disturbed child
08-09-2001, 03:59 AM
Yet another one of my fics! This one is told from Jinny's point of view. Everything that's in quotes is what's being said. Anyway, here goes...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Contagious Emotions
****
"Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens." - John Homer Miller
****
Part One: Reflecting
Alcoholic. That's what I am. That's who I am. I'm an alcoholic. It's my identity.
Here I am, sitting on a bench under the pungently hot sun in the park, analyzing myself.
A-L-C-O-H-O-L-I-C. That's me.
I had my first taste of beer when I was eleven.
We were camping - it was one of those happy family outings that are so stereotypical. I can clearly remember that night. John, my father and I were sitting outside under the nocturnal sky which was lit up with shimmering stars. My father pulled a six-pack out of the cooler and handed a can to me. I remember holding that cold can in my hand and just staring at it. At the time, I was so naive when it came to alcohol. I didn't quite comprehend why it was so 'in' to drink it.
Dad was always drinking it. He would sit in front of the television, his eyes fixated on the screen - it was as if he was in some sort of trance. His feet would be propped up on the coffee table and he'd be sipping a beer. I'd just stare at him in utter awe. Alcohol. What was the big deal about it?
Then, on that fateful night of our camping trip, I learned what the big deal about it was. I popped open the top and took a sip.
I can still remember how that first sip tasted.
It wasn't good. Not even the slighest bit.
But I took another sip. And then another. Despite it's rather disgusting taste, I felt as though I had to do it. John and Dad were watching. I felt their eyes on me. I was drinking it because I was convinced that if I didn't, John and Dad would declare me an official wuss.
That's not something that I was, nor is it something that I ever will be.
So I continued to sip it. I had the urge to cringe and grimace, but I used all of my strength to resist. I didn't want John and Dad seeing my disgust for this liquid.
Before I knew it, I had consumed the entire can.
I can remember sitting there, holding the empty piece of aluminium. I had drank it. I had drank the whole damn thing. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw John and my father grinning.
Oddly, I felt proud.
Alcohol didn't enter my body ever again until the tragic incident.
My mother's suicide.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see her lying there on the floor bleeding from a self-inflicted gun shot wound to her head.
And I can still hear the sound of my father cracking open a beer downstairs.
At that moment, I thought 'Wow, it must be nice to be able to drink away all of your pain and sorrow.'
So, I began drinking. Alot.
But I don't blame my father. It's not his fault that I'm an alcoholic. I take all of the blame for it.
I'm an alcoholic.
I am pulled out of my daze by a light tap on my shoulder. I blink my eyes and look up at the tall figure hovering over me. I wince due to the brightness of the sun. It's a man. I don't recognize him.
"You okay?" he asks.
No, I'm not okay. I'm an alcoholic.
"Who are you?" I ask.
He smiles and motions towards the vacant space next to me on the bench.
"Is that taken?"
What does it look like you dumb ass? No one is sitting there.
I shake my head.
He sits down, still smiling. His smile is virtually as bright as the sun up above. It's also very cute.
He's very cute.
"Who are you?" I inquire.
"Spencer," he reveals, "Spencer Donovan."
What a nice name.
I examine his face and am immediately captivated by his chestnut brown eyes. He has those puppy dog eyes that are so adorable.
He's adorable.
"I'm Jinny Exstead," I say.
I'm also an alcoholic.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To be continued...
------------------
~* glitterbabie *~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Carter: So... what do you, er, think about tonight?
Abby: I think it’s the least I could do... no-one should be alone after killing a clown.
Dave: You killed the clown?
Carter: No.
Abby: Didn’t save him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Carter: You know what? Stop it.
Abby: What?
Carter: Don’t talk to me about Luka. I’m not your girlfriend and I shouldn’t really even be here with you.
Abby: Why not?
Carter: (Pausing) Because I don’t want to wish bad things for you and Luka. And I don’t want to sit on the sidelines waiting for you two to break-up. (Pauses) And I don’t want to be your friend. (Smiles gently) It might be convenient for you but it isn’t doing much for me.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Britt is a Jineddy and Dana is a JinMag. I'm a Carby and a Jinanybody!
*Me, Britt, and Dana are self appointed message board bad girls...we rebel against self appointed moderators...You know who you are!*
[This message has been edited by glitterbabie (edited 08-09-2001).]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Contagious Emotions
****
"Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens." - John Homer Miller
****
Part One: Reflecting
Alcoholic. That's what I am. That's who I am. I'm an alcoholic. It's my identity.
Here I am, sitting on a bench under the pungently hot sun in the park, analyzing myself.
A-L-C-O-H-O-L-I-C. That's me.
I had my first taste of beer when I was eleven.
We were camping - it was one of those happy family outings that are so stereotypical. I can clearly remember that night. John, my father and I were sitting outside under the nocturnal sky which was lit up with shimmering stars. My father pulled a six-pack out of the cooler and handed a can to me. I remember holding that cold can in my hand and just staring at it. At the time, I was so naive when it came to alcohol. I didn't quite comprehend why it was so 'in' to drink it.
Dad was always drinking it. He would sit in front of the television, his eyes fixated on the screen - it was as if he was in some sort of trance. His feet would be propped up on the coffee table and he'd be sipping a beer. I'd just stare at him in utter awe. Alcohol. What was the big deal about it?
Then, on that fateful night of our camping trip, I learned what the big deal about it was. I popped open the top and took a sip.
I can still remember how that first sip tasted.
It wasn't good. Not even the slighest bit.
But I took another sip. And then another. Despite it's rather disgusting taste, I felt as though I had to do it. John and Dad were watching. I felt their eyes on me. I was drinking it because I was convinced that if I didn't, John and Dad would declare me an official wuss.
That's not something that I was, nor is it something that I ever will be.
So I continued to sip it. I had the urge to cringe and grimace, but I used all of my strength to resist. I didn't want John and Dad seeing my disgust for this liquid.
Before I knew it, I had consumed the entire can.
I can remember sitting there, holding the empty piece of aluminium. I had drank it. I had drank the whole damn thing. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw John and my father grinning.
Oddly, I felt proud.
Alcohol didn't enter my body ever again until the tragic incident.
My mother's suicide.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see her lying there on the floor bleeding from a self-inflicted gun shot wound to her head.
And I can still hear the sound of my father cracking open a beer downstairs.
At that moment, I thought 'Wow, it must be nice to be able to drink away all of your pain and sorrow.'
So, I began drinking. Alot.
But I don't blame my father. It's not his fault that I'm an alcoholic. I take all of the blame for it.
I'm an alcoholic.
I am pulled out of my daze by a light tap on my shoulder. I blink my eyes and look up at the tall figure hovering over me. I wince due to the brightness of the sun. It's a man. I don't recognize him.
"You okay?" he asks.
No, I'm not okay. I'm an alcoholic.
"Who are you?" I ask.
He smiles and motions towards the vacant space next to me on the bench.
"Is that taken?"
What does it look like you dumb ass? No one is sitting there.
I shake my head.
He sits down, still smiling. His smile is virtually as bright as the sun up above. It's also very cute.
He's very cute.
"Who are you?" I inquire.
"Spencer," he reveals, "Spencer Donovan."
What a nice name.
I examine his face and am immediately captivated by his chestnut brown eyes. He has those puppy dog eyes that are so adorable.
He's adorable.
"I'm Jinny Exstead," I say.
I'm also an alcoholic.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To be continued...
------------------
~* glitterbabie *~
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Carter: So... what do you, er, think about tonight?
Abby: I think it’s the least I could do... no-one should be alone after killing a clown.
Dave: You killed the clown?
Carter: No.
Abby: Didn’t save him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Carter: You know what? Stop it.
Abby: What?
Carter: Don’t talk to me about Luka. I’m not your girlfriend and I shouldn’t really even be here with you.
Abby: Why not?
Carter: (Pausing) Because I don’t want to wish bad things for you and Luka. And I don’t want to sit on the sidelines waiting for you two to break-up. (Pauses) And I don’t want to be your friend. (Smiles gently) It might be convenient for you but it isn’t doing much for me.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Britt is a Jineddy and Dana is a JinMag. I'm a Carby and a Jinanybody!
*Me, Britt, and Dana are self appointed message board bad girls...we rebel against self appointed moderators...You know who you are!*
[This message has been edited by glitterbabie (edited 08-09-2001).]