Shadow

She would be drunk on champaign, day and night.  The scent of booze constantly escaping her dry, chapped lips.  She was sky high on alcohol so often, that she commonly lost control of her body.  A mother she was once.  To a sweet young girl, however, with such disheveled confusion filled moments, she abused her daughter.  Leaving red streaks on her cheeks, sometimes bruising in the shape of fingers.

A horrid, abusing monster.  What could she do? No one knew her story.  The Woman when younger fell into a deeply wronged group.  Abusers of the law, misjudged individuals, thieves.  The Woman never had a friend.  Her days of alcoholism started young at age sixteen.  By age eighteen you could see she needed help.  It was never provided nor recommended, so the drinking never stopped.  Twelve years passed of sweetly bitter wine. Vodka in the morning, whiskey in the evening.  Escaping sometimes, merely, with smudged eyeshadow and a dizzying amount of "liquid courage".

She stumbles on a stair climbing the steps to her daughter's room, ready to strike.  Side to side, wobbling. One step, two steps, three, seven, and so forth.  She reaches the top, partially in control.  She needs more.  Her thirst for alcohol grows. A deep yearning inside her.  She looks to her right hand and notices she lacks a bottle.  The child - she thinks - must have stolen it, again.  The Woman looks back up and walks through her daughter's door.  The child attempts a scream, too little, too late.  Not fast enough for her mother's slap.  A clink brings the Woman's attention to her left hand, where her bottle truly is.  She takes a swig, and retreats down the stairs from whence she came, leaving her progeny sobbing.  Down the stairs she stumbles and plops on the couch in front of a TV blaring gibberish.  She thought about her life.  She was remembering all those days when she was younger when her mother would take her out to ice cream on Friday nights.  She remembers her sixteenth birthday, and her mother being diagnosed with cancer.   She remembers when she first tasted a beer.  It burned her throat, yet made her feel better.  She remembers four years ago when her boyfriend overdosed and died.  A tear trickles down her cheek.  No, she mustn't remember.  She takes a long drink of her beer and repeats her cycle.  The only thing she knows anymore.