Writing Prompt

A stretched yawn left her mouth as her hands reached out to rub at her droopy eyes. The faint stench of liquor that radiated off of her caused her to sit up and move her hand to her aching head. The other sat on the white pillow behind her.

It wasn’t until she moved it that she realised she was touching something hard and rough. Squinting her eyes, she brought the object in front of her only to see a bible.

Confusion nipped at her insides and she tilted her head. Not even a minute had passed when her lazy eyes snapped fully open and scanned the unfamiliar room. She had no time to admire the clean room as she was already out of bed and running out.

Through a mirror in the hallway, she caught sight of her messy appearance; smudged lipstick around her lips and dark mascara under her eyes.

Sighing she ran to the front door, surprised to find it open. Before her was a glass milk bottle on the doorstep alongside a tyre, a bicycle tyre. She spotted a broken bike hidden in the grass and immediately memories came rushing to her.

However before she could make a run for it a voice pulled her back.

“Leaving so soon.” He sighed in that posh voice of his.

She turned only to see him dressed in his priest uniform, staring at her expectantly.

“I guess..” her voice was hoarse and rough. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank all the alcohol.

He raised his brows for a brief second, “you know, it’s not a good idea to be driving around on your bicycle, drunk and in the middle of the night. Most importantly, you shouldn’t be doing that in front a priests house.”

She rolled her eyes at his lecture but couldn’t speak as he cut her off, “I left that bible for you, take it I can see you need it a lot.”

“Whatever..” she scoffed.

“And next time,” he crossed his arms, “don’t try tricking me into believing your the milkman. You can take that milk you left aswell..”

When I first open my eyes I instantly know I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I open my eyes and look around the room some more. I’m in... some sort of shack. I’m on a bed and around me there Is a small table and a couch that is shredded. In the corner of my vision I see red. I look over and freeze. There are intense blood stains on the wall. Right next to the bed. How did I get here? Where am I? And what happened last night? The last thing in remember from last night was... nothing. I strain my brain, trying to find answers. Nothing. I do remember eating dinner though, I went out and ate at a restaurant with my friend. Did I get drunk? I’m not hungover... I get up slowly and want to the door. I turn the handle, and it’s locked. Damn it! I start investing the room, to see if there is anything I can use. But I only end up finding 3 things... a glass milk bottle, a holy bible, and a bicycle tire. What...? Why would I find these in a shack!? I pick and the milk bottle, and the second I do I drop it, it shatters. I remember... something from last night. The milkman came, very later than usual. And gave me some milk. And it was on the wrong day too! A store that information for later, then I look at the Bible. I look closer and see that it’s pretty close to the copy that I have... or is it the one I have?? My head spins. I remember that too. I read it before bed... before hearing the noise... some broke into my house. My brain keeps making the connections, being the weakling I am I ran out the back door and got on my bike (I don’t have a car) and ride as fast as I could and as far as I could. Of course my pursuer caught up to me. I remember falling, breaking my bike because of the momentum, and looking up to see someone put a weird rag on my mouth and nose. I blacked out. Now I’m here. But how do I get out? I start the think, then I hear a noise. Keys. The door opens, a dark figure with a fast walks in. I start pleading, “No, please-“ but I’m cut short by the bullet they put in my head.

It was early in the morning and I was in a room that I could not recollect being in the night before. A vividly yellow room, tied up with ropes, sat on a chair though I had not one mark on my body.

Although, all I see in this room is an empty milk bottle perfectly placed a distance away from me. I forcefully dragged my chair forward until I was a foot length away from it.

Swivelling my chair 180 degrees clockwise I reach my hand out to pick it up. Borrowing the life hacks I watch in thriller films, I break the bottle spin back around and use the broken glass to break the bind of the rope.

I got up, dusted myself off and recalled something. I had drunk all the milk in this bottle. Inhaling the toxic chemicals that were evidently rushed for me to drink were trickled all over the floor.

I walked to the door which was locked on the outside. I yanked a pin from my hair and fumbled with the lock for a few minutes and at my toes was a bible. The holy bible. But I was Muslim how could this be?

I recalled something else. There was a pastor who persuaded me to arrive at his sermon in his cottage yesterday so he could convert me to Jehovah 's Witnesses. And he then gave me a bottle of milk to drink and he was coming to start prayers with me. I then fell into a deep slumber.

Remembering all of this, I tried to run out of the entrance but he had a knife to my neck. And he had my bicycle tyre attempting to strangle me.

I wake up with a screaming headache. I’m surprised I don’t puke as I sit up. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and am about to make a beeline for the bathroom, but I kick something over. It clatters about. Is that... a glass milk bottle? What the hell? I pick it up and examine it. My partying habits have never been healthy, but I think I should cut back a little. I can’t remember a thing. I try and think back to last night, but there’s just... nothing there.

Okay, so the cold water splashed on my face seemed to wake me up a bit, but I still have no idea what happened last night. It seems my only clue is a glass milk bottle- hey! What’s that in the shower? A bible?! What happened last night? Dread starts sinking in.

I stumble into the living room of my apartment. I trip over the rumpled carpet, and steady myself on the couch (which is covered in empty cups and bottles). I put the milk bottle and bible on my kitchen counter, sweeping some streamers out of the way, and stare at them. To my dismay, they don’t cause a revelation about last night.

I know what will get my memory jogging! A nice cup of coffee and some eggs. And no hangover-cure breakfast is complete without... a bicycle tyre? How many drugs was I on last night? I glance around to see if any of my guests have passed out and slept over, but apart from a few items of clothing there is no sign of life in my apartment. I sigh. This is gonna be a difficulty mystery to solve.

I’d call someone to try and figure out what happened, but my phone’s in the blender. With someone’s brilliant idea for a kale and banana smoothie. As I fish it out, it all comes back to me.

Flashes of last night: me being convinced that Stefanie was possessed and trying to exorcise her in the shower with a bible; freaking out because her mascara was clearly the demon trying to escape; running into the lounge screaming; Wesley handing me some of his homemade liquor in a milk bottle; me throwing up into the toilet while Stefanie sat crying in the shower; me promising all my bad influences that I would go sober and then gratefully accepting a baggie of colourful pills from someone I didn’t recognise; and losing it when Reese arrived with a bicycle, because bicycles were created to replace horses, and I believed I was a centaur.

As quickly as I had remembered, I forget the events of last night again. They slip away through the cracks in my brain. Everything hurts. I want to say that this is a turning point- that I’ll get clean- but deep down I know that next time I’ll party hard too.

I just hope I make it to the morning after.

A soft yawn slipped out from my mouth as I slowly stretched my aching body, trying to wake the joints up from sleep. I turned to my side, reaching out to the side table, searching for my mobile phone with my fingers since my eyes refused to open, when suddenly my fingers brushed over something rubbery. “Funny,” I thought to myself, not remembering having anything rubbery in my side table. I slowly openede my eyes, and there, I saw a slender shape of a glass milk bottle, laying down on its side with a rubber nipple covered at the opening, dripping with now cold milk. This finally jolted me up from bed as I realised I wasn’t in my bed. I looked around the unfamiliar surroundings of the bedroom trying hard to remember how I got there. Nothing came to my mind. It was as if all memories were sucked out of my head leaving it empty with nothingness.

I sat up slowly. My feet felt odd as I touched the floor. I looked down and screamed! What once were feet are now round, black bicycle tyres the size of training wheels. My frantic screams must have woken the people of the house as I suddenly could hear rushed footsteps coming towards the room I was in. The door swung open and a man, a bible in his hand, stood before me. He was saying something that I could not comprehend. The room started spinning and slowly darkness took over me.

As his eyes start to open, he gets the sudden whiff of espresso and the suddle sound of the strumming of a guitar. The first thing he sees are the wooden beams that gives the room more of a cabin feel. As he sits up he’s hit with the pain in the back of his head and the aching soreness in his legs and arms. As he raises his arm he feels a shooting pain in his stomach. He looks down to see a gush of blood coming from his abdomen. He takes a look at his hand to see that it’s drenched in blood and puts it back on his stomach to try and hold the wound. He looks around slowly sitting up and finds himself laying on the floor with wooden tables surrounding him.

He tries to stand but gets caught with the pain in his leg. He looks at his legs and arms finally sitting up. His legs are stained with blood and his arms are covered in poorly wrapped bandages with blood dripping through. With his bandaged arm, he grabs his shirt and shoves it in his mouth to muffle his screaming.

As he attempts again to stand he yells and cries and his legs start shaking trying to hold him up. The second he stands, he leans against one of the tables and looks around again.

It’s a coffee shop. On his left is where all the coffee machines are and his right all these colorful couches and chairs. He down at the floor and sees about 7 different trails of blood leading towards the slightly open door. As he attempts to move forward, he sees the tables are littered with coffee cups and spots one glass milk bottle. He limps over and sees more and more blood scattered everywhere.

As he gets close to the door he sees some bicycles laid on their sides with the tyres circling round with the breeze rushing through the door.

All of a sudden he here the cocking of a gun and turns around as fast as he can. In front of him is a girl with blond hair with patches of blood. She has a small bag with some books keeping through. One of the books title he can see has the title Albuquerqu’s Crime. Another one that’s just peaking through is the Bible. She’s was wearing but now stained red button up with bandage wraps all around her leg. She’s holding her right arm with her left trying to stop herself from shaking and keeping the gun steady.

She stutters but asks, “Who the hell are you?”

“I-um-my-.” He watched as her finger shakes over the trigger making him more terrified by the second. He tried to remeber the earliest memory he can but the only thing he remebers is waking up a couple minutes ago. He thinks and thinks but can seem to remeber anything.

“I can’t- I can’t remeber.”

Dust has always intrigued me. Accumulating like history that refuses to be ignored. There’s a glass milk bottle, a bible, and an old torn up bike tire in the corner of the room. The old wood floor whines when make my way over, begging to be beaten down further. Dust covers the floor and the old items in the corner. The milk bottle has survived in peace without being put on sale at some vintage shop being constantly eyed by young recently engaged women. It has embraced its history, waiting for someone to find it and stop to reminisce on the good old days. The days when bibles weren’t abandoned in empty houses. The days when children rode their bike. I don’t know when last lived in this empty falling down house but it could’ve been anyone. It’s all of our stories and It’s all of the stories that have descended into the soil already.