The sun rises and I catch a glimpse of last night. Pour, drink, swing, miss, blank.
Status update: Face swollen, shirt ripped and bloody, shoes missing. I can see a dark mark below my eye. My voice is high-pitched and scratchy when I say I’m cold; I feel the ghost of my friend’s thumb against my larynx.
A car pulls up and I get in. I feel like I’m wearing a collar; it’s choking me, and I can’t speak. The part of me with something to say fades away in the mirror.
Originally published October 2014 on 99fiction. Edited July 2017.