Fallen Down

A very short thing I did based around alcohol addiction. I know there's a bit more tell than show, but I wanted the focus to be on the metaphor I'm drawing, rather than trying to read into the emotions and whatnot.

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You’re sick, you’re tired, you’re hurt, you’re sad, you can’t take it. You’re done. Just done. With everything.

You’re in your bed, looking down your body at the bottle laying there. You close your eyes - it might go away if you wait long enough. When you open your eye lids, the bottle is still there, waiting for you to take a drink. Your lips are pursed; you told yourself you wouldn’t partake in such horrid activities thereafter the twelfth day in the month of December in the Year of our Lord… you need to stand that bottle up. If that cap isn’t on tight, it could leak, and that’ll ruin the floor.

You stand up and make sure the bottle is vertical. You check the cap, just to make sure it’s not open. You’ve seen it too many times; the cap was just a little loose, someone picked it up, and everything spilled everywhere. It’s never pretty.

You look around the room and busy yourself with the window, trying to find the perfect height to let the right amount of air in. You sit back down on your computer, glancing over at the bottle. To make sure it hasn’t fallen off yet. You try to text some people and get a conversation started, but no one responds. You stare at the bottle, your self-hatred boiling.

You stand up, eyes down, and grab the bottle. You sit back down.

You place the bottle at your desk, hoping proximity will sate you. You think of why you are doing this, and you know there’s a better way. But you’re not going back now; the bottle is open, it’s against your lips. Too far now. You are too far to pretend like you’re in control. You’re anticipating the burn of the booze, knowing that the second you allow yourself to lift the bottle, you’ll regret it for the rest of the night. You swing the bottle up and the liquor slowly sliding towards the front of the bottle, the level rising slowly until enough alcohol spills over into the neck, pours through the mouth, hits your lips, rushes in like a Viking horde, stays there, raping your tongue and fighting your teeth and pillaging your gums until you gently lower the bottle and find the courage to swallow and let the fire slip down your esophagus. You feel the warmth go down to your stomach, where it replaces the self-loathing and depression and hate and anger and jealousy and sadness and loneliness with…nothing. Nothing at all. And it’s beautiful.

You’re made of glass now. You’re ready to be filled with what is supposed to be there. You’re far too empty right now. You just hope that you don’t damage your label. That would be catastrophic. No one would buy it anymore. Once your label says “alcohol”, you are done. Everyone will treat you differently, if they aren’t busy avoiding you for the better labels. No, as long as no one knows you’re filled with cheap booze, you are fine. Just fill up to the brim with it, and enjoy the nothingness.

Just make sure you put the bottle upright with the cap on tight. Last thing you need is for it to fall down again.

Hey there TheThing. I'm your friendly neighbourhood reviewer for today. I'm going to post my general comments in blue at the end, my grammatical comments in #FF0000 ">red throughout the piece adn my conceptual comments in green wherever it comes up. Here we go!

You’re sick, you’re tired, you’re hurt, you’re sad, you can’t take it. You’re done. Just done. With everything.
Good opening line. Not often do you see 2nd person prose!

You’re in your bed, looking down your body at the bottle laying there. You close your eyes - it might go away if you wait long enough. When you open your eye lids, I understand you're going for something more than just "open your eyes" but your eyelids don't really open, do they? the bottle is still there, waiting for you to take a drink. Your lips are pursed; you told yourself you wouldn’t partake in such horrid activities thereafter the twelfth day in the month of December in the Year of our Lord… you need to stand that bottle up. If that cap isn’t on tight, it could leak, and that’ll ruin the floor. Okay, I like it so far. Maybe just some more explaining of hard it really is to fight that urge to drink. I like the idea of the persona lying to themselves about worrying the floor will be ruined.

You stand up and make sure the bottle is vertical. You check the cap, just to make sure it’s not open. You’ve seen it too many times; the cap was just a little loose, someone picked it up, and everything spilled everywhere. It’s never pretty.

You look around the room and busy yourself with the window, trying to find the perfect height to let the right amount of air in. You sit back down on your computer, glancing over at the bottle. To make sure it hasn’t fallen off yet. You try to text some people and get a conversation started, but no one responds. You stare at the bottle, your self-hatred boiling.

You stand up, eyes down, and grab the bottle. You sit back down.
I like it. Have you ever read Lord of the Flies? There's a part where a character is convinced that a pig's head is talking to him. I can imagine that if there was some personification of the bottle it would work very well.

You place the bottle at your desk, hoping proximity will sate you. You think of why you are doing this, and you know there’s a better way. But you’re not going back now; the bottle is open, it’s against your lips. Too far now. You are too far to pretend like you’re in control. You’re anticipating the burn of the booze, knowing that the second you allow yourself to lift the bottle, you’ll regret it for the rest of the night. You swing the bottle up and the liquor slowly sliding towards the front of the bottle, the level rising slowly until enough alcohol spills over into the neck, pours through the mouth, hits your lips, rushes in like a Viking horde, stays there, raping your tongue and fighting your teeth and pillaging your gums until you gently lower the bottle and find the courage to swallow and let the fire slip down your esophagus. You feel the warmth go down to your stomach, where it replaces the self-loathing and depression and hate and anger and jealousy and sadness and loneliness with…nothing. Nothing at all. And it’s beautiful.
Excellent imagery. I definitely like how the liquor is completely ravaging at the beginning but soothes (albeit falsely) in the end.

You’re made of glass now. You’re ready to be filled with what is supposed to be there. You’re far too empty right now. You just hope that you don’t damage your label. That would be catastrophic. No one would buy it anymore. Once your label says “alcohol”, you are done. Everyone will treat you differently, if they aren’t busy avoiding you for the better labels. No, as long as no one knows you’re filled with cheap booze, you are fine. Just fill up to the brim with it, and enjoy the nothingness.

Just make sure you put the bottle upright with the cap on tight. Last thing you need is for it to fall down again.
Great ending! Love the extended metaphor!


Overall, I think this is great. I think you're a very good writer and this shows awesome potential. I think you should extend this for sure, because it sets up a very deep character. For a writing exercise, try doing the same thing you've done, but make the persona become happier, rather than slip into the sadness they tried to escape from.

Bravo, PM me when you submit more.

That was really awesome! It flows really well and I didn't want to stop reading! I agree with RoachRedford!; It's be cool to extend it further than that.

This was a really good piece. Just like HenPen said above, I couldn't stop reading it! It was well written and interesting.

I know at the beginning you said that this piece wasn't going to go into the emotions as much, but honestly I think that you mixed in emotions well. Sure we didn't really get as much emotion as most pieces give us, but there was enough emotion there. I thought the balance of show and tell worked great in this story.

Great job and a great piece! Keep writing!

I enjoyed that. I’ve never really been good at figuring out metaphors and themes and such, but here goes:

First, I’m not sure about the choice of second person narrative. I think because you just don’t experience much of it in fiction, I seem to find it more difficult to get into. Although I do think it gives the story more of a universal feel; like addiction is something that could happen to anyone, even you.

One or two nitpicks:

you told yourself you wouldn’t #FF0000 ">partake in such horrid activities thereafter the twelfth day in the month of December in the Year of our Lord

This part just doesn’t seem to flow. It’s a bit too convoluted, perhaps try to simplify it.

You swing the bottle up and the liquor slowly sliding towards the front of the bottle, the level rising slowly until enough alcohol spills over into the neck, pours through the mouth, hits your lips, rushes in like a Viking horde, stays there, raping your tongue and fighting your teeth and pillaging your gums until you gently lower the bottle and find the courage to swallow and let the fire slip down your esophagus.

This sentence is very long. Maybe try to break it down into two or three.

You feel the warmth go down to your stomach, where it replaces the self-loathing and depression and hate and anger and jealousy and sadness and loneliness with…nothing. Nothing at all. And it’s beautiful.

I like that. He fills himself with liquor in order to escape from his feelings and feel nothingness, almost a numbing of the pain and emotion. It’s interesting that filling himself with liquor empties the bottle and also makes him feel empty. I like the paradox of the liquor which is both (seemingly) healing and damaging at the same time. I also feel like the parallel drawn between the MC and the empty bottle later on was done well.
Overall, I felt it was a good piece. If you do want to flesh this out a bit more, perhaps you could intensify the inner conflict of the main character. Show more of his inner battle that eventually ends with him giving in to his addiction.