”Where is it” I think as I scramble through the mess in my room.
”I need it,” I say even though there isn’t anyone listening.
My shaking hands rummage through drawer after drawer in search of my bottle.
”Where is it” I scream.
”What are you doing?” My mother asks from downstairs.
”Where’s my bottle” I scream at her. ”I need my bottle.”
”It’s not there,” she says.
I stop what I’m doing. What does she mean it isn’t here?
I run down the stairs to the kitchen. ”What have you done?” I ask her. She’s scared of me. I can see that. She doesn’t like it when I’m like this.
”I threw it out,” She says as she backs away from me. Fearing what I’m going to do.
”Why would you do that?”
”Because you don’t need it. You need to stop.”
”I don’t need it?” I scream. ”Look at my hands, do you see this? I can’t make this stop by myself. I need my bottle.”
”You just need to stop for a while, and it will go away.” She’s crying now. She can’t stand watching her son like this.
She can’t look at what her son has become.
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Categories: flash fiction