Alone and Drunk | – Short Story
By: Mercy Sangma |

Some days I sit with a half closed door waiting for sunset to find me. I would sit there on my bed, covered in hope and misery, waiting for the sunset river to chase me again, again like the day I met it for the first time.

I would sit in a room with no light and walls too white, I would sit alone in place called my own as no one would be there next to me. I would share my thoughts and rest my left leg on right and hands would be sharing the sides.

The hands of a clock hanging on the wall kept talking to me, every day, every hour and every passing second. I could hear it and so did my life and my life, sinking in a lake of hopeless memories would wait for that bird trying to fly out of the mud.

My life would wait for that bird to come and sit next to that window of mine. But only the wind comes, dry unfriendly wind making my feet cold, leaving my face wrinkled.

“I am getting as old as you, my fading sun”, I would write on a piece of paper and let it fly out every day when evening would die in my eyes, and so does the half closed door which the world outside sees as half wide open, but no one wishes to come and I wish to entertain no one. I live in complete harmony with myself with no longing for a companion.

So again a day has passed and lived through my words, in a paper or in my heart. It is hard to gather the thoughts again just like sunshine.

The voice and mirror of coming night will find me like always.

Alone and drunk.

Feature Image: Depositphotos

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