Cheap drinks and hospital stink.

A Story by anonnn

memoir type thing about my grandfather

Life drains from his blue eyes and confusion sets in. His hands tremble
as he repeats himself, scared and incoherent. His crippled body wrinkles
with every motion, and he is lost. Drunken stooper resembles his
attitude, clearly so familiar to me. The white cords tangle around his
arms like the veins they are inhibiting. the machines beep in a melody
filled rhythm. The sound of saving a life. He jokes to hide is suffering
as he lies lifelessly enveloped in white linens. The hospital room is
ever so familiar. The stench of too clean and the aroma of pain find
themselves bellowed between my arched lips and nostrils. The trembling,
cracked lips that dare to speak because every word I have to say holds
tension. His forehead holds numerous wrinkles, each carved by memories
and experiences. By laughter as well as loss. A tear forms and glistens
in the brights of the fluorescent tone set by hospital lights. Tears of
sadness and doubt. I barely know this man I call Grandpa. Even in this
time of despair i felt anger welling up, interred from within my bones.
Why have you done this to yourself? Put yourself into this stage from
repeated days of whiskey shots and Natural Light. The strong stench
still envelops him. Why was he smothered with the curse of addiction.
This hatred in my heart burns. Every time a sense of hope is collected it
seems to be doused with alcohol, and sparked with fire. Abolished it
completely.