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Christmas was supposed to be a time of love, hope and joy. Ingrid felt nothing. No joy. She felt no love. None at all. And it was this realization that left her with no hope.
Ingrid picked up the cup of coffee realizing it had long turned cold—again. She got up from the warmth of being nestled under the blanket to warm the coffee in the microwave. While waiting on the ding of the microwave, Ingrid opened the bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. She wasn’t sure which would be the most effective, so she decided to purchase both. She was in no way an expert and these sorts of things.
With her cup and the two bottles in hand, Ingrid settled back under her blanket on the sofa. She took a big gulp of coffee to wet her throat thoroughly. The plan was about to be put into motion. She would take both bottlefuls, finish her coffee while she smoked the pack of Camels and watched TV alone and waited on the last fire to burn down to what would soon be nothing but cold ash.
Ingrid put a Camel between her lips, flicked the lighter and breathed in long and deep. She held the smoke for a few seconds and exhaled even slower. Tears formed in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her heart ached harder and deeper than she could ever recall. Why her children didn’t care to even call her on Christmas, Ingrid could find no reasonable answer for. The only thing explanation she could muster was that she wasn’t important to them anymore.
Between the four of them, why would no one call? She had tried to call them each several times, leaving voice messages. No one returned her call. Sure, she knew that adult life and the responsibility of kids made for busy lives, but her heart broke that the children she shared her life and every holiday with for more than thirty years didn’t take two seconds to wish her a Merry Christmas.
Ingrid picked up the first bottle of pills, pouring out half the contents into her hand. She raised her hand to her mouth, her cup of coffee in the other hand ready to wash them down. She realized she would not be able to take so many at once—they would literally make her throw up as she hated taking pills. Instead, she decided to take five or six at time while finishing off the pot of coffee and pack of Camels.
The first six pills were swallowed and on their way to the bottom of her stomach where they would soon be joined by another six, and another six, until all forty-eight were emptied from the bottles. She poured out another six pills and took a deep drag from her cigarette. She lifted her hand to her mouth and tried to focus on the TV show instead of the bitter taste of chalky pills.
About the Author: Colbie Myles is a freelance writer, editor and designer. Her debut novel, Making Memories, will be out in Summer 2014 from TouchPoint Press. Look for upcoming excerpts and announcements from Colbie in the coming months! Connect with Colbie online and on Facebook and Twitter.