Nobody's Reading... Let's Get Crunky!

I can't have more blogs. I just can't. I can't keep up with the ones I have.  But, I don't want to completely abandon the idea that I had for this one, so perhaps I will continue to post the pictures of weird packaged food I find, but will weave in some creative writing that has nothing to do with it... You've been warned. Now let's get crunky... If crunk is crazy drunk, does this mean something slightly different?  Like cranky drunk?  Because I feel like that sometimes...

It was her 28th birthday.  Abigail looked at herself in the mirror. She already had crow's feet.  They nicely complimented the dark circles beneath her eyes.  She scrunched up her eyes and all the lines in her face suddenly looked like some sort of Asian characters to her and she laughed.  Laughed with tears in her eyes and a frown gripping her mouth.

 

She remembered when she was young.  Young and perfect.  Skin was smooth, unblemished, unlined.  And she wasted all the years.  The lot of them.  She thought there'd be more, that she'd look perfect forever without having to try. She scoffed at all the people spending money on face creams and exercising and eating right.  Her friends were jealous and she could hear their whispers.  Abigail was naturally thin and had beautiful features.  Men loved her and women wanted to be her and Abigail spent every waking hour abusing her body with her so-called admirers, filling it with everything that made her feel amazing and alive. Everything that made her feel like walking death after she finally crashed for a few hours into unconsciousness and awoke again the next miserable morning... or afternoon.  

She fell too fast, too soon and now as she looked at her destroyed visage in the mirror, she saw that her life was in pieces.  She didn't even know who's mirror it was that she was looking into.  

Her life was upside down and she had no idea how to find happiness now.  It felt brittle and crunchy, and she wished it were smooth again.  She wished for the smoothness that substance abuse had brought, but now could no longer maintain.  Feeling the cold porcelain under her fingertips, she pressed her hands into the sink counter, staring down into the dark blackness of the drain.  

"Dumplin'?" a voice drawled from the next room.  Suddenly, Abigail could feel his fingerprints all over her and she shuddered quietly.  

"You comin' back ta bed, girl?" continued the drawling, scratchy voice.  

Abigail shook her head slowly and opened the medicine cabinet that was behind the mirror.  Oddly enough, there was a small bottle of whiskey sitting on the bottom shelf next to a tube of toothpaste.  

At least he has good taste, she thought to herself.  She opened the bottle, took a long draught, and replaced the cap.  Her head felt better, but her mood was still sour.  She wiped her tears on her dirty sleeve and walked back to the bedroom to find out what container the scratchy voice came in.