Oblivion

This is a poem I wrote, again, in my high school creative writing class. This one is more morbid than the last, but it is a truth we all come to realize at one point or another. I’m currently reading We All Looked Up by Tommy Wallach, a book in which the characters face what could potentially be their last two months of life. The book is told from several points of view. Some try to avoid thinking about the inevitable, while others embrace it and do things they never would have done before. Wallach’s novel has reminded me of this poem, and I thought I would share it with my blog. Think, enjoy, discover yourself! All my love, Corrine.

I like to believe I do not fear death,

As everyone else does I’m sure.

But a small piece in the back of my mind

Cringes at the sound of the word.

The truth of the matter is

Everyone, at some point, fears death.

Why is that?

Why is it that we fear life’s grand finale?

Perhaps it’s the unknown,

Or leaving loved ones behind,

Or oblivion.

Whatever the reason, one thing is certain:

Everyone, no matter how tough,

Or strong,

Or brave,

fears an inevitable death.

 

Shots

“Anything can happen. Anything happens all the time.” -Rose Byrne

One. Two. Three…

I knock back the harsh liquid and gulp, hissing from the sting of alcohol. I am just getting started. With a wave of my hand, I beckon for another.

Four. Five…

Things are getting fuzzy, my sight blurring in and out of focus. I let out a deep sigh, lean my head back, and smile with relief. After the excruciatingly long week I’ve had, I deserve this one night to kick back. I don’t even worry about fixing my top that hangs loosely off one shoulder. Instead, I laugh along with the guys playing beer pong on the table in front of me.

Six…

People cheer for me. Apparently, everyone is impressed by how many shots I can hold back. Standing up with the support of my new friends and a smirk of victory, I haphazardly shuffle my feet to the bathroom, placing my hands on either side of the sink. I just stare at myself in the mirror. As my eyesight comes back to me, I gauge the damage based on my features. My pupils are dilated. My skin looks clammy. My hair is disheveled around my shoulders. I’m fine. My tolerance is fairly high. Honestly, I could take a few more and it wouldn’t hurt, right?

I scoff at myself for being so damn cautious. I have nothing to worry about. Stumbling out of the bathroom, I giggle to myself as I sit back down on the couch. What a great party, I needed this. With what little eyesight I can control, I look around me and smile at the hectic but relaxed scene. I feel someone sit down beside me and put their arm around my shoulders. I’m too numb to care who it is or why they are doing it.

I feel his warm breath near my neck. His lips barely brush my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He’s whispering something but I can’t understand him over the loud laughter and music. I watch with fluttering eyes as he slides two more shots of alcohol in front of me.

Seven. Eight…

He hands me a water and asks if I’m okay. Eyes betray his supposedly good intentions, the blue irises darkening to nearly pitch black, like a wolf stalking its prey. Leading me from the room, he practically has to carry my quickly crumbling figure. Pulling my hand, he drags me into another room off to the side, I’ve never been here before.

                My vision swirls again, my eyelids drop over my eyes and I can’t control it. Everyone carries on with their partying, and no one notices when he shuts the door.