The Alcoholic (Microfiction)

Mountaintops summoned me, but her empty promises only led to endless valleys.

“Please, Atticus,” she breathed into my chest. Her eyes shimmered with effervescent tears that flowed towards my lips. I yearned for her sparkling kisses and ethereal embrace.

“I can’t trust you.”

“You’re nothing without me,” she whispered priggishly. Her haunting spirit ached to heckle me into submission. Her glassy gaze began cracking as I refrained from swallowing her lies.

She beckoned again. I threw her onto the floor. Shards of glittering temptation and shattered illusions swirled in liquid lust beneath my feet.

Her pleas linger in every bottle.

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