Drinking

Drinking

A. Halter

The singular lamp overhead cast a small circle of light on the ground of the otherwise obscure room. Holding the only key to unlock this chamber, she stepped in and slid the door swiftly shut behind her.

    Standing in the center of the stark circle, her eyes were limited to this illuminated view of the floor. But she knew what surrounded her. There were mahogany glossed shelves on three sides of the little room, spanning from floor to ceiling, containing years of collected magic. She knew that if she were to reach out, her hands would surely touch the shelves and knock off their contents, shattering both history and future.

    Gliding two steps forward from the small circle of light, she nestled herself silently into the velvet chair. A clinging sound permeated the still room as she pulled the chain to turn on the small lamp. At once, the little light lit up the room; green, white, and brown light reflected from the contents of the shelves and pattered all around the room like the northern lights cascading across a dark winter sky. Her eyes were caught in this flutter of colors, and a thousand emotions hit her like a thrashing gust of hurricane wind, enacting goosebumps on all surfaces of her body. As her eyes adjusted to the light permeating the room, she could see them.

    There they were. Little glass bottles, filling the shelves in rows that were two to three hands deep. Covered in the dust the length of her life, they varied in shape, size, and color. Each little vessel peculiar in its appearance, like potions or concoctions lining the walls of a witch’s brewery. In similarity, each bottle was capped with a cork and the neck diligently wrapped with a red ribbon fastening a folded paper. Inside these thousands of bottles, appeared to be nothing. But yet, they were everything- to her.

    Sedentary in her chair, she reached out her left hand to the nearest shelf. She grasped a little green bottle and sunk further into the chair, as if she were preparing to read an entire novel in only an hour’s time. Un-slipping the red ribbon nimbly from the neck of the bottle, she released the folded paper. Carefully unfolding the crisp paper revealed a photo; a photo of a man seated at a grand piano, center stage, with thousands of heads illuminated before him like specks of dust. Eyes focused on the photo, she uncorked and drank from the slightly dusty, petite bottle.   In a second, a flood of darkness enshrouded her and her mind was transported back to this moment of passion poured over keys. His voice rang out as his hands slipped over the keys, dancing through her heart. The image was fading; she quickly drank from the bottle again, and his face and the piano came back into focus. She breathed deep and relived the memory, just as she had bottled it some three years ago. Only letting the tune reign for this moment, she recorked the bottle, folded the photo carefully along the well-creased line, retied it to the bottle with the same red ribbon, and placed the bottle in its home on the shelf next to the thousands of others.

    Standing up, she reached two shelves higher and selected a slightly larger tawny bottle. Blowing the dust of ages from the bottle, she reseated, untied, unfolded, and uncorked the bottle. Drinking deeply, a wave of fresh air floated to her nose as she held the tarnished photo of her grandfather at her childhood farm. Tears began to fall from her eyes, as her mind recreated this last moment: her smiling grandfather hoisting her on top of the sandy horse as she giggled away childishly. Only now did she know the importance of bottling this moment; for, malignant evil took him only one year later. Thinking to preserve the contents of this bottle more diligently, she quickly recorked it and returned it to the shelf, struggling to control her breath.

    The chain of the little lamp clinked as she walked to the door with a brown, unfilled bottle in her hand. Without looking back, she turned off the spotlight, slid the door shut, and locked it from the outside, ensuring that the bottles would be there the next time that she needed them most.

Author's Note

I am looking for direction in how to improve my writing.
Does this short piece evoke image?
What is the effect on you?
What could be better?
How can I improve it?