circle. We're going to play again.I don't want to. But I'll do it for her. For Lydia. Everyone always does everything for Lydia. Just this one last time. We stand in a circle. Smiles painted on faces. Friends challenge each other. Crowing they'll be the champion this time. I clench my fingers on the chair back, trying not to fall. Music starts. The game begins. I stumble, lose my balance and slam my butt against a chair just as the music stops. Kevin is left standing. My heart sings, "Loser!" I play again. And again.Two people remain. Everyone watches, believing we are loving sisters. But I know hatred lives in both our hearts. I will win this one. I will not let Lydia defeat me again. I can barely hear the music, the pounding in my ears drowns the sound. I float around the sole chair, swaying to my own song.The chair becoming two. Two blurry brown blobs. Which chair leads to victory? To conquer Lydia. To crush her like a cigarette butt.Music stops. Diving forward, I aim for that last chair. My butt settles then blessed blackness swarms me. Not caring about anything, I allow myself to melt into it. What happens will happen. I care – not.